Tag Archives: death

I can’t tell you that…

I’m going against my natural instincts. They are never to share. Blogging is so freaking alien. I was born in 1960, missed being Gen X, made it into the Baby Boomer generation by literally 8 weeks, but sometimes think i am a sekrit 1930’s gel who’s been trained to keep the real shit to myself.

When i told a friend i’d been offline (this was a few years ago) because i was depressed and didn’t feel like inflicting my real life downer on my virtual community. He was SHOCKED. He’s decades younger than me, and told me straight up, i should have said something online. I loved him for his concern but tell everyone i was depressed? Pht. Or perhaps ffft. Not sure of the spelling there, but take it as an expression of disbelief.

Every time i see that “ruok” anti-suicide campaign, where you say to someone who might be depressed, “are you ok?” and they are so grateful they don’t open their veins/OD/jump off the nearest cliff, but instead say “well actually i’m totes depressed and ready to like, pinterest my suicide plans but yr concern means i am now ready to live again!” i feel like laughing. I was relieved to see a few other pplz also saying, gawd, anyone realise really depressed pplz lie??” Yes, you can tell by my overuse of Z that i’ve been back on Twitter.

However, i can understand that for other people, opening your veins in a figurative sense on social media is a way to ease that feeling of aloneness. I wish that worked for me when i’m depressed. So if you’re like me, and people offering sympathy/feelingz makes you want to run away, smiling brightly all the time, not because you don’t appreciate their concern, but because nothing stops the fucking pain… perhaps see a psychologist (because that DID work for me). Continue reading


Die Already, Emo

To be clear, when i say emo, i’m not necessarily talking about moody teens following a musical fashion, with long fringes and too small tshirts. That’s pretty normal teen behaviour, wanting to be different by dressing exactly the same and writing very bad poetry.

My emos are those who exist to milk your pity, otherwise known as the professional victims.

I am NOT talking about the genuinely depressed.

Here’s a therapist’s account of dealing with professional victims. As she says, The victim posture is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. By wallowing in the passivity and supposed powerlessness of the victim, one becomes blind to all opportunities and outlooks that do not conform to the supine posture of the victim.

One might call it “self-victimization,” but the point is that it is voluntary.”

I quite often (just by law of averages, not intentionally) read emo blogs or Twitter profiles written by professional victims. I’ve found that emos come in all ages, and that men are just as happy to use misery to manipulate as women are.

There’s a fair number looking for money for nothing, others pretend to sell you something.  A pity purchase. Others are hoping for a pity fuck, or even a pity relationship. Many are hoping you will take pity action and donate to them or their cause, or write to the government on their behalf. I even had one saying “buy my book, help me help myself, instead of just handing your money straight to me like i was a charity case.” Um, yeah. But your book is crap.

They may be partnered, or not, the pro victim doesn’t stop whining because they find a partner, (especially if the old partner starts to realise they’ve been suckered, or the new partner is actually an emo too), and they’re happy to move on to a new sucker any time they find one.

Some of them whine on behalf of others “the poor [insert disadvantaged group/animal here] – feel sorry for them!!!!” and some run charities – some even do so without taking a wage and when they’re in need of charity themselves. Even when helping others, they have to be victims. It’s how they get off. It’s what gets those emo juices flowing. Mmmm….  suffering. Woo hoo!

Oops, did emo just lose their home because they weren’t paying attention to real life? No problem, they can write a blog about it, and garner lots of attention. Of course, using their (poor homeless) kids to manipulate your emotions is part of the deal. Münchhausen’s Syndrome, where people deliberately make themselves ill for medical attention, is classic professional victim. Münchhausen’s by Proxy, where they harm their children to get attention, is too.

Emos are addicted to trying to manipulate emotions by exposing their suffering. However, you are not getting the whole story. That they made themselves homeless, ill, or poor, is never mentioned, except to show you how it’s never their fault. A lot of people stay a little wary, thinking there’s something not quite right, but others fall in head-first to the emo trap.

Once someone is sucked in by the pro victim, it’s like the sucker is in love. There is nothing you can do to make them see the truth. Even if you provide documentary evidence that their emo is actually a manipulative piece of pond-life, you will often be accused of lying to discredit the poor victim. Victim is the operative word – they must always be the victim, even when bravely speaking out on behalf of other people suffering in similar ways.

Ever told someone that the person they love is cheating on them? That their self-help guru stole all his/her ideas from Norman Vincent Peale (one of the first ‘self help gurus’)? If you haven’t, let’s just say that hell may have no fury like a woman scorned, but burst someone’s sucker bubble and you’ll find out what real hell is. The suckered may come to hate the one who suckered them, but they’ll hate you more. You will earn the enmity of both people. I know this from real life experience, more than once. It never works out well. For anyone.

I think that secretly, like the cuckolded do, suckers know when they’re being played – the signs are there. However, the suckers deliberately blind themselves to what the pro victim is doing – milking their pity and manipulating their emotions. Eventually, the sucker should come to their senses, usually when they notice something about the pro victim. Emos don’t want healing or practical help. If you leave a sympathetic note on their site, saying how they can get real help in their area, they will delete your post. If they followed your advice, they would have to pull their head out of their arse and stop whining.

The more they whinge, the more people pay attention. Pro victims have their metaphorical (and sometimes actual) hands down their pants over this – it’s better than sex or kink play, because they don’t have to give anything, they just whine and bitch and moan, and everyone pays attention! It’s something for nothing, which is exactly what they’re looking for. If you offer real help, especially the kind where they have to do something for themselves, you’re trying to stop their performance, and that makes you something to be destroyed.

Even if someone physically rescues them, the pro victim will be back in their chosen forum (Twitter, their blog, a chat room, MSN, the cafeteria), inside a week, complaining about how the place they’re in now has weird-coloured walls and they have to clean their own room. Not only that, their rescuer is being mean, because they say the pro victim should stop wallowing in self-pity.

So the emo complains and whinges some more, about how awful their current circumstances are. It’s so good, they may even cut themselves.  Someone comes along, says, “Oh, how dreadful, don’t you have anywhere else to go?” And emo has hooked another sucker.

I have this to say to emos…

You want to play the victim? Don’t come to me. I don’t tolerate you in real life, and I won’t online. I’m not interested in being a sucker for you. I’ve been there, done that, and consequently have a low threshold for bullshit. You want to cut yourself? Go ahead, sweetie, and can i help you find the vein so you do it properly? Emos are experts at not harming themselves when they cut – it’s not to kill themselves, it’s purely to get attention and to look tragic.

I knew one (in his 40’s, true emos are all ages), who would drive to the Emergency Department at his local hospital, and park within sight of it – so there would be no risk of him bleeding to death if he slipped with his sterile scalpels. He had dressings too. His mobile phone was right there, charged up, emergency services on speed dial, in case he couldn’t walk the 20m (20 yds) to the door. After a couple of hours in the A&E, getting all the attention he craved, he would come online, asking people if they wanted to see his cuts on webcam. Hysterically, (laugh or cry, your choice), he was on a kink dating site, advertising himself as a dominant male.

The best thing to do with emos – like all attention whores – is deny them the oxygen of attention. Yep, just ignore them. Occasionally remind others that if someone wants to stay miserable, it’s best to leave them that way. You see emos a lot on Twitter – people saying, “So and so was mean to me, everybody hate them on my behalf. i can has mai victimhood nao? kthxbai”

Some people even attract emos. If you feel you should help the helpless, watch out, you might just be on a hiding to nothing, trying to help someone whose idea of heaven is whining about all the reasons no one can help them. It’s very tempting to be mean when they turn on you for daring to say, “Well, happiness is a choice.” It’s not a choice to them, one doesn’t get attention for being happy. What are you, nuts?

That scent in the air is the scent of burning martyr, so a person being mean (or someone an emo can represent to others as being mean), is fodder for the pyre of their victimhood.

Still, sometimes, I just can’t help myself. I snap back.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


List me, baby, make me squeal….

I have never more truly understood the concept of “it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” Not until i moved to New South Wales. People round the world think Sydney is some sun-drenched paradise.

Oh puh-leeze, summer here is about as comfortable as Newark – yes, 90% humidity and 39+° C (100+° F). Then the weather breaks, it plummets to 20° (62°F) and we’re all shivering, except the bloody humidity is still so high you feel underwater.

It also gets hotter after the sun goes down. Demented place. My plans for The Invasion of Queensland ‘09 ’10 ™ have been set back a bit, thanks to an emergency trip there by Mr Whatsit that meant using every cent of our savings and borrowing, so now every week i’m $50 down.

One of his family faked her own death, then recovered – okay okay, so she had a kidney removed and everyone thought she was going to die. It still fucked my budget up.

Meanwhile, it’s the end of January, and i’ve had to get extensions on the phone and electricity bills, and am paying them off. *sighs* At this rate, i’m going to have to hitch-hike to the bloody border. (It’s about 1000k, 800 miles.)

Rather than bitch about the weather and money, though i could go on for another thousand words without breaking a sweat, (in real life, i’m sliding off my towel) I thought i would explain my lists a bit.

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Lists on Twitter are a great way of keeping your followers in some kind of order without resorting to cattle-prods. It also gives other people a chance to look at who you’re following, talking to, and to see if they’re an interesting bunch. Some people even follow whole lists of mine, which is flattering.

I enjoy lists, they’re a good way to find new people to follow, though some people don’t seem to take much care over lists, as you spot spammers posting ‘make $ on twitter’ or ‘monetize your twitter.”

You do all know this is what they used to call a pyramid scheme? You buy their software, (which is a pile of rubbish, as Twitter is all about who follows you, not who you follow), they make money, you don’t. Instead, you get blocked and reported on Twitter.

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So, Lists  – what do i have?

Most recent is the Conversation list which is “A dynamic list rebuilt daily of the people you are talking to and about. ” It’s not one i collate, it’s done automatically, you too can have one if you go here. It updates every day, but is about 12-24 hours behind. So it’s more like “who i was talking to yesterday”.

There are currently “Following: 25 Followers: 2” – which means there are 25 people listed because i’ve been chatting to them or about them, and another 2 people are following my list to see who i talk to. I hope it’s for entertainment, not for stalking purposes.

I checked (paranoid, me?) the followers on that list (listed on right of page when on web) are @loveunrg from New Zealand, and @thepainterflynn who’s in Dublin – both lovely people i’m often chatting to.

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Then there are my lists i made:

  • blogs People whose blogs are worth a visit
  • stopaussienetfilter Australian Government is bringing in Net Filter over All Australia – banning nipples – help stop it
  • food Cooking, Eating out, Foodies, Enthusiasts, Whole Food, No Genetically Engineered Food Campaigners
  • interestingtweeps no matter what you’re into, these people are ones that make good tweeple to follow
  • shopping If i had any money, i’d buy their stuff or use their services
  • centralcoastnsw Central Coast, New South Wales, Australia – some Aussie-wide tweeps
  • gardening Gardeners, Sustainability, Growing Food
  • music Musicians, singers, songwriters
  • arts-and-design computer art, painting & fine art, architecture, crafts, also comics (not writing)
  • geekish Geeks of all kinds, from the extreme to the subtle – my private collection
  • newsmedia Journalists, News outlets, the Media (not social media)
  • forlaughs Funny people & feeds – possibly NSFW, (not safe for work)
  • writingpublishing Writers, agents, publishers, feeds about these things (not bloggers)

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i think my notes on them mean they are self-explanatory. If i unfollow someone, i also remove from any lists – as it’s not automatic. If someone is listing you, and you don’t want them to list you, you can block or block and report. I have 107 listing me – (this goes up and down a lot, as more people get the Conversationlist going) i also go through those (not the Conversationlist, that’s just who i’m talking to or RTing), and block any spammers, or people who aren’t following me (if you don’t follow me, you don’t get to list me).

Also, i list people on more than one list – some people are on four – i think 200 is the upper limit for numbers you can have in one list, but i haven’t hit there yet.

So, you want a list? Look on the right hand side of your Twitter page on the web. Past the top, where it tells you who lists you, go down, past the Search line – see Lists? Before Trending Topics. Just click on New List, and off you go. Make a list, then look through your Following list (not much use Listing people you don’t follow back), and start adding them. As you go, you’re bound to find new subjects you could put as lists. Some people just divide theirs into people they chat to, and have “Chatters1” “Chatters2” and so on.

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I am in some strange lists. These are some i’m listed in, (not necessarily strange!) of my favourite Twitterers.

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The above isn’t everyone – basically, if i’m following them – around 460 people at the moment – then it’s because i think they’re good. The further back they are in my Following pages, the longer i’ve been following them – so if they were tricky spammers, i have already blocked and deleted, and you’re safe to follow. Like everyone, I do sometimes make mistakes with following people who turn out to be spammers.

So, no excuses – get off your respective butts and list meh!

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Widget alert: yes, how many people has lunatic anti-vaccination campaigner Jenny McCarthy’s bullshit killed, maimed, or made ill? I have a new widget, (on the left) that tells you. [EDIT unfortunately, it’s no longer working – but you can click through here and see the totals. At time of writing, it was 501 dead, and 54,907 people ill with preventable diseases – those with polio will never fully recover, and indeed, will get worse as they get older. And how many poor lil kiddehz had autism as a result of inoculations? None. Zero. Nada.]

Around here, we’ve had a whooping cough epidemic, and children have died, because a bunch of celebrity seeking idiots want us to go back to the days (pre-1955) when polio epidemics killed thousands and crippled tens of thousands – every year.

I’m not going to go deeply into it here, you can click the link for more info or to put the widget on your own blog – but despite this woman’s rantings, there is still NO scientific evidence that vaccination causes autism, though she and her fellow self-serving cohorts have been known to make up scientific ‘proof’ – it’s just wishful thinking, looking for a reason for autism, followed by misery when the people who believe them have to nurse or bury a child that catches a preventable disease.

If you’ve ever seen anyone with polio, or living with the life sentence that is the after-effects, (including twisted limbs, and the most agonising pain and muscle wasting), you would never ever think that vaccinations are optional, or worse, that they’re so bad you shouldn’t have them.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


step back from the hippy…

i’ve been waffling about hippy things, including ecology and sustainability – and Stephen Glanville’s been talking intelligently about it – and how to make it pay in a way that is totally capitalist.

But not here, which is why you didn’t see it. Yes, lazy blog post time. This one’s really just a link to Stephen’s blog.

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In other news, just had to cut about 12,000 words from The Thing. Don’t expect politeness, i’m cranky as can be. Damn characters promised me they wouldn’t go far off-piste, and they went so far off, we’re not even on the same mountain any more. So no more Ms Nice Guy. Well, of course i’ll be nice to readers. I mean, no more being nice to characters.

I’ve just killed one, to make sure they know i mean it. My main character is still trying to over-compensate for being possibly gay. Silly bugger.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com/


Sometimes you need people…

This is me doing another off-site post – @Sn0tty asked me if i’d write something for a new site. She’s involved in Navigating Cancer – a site for cancer patients and the people around them – she’s currently dealing with two cases in her own family. This is a copy of my post for their site…

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In 2001, i was in London, when i got the call from Australia. Mum had cancer. It was advanced. The docs had told Mum she was in Stage 3 of 4, and she said not to worry, but when i looked it up, it said there was no Stage 4. Just 1, 2, then 3. 3 was terminal. I went home.

That was my first experience of spending time in the cancer wards. Mum’s cancer, a huge mass in her belly, responded so well to chemo treatment she went from terminal to recovering well inside 16 weeks. Suddenly it was in remission. We couldn’t believe it, she couldn’t, and we couldn’t thank the wonderful medical staff enough.

A few months later, my father rang me late at night. Lung cancer. Terminal. He might have five years, if the treatment worked. It didn’t – nine months later, despite similarly wonderful medical staff, despite the awfulness of chemo and radiotherapy, Dad died.

A website like this one is a wonderful resource – until you experience it, you have no idea of the despair and horror cancer brings, along with the strange joys, the black laughter, and the knowledge of who really cares. We had family, friends, and the medical staff, all being incredibly supportive, and it was still the scariest experience. We felt lost, alone, and helpless. And we weren’t even the patients – just the children of them.

The one major thing i took away from the experiences was that other people, often complete strangers you meet in waiting rooms or cancer treatment wards, become your strength.

I wish this site well – anything that can help take some of the load, answer questions, or simply put you in touch with information, and with others going through a similar nightmare, is a truly wonderful resource.

Navigating Cancer


Celebrity Fish Battle with Robson Green

[Sadly, the pic company i was using stopped providing WordPress users with pics – so i lost most of the original pics for this post]

Yes, i often sound insane, but the difference is, Beloved Visitors, being the Queen of Darkness is merely eccentricity – and being the Antichrist was just a lucky break. (The real Antichrist  met with an Unfortunate Accident and is still in a coma.) However, every so often, i run into the genuinely loopy on Twitter or around the traps.

Laugh at my jokes... or die.

Laugh at my jokes... or die.

Not to worry, i know what to do. This usually involves getting away from them quickly. One does not engage with those escaped from asylums. What, did you think i’d hang around? Feck, i really do have better things to do, even if it’s scratching my arse.

No sense wasting one’s time with the truly hopeless: those who enjoy and promote their victimhood, (“Come watch me cut myself on cam!”) or are so paranoid they can’t even hear what you say to them. Better just to block.

However, the other night i wasn’t expecting insanity, i wasn’t even online. I was watching the actor Robson Green, on his show “Extreme Fishing”. He’s completely huge in Britain, where i lived for a while, I’m not sure about the rest of the world. His show is airing here on Lifestyle on pay-tv, not either Discovery or National Geographic. Fitting for a man known as the “housewives’ favourite”.

Probably need to say here that I don’t have a problem with either fishing or hunting (even on tv) – however, i do have a teensy problem with gratuitous cruelty.

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I watched a bit of “Extreme Fishing” last week, enjoyed Green’s obvious pleasure and excitement, but was left uneasy, as it didn’t appear he was killing any of the fish after catching them. This week he was in the Deep South of the USA. We thought we’d give it another go, but it was hard, as fish after fish was pulled out of water in various ways, before being dropped somewhere to die slowly.

One memorable sequence was bow-fishing: a large fish was reeled in with an arrow through the belly, then the arrow yanked out. Green holds the fish up, saying his  piece to camera. The fish gasps, over and over, trying to breathe, sides heaving. Look how beautiful it is, the man says, his tone loving. The camera pans along the body, we see the fish’s mouth moving silently. Look at those colours, Green exhorts us.

We can’t help seeing the way it’s gasping desperately for air, and the bloody hole in its side that I could fit a finger through. Green sings the praises of the fish as he slings it, still gasping, into a box with other dead and dying fish. The cameraman moves, to make sure we see it in the box, and the lid closes on the slowly-dying fish. Pan to grinning Robson Green.

Tip: fish will taste better if you kill it immediately, and don’t stress it unnecessarily. It’s already been through being caught. If it’s badly wounded, you have to kill it now.  Otherwise, if it’s just been hooked, put it in water until you’re ready to kill it.

It wasn’t Robson Green’s casual cruelty that did for us. In a different segment, we were treated to the sight of another member of the party, (a self-proclaimed hunter and killer) shooting at a waterfowl (a duck?) with a rifle from thirty feet.

The bird was an easy target, still on the water. The American missed, shot again, winged the bird, and shot again, possibly killing it, but the camera cut away. Too gory even for “Extreme Fishing”? Gawd.

We switched over. You don’t shoot sitting ducks. Birds are shot on the wing, and with a shotgun. For those who don’t know, no sports shooter would ever shoot a bird on the water – aside from being unsporting, you can’t eat anything that’s been shot a rifle, you destroy the meat.

The supposed experts accompanying Mr Green weren’t fishermen or hunters, they were just brutal and sickeningly inefficient killers. Not only that, but the supposed bow-fishing experts didn’t even know basic bow skills: how to draw a bow; or about forearm guards,  so the bowstring won’t snap against your skin.

This isn’t just one woman’s opinion, by the way. Mr Whatsit is a happy hunter (with bow and rifle) and fisherman, but he couldn’t watch it either. “Knock it on the head!” he kept shouting at the tv.

I found the Twitter account of the show @extreme_fishing while this was going on. All the @extreme_fishing tweets and the name are in italics from here on, and my @stinginthetail nick and tweets are in ordinary text.

Note – if the post says stinginthetail @extreme_fishing – it means it’s me, talking to them. I had no idea it was actually Robson Green tweeting. I figured I would phrase it as if i was talking to him, in case they passed it on – and of course, on Twitter, one has only 140 characters to make one’s point…

stinginthetail @extreme_fishing ffs, put the fish down, mate – whack on the head, kill it, don’ t throw live into cooler. Disgusting leaving them to die.

It wasn’t abusive, was it? I did say ffs (for fuck’s sake), but i didn’t call him names. I wanted to make clear that I didn’t mind fishing, but humane kill, please.

The “mate” is an Aussie thing – especially when we’re trying to appeal to the reason of a supposed adult – i didn’t really think about using it, just did. A little bit later – after the duck incident when we turned off for good,  i tweeted again, this time so my followers would see it…

stinginthetail had to switch off @extreme_fishing – letting live fish die slowly – and birds. Partner who is hunter couldn’t watch either. Sickening.

I was surprised the next morning when I received a reply from someone claiming to be Robson Green – i’m still not sure if he read both tweets from me – but according to the tweet stream, the account is managed by the actor himself, not any production company. I didn’t have time to be starstruck…

extreme_fishing @stinginthetail Remember Im observing and not imposing or projecting an opinion. The war in iraq…That’s sickening! Get fucking a life!

This seemed a little over the top, but it occurred to me he hadn’t seen the first tweet, only the second – besides from the number of exclamation marks I guessed i’d caught him at a bad time. So i replied politely, as  some of my best friends have been people where we’ve got off on completely the wrong foot, but being reasonable adults, we’ve found common ground…

stinginthetail @extreme_fishing letting fish die is still sickening – i like fishing, but kill the fish, don’t leave to die. Whack it on the head. Simple.

I was a bit taken aback by his attitude, and figured some of my followers might find the exchange entertaining, so i said…

stinginthetail i’m surprised at the actor Robson Green, didn’t think was rude RT @extreme_fishing The war in iraq…That’s sickening! Get fucking a life!

Provocative? Possibly, but i was being flamed, and i felt like company. Then i read his tweet again, and was struck by something…

stinginthetail @extreme_fishing btw you’re not an observer, yr shooting & hooking then happily throwing in ice chest to die slowly – that’s involved.

I still couldn’t understand why he was so against hitting a fish on the head when he was quite happy to shoot it in the belly. His next reply shed no light but showed the over-punctuation was no fluke…

extreme_fishing @stinginthetail You have a remote control? use it! But thanks for the debate!

Erm – debate involves exchanging opinions, and defending one’s position or point of view.

stinginthetail @extreme_fishing it’s not debate when you can’t justify your cruelty to animals, mate – and thanks, i used the remote last night.

I figured that was it. I was so wrong. That time, i used “mate” a bit snappily, he’d been steadily rude.

extreme_fishing @stinginthetail Would love 2 take you 2 Ginae Bissau Africa so you can impose your uninformed rhetoric to starving children. Im not yr mate

I burst out laughing. This couldn’t be real. Was he taking the piss? Where was Ginae Bissau? Google said i meant Guinea Bissau – one of the poorest countries in Africa. Was it even Robson Green? Had i missed something? Was it a joke profile? I’ve been fooled by those before. However, if it was him…

stinginthetail @extreme_fishing lmao – starving kids, iraq war? are you nuts? what else wld u like to defend yr cruelty with? not as bad as the holocaust?

The reply was educational, as he gave up on some punctuation and took up CAPS….

extreme_fishing @stinginthetail Taking a fish out of its enviroment is like placing a polythene bag over a marathon runners head. You need to STOP fishing!

Huh? Marathon runners, starving children and the war in Iraq? Had he completely confused my tweets with someone else’s? I checked who was tweeting at him. I was pondering again if he thought i was anti-fishing, and if this was all some kind of misunderstanding.

I’m not really into flame wars. If someone’s totally against me and can’t discuss the matter without shouting, what’s the point? I don’t have a penis i need to wave around, so frankly all that wannabe alpha male posturing is a bit pointless.

Yeah, sure, I talk about killing (when i’m premenstrual), but have I ever done it? You’re still alive. See? And if i did kill you, I would make it quick. Though after this, for Mr Green i’m prepared to make an exception.

Still figuring to give him the benefit of the doubt, though not sure why by now. I decided that humane killing was an important concept to grasp, especially for someone whose fishing series is showing all over the world. After all, it’s not like he’s from a country where they have no animal rights. The British care more about animals than they do about children.

Again, as he still showed no sign of actually reading my tweets, I tweeted, repeating what i’d said, so politely it astonishes me when i read it now…

stinginthetail @extreme_fishing before u go completely troppo, you’re missing the point – i am not anti fishing – i suggested you kill after catching.

Ha. What kind of fool am i? It seems there is no such thing as reason where Mr Green is concerned. Though he showed an interest in the etymology of language. This is actually something that fascinates us (me, Her Majesty, and the voices)…

extreme_fishing @stinginthetail No, you are a hypocrit as soon as a fish takes it is in trauma! FACT. SO SURELY THAT’S CRUEL.? Troppo is that Australian?

Takes it? The bait, i assumed. He was over-punctuating bad, and the CAPS were multiplying, never a good sign. Good Lord, what does he think entering an abattoir does to a cow? I’m not a hypocrite over meat – I know it’s not always produced in the most humane ways, but when it’s down to just me, i’ll do my damnedest to be humane.

Weirdly, i didn’t feel like pausing to explain to the joys of ‘English as she is spoke in Orstraylyah’ to my new cobber, but that didn’t stop the tirade….

extreme_fishing @stinginthetail Would love to take you people who dislike the show on my next trip to Japan. That will REALLY float your boat.x

I liked the show – up until he tweeted me, i even liked him. I couldn’t stand the fish and the duck being tortured. (Want to make absolutely clear, it wasn’t Robson Green shooting the duck, or whatever that bird was, it was one of the people he was touting as ‘experts’.)

So he’s looking forward to Japan again so he can be really cruel to animals? Is he going to participate in that annual dolphin massacre? Go whaling? And what was the x on the end? It looked sinister. A kiss? Like the Mafia do? A typo? And “you people”?

If this was a normal person with capitals and lots of punctuation, (and not an actor), what would i do? I replied to the tweet about fish and marathon runners in plastic bags (i was behind by that time) and bowed out…

stinginthetail @extreme_fishing all the more reason to make its end quick? This isn’t debate, this is u shouting inanities. And this is me blocking you.

The question mark was because i was still at that stage trying to decode the tweet,  (or any of them), and was guessing at what he meant. When i went to his profile to block him, he was still going on…

extreme_fishing @stinginthetail It was about fresh fish flesh 4 people who have no fridges. As u know as soon as the fish is killed the meat starts to turn

Erm, what century was he now in? Did he think the South had no electricity? With some trepidation,  a couple of hours later, i looked to see if he’d stopped shouting….

extreme_fishing @stinginthetail Ive just come back from filming Guinae Bissau after supplying a village with fresh fish so they could EAT! You fucking Moron

I’m a fucking moron, because he didn’t read my tweets, was abusive, and committed several crimes against English whilst shouting at me, a total stranger, on Twitter? I suppose it makes perfect sense, if he has a persecution complex. You can see where we’re heading, right? However, thanks so much, Mr Green.

If you’re going to call me a fucking moron in a public forum, then on my blog i could call you a stupid twat, or maybe even a conceited wanker. That seems fair. Nasty little git with a chip on your shoulder and delusions of grandeur?

Still, at least i finally figured out what the “starving kids in Africa” reference was about.

POSSIBLE EXPLANATION:

(of sorts – warning, based on Robson Green’s tweets and the Lolcat Bible in a very vague way – it’s only short, you’ll live through a little lolspeak.)

An actor called Robson Green thinks he’s Bono from U2 Bob Geldof Baby Jebus!

He duz fishez for the multitudes, and they iz tugging forelocks saying, “U gave us fud. We iz your grateful disciples nao, we can haz worship of u, Baby Jebus?”

Even Basement Cat iz impressed, because Jesus Robson Green had totally pwned him. Even when Jesus Robson Green wuz tempted, and offered lobster by Basement Cat, he was like, no want!

Ceiling Cat was all, “Woa, u iz so kewl, mah son. Much respect. Can haz crucifixion!”

Take your hat off, you in the back, show some fucking respect for the Messiah! (Yes, i’m going to stop referring to Ceiling Cat, it’s alright.)

******

Meanwhile, in true Queen of Darkness style, *shines fingernails* I’ve blocked the Messiah on Twitter. A meal for some starving Africans, how sweet of him. He tries so hard. I don’t suppose it occurred to him that they might need feeding more often than when he happens to drop in on a fishing trip.

Poor Jesus always was behind the times. We’re talking about a man whose own father abandoned his mother, then wouldn’t get him a lawyer, so he has major issues. Jesus, of course, not Robson Green. Seriously.

I did some research, and found that Jesus made assertions on UK breakfast tv that “90% of fish caught by coarse anglers in Britain die”, which the coarse anglers are a trifle miffed over (they let their catches go, and if all of the releases died, Britain would literally have no fish at all). Wait, no that was actually Robson Green.

So every angling organisation in the UK (and anywhere else) is probably encouraging its members to boycott his fishing show – the British Angling Trust is. Other folk i saw online had criticised his less-than-humane methods, and of course, he said there were more of ‘you people’.

I’m guessing they don’t know Mr Green is the Messiah, and that not watching the show is like handing your soul over to Satan. Believe in Robson Green, and lo, ye shall be saved… or get a fish dinner.

So i guess i walked into someone else’s argument there.

****

In case you’re reading this, Mr Green, (or your lawyers are) ‘troppo’ is an Australianism and means someone’s gone nuts from some aspect of the tropics: the heat, the cicadas, the rainy season, etc. “He’s gone troppo” would be correct usage. It dates from when Australian troops were fighting in the Pacific during World War Two.

I suppose in your case it might just be the messiah complex making you look as if you’ve gone troppo. When it comes to nailing yourself to the cross – having watched a few people do it – here’s a tip.

Have someone standing by to do the last nail, it’s a bugger. Or course, i’d be happy to lend a hand, one with a hammer in it. Or we could set fire to you, i love the scent of burning martyr.

Come on, it will be fun!

******

In my research, i discovered Jesus Christ’s Robson Green’s middle name is Golightly. Wow, imagine being named after Audrey Hepburn (Holly Golightly in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”), and growing up in the north of England in the 60’s and 70’s?

******

Oh, in case, in his hysteria, Robson Green thinks i’m serious,
and accuses me of actually making death threats, this note is for the Feds.
It’s a joke. I am not really that interested in the guy.

I just reckon he’s behaved like a twat, and i’m allowed to say so.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


The house across the road…

I live on the Central Coast –  a series of dormitory suburbs north of Sydney. The CBD is just over 100k (62 miles) away from this northern end. It’s about 2 hours by train if the trains aren’t delayed, and with a 20 minute car run to the station included in that time. If the F3 isn’t choked with crashes, bushfires, or traffic, it’s about 90 minutes at the 110k limit on the Newcastle-Sydney Freeway.

It’s a strip of land squashed between the rolling Pacific Ocean and the inland Dividing Range. Just inland are chains of picturesque lakes studded with pretty islands. The hinterland is full of fat farmlets and ‘substantial properties’ – mansions on a few acres that sell for millions.

looks like paradise

looks like paradise

Everywhere, there are empty second houses owned by people who don’t have time to visit them, while locals can barely afford to rent. At the most, these second homes are tenanted on long weekends.

One house in our street is literally inhabited for four days twice a year, at Christmas and Easter, though the last year, they only made it at Easter. This year, they came on a long weekend too, and as they have noisy dogs and children who think screaming is acceptable, we’re hoping it’s a momentary aberration.

This was a holiday place in the south and along the coastline, and a coal mining area in the north – with rural endeavours along the rest of it. The only people who lived here were those who made a living off tourists, or worked in the coal mines. The mines are mostly closed now, or automated.

Not far away, driving down the desirability of absolute lakefront, is the power station, its high chimneys marking the sky for miles around, but invisible from our little pocket of lake and sky, which cups us like a blue bowl. No smoke in the sky, they filter out ‘visible’ smoke. Usually the only stains in our sky are the nicotine stain of Sydney to the south.

Looking south over the Tuggerah Lakes from Munmorah Power Station's twin stacks

Looking southeast over the Tuggerah Lakes to the coast, from Munmorah Power Station's twin stacks. Just glad prevailing winds blow from me to thee. Budgewoi is top left of this pic.

Like any fringe metropolitan area, more than just city-dwellers looking for cheap real estate wash up here. The junkies, the alcoholics, the abused and their abusers. The crazy, the crazed, and the crying inside.Those who need medical care in the capital, but can’t afford to live near a decent hospital.

Our street is a cross between retirees, upwardly mobile and ordinary working people, and society’s leftovers. I’m actually leftovers, the Underclass, but i pretend to be polite and middle-class – amazing what you can do with a posh speaking voice.

The house across the road, cut into two flats, attracts the Underclass. When i first came here, there was a beer-bellied 30’s guy upstairs, and a younger guy with gaol-house tattoos downstairs.

Bazz was skinny, covered in blue ink, but with a big smile, his long hair in a mullet. We met when he came over to help get the fridge up the stairs. He’d seen us struggling from across the road. It’s the sort of first meeting you give a person a lot of credit for, a really nice gesture, and we appreciated it.

Mr Whatsit and I had little contact with any of our neighbours – i don’t really want to get to know them, had too many crazy ones. There were occasional loans of battery chargers by us, help with carrying things inside from him, basic good neighbourly stuff.

Mr Whatsit was helping Bazz with his car. When reading the battery’s install date, it came out that Bazz was completely illiterate, and couldn’t read numbers either. It was only ten in the morning, but he was already drinking bourbon and coke. A young man on his way down.

Looking SSE over Budgewoi and the Tuggerah Lakes to the Pacific Ocean

Looking SSE over Budgewoi and the Tuggerah Lakes to the Pacific Ocean

Then his girlfriend moved in. A tall, slim, very pretty girl, Mandy spoke to me once, her eyes downcast when Bazz spoke over her. We tried to steer clear of them – we could see Bazz was wired too tight.

Like most of us who end up in abusive relationships, Mandy was probably on a rescue mission which had gone horribly wrong. The fights started. You could hardly hear her, just him shouting and screaming, getting in his car and doing burnouts in the street, driving off like a madman, screeching back into the driveway, more yelling.

Neighbours called the cops, as did we, but it went on, for months and months. Sometimes you could hear Mandy, a little high-pitched voice, or hear her sobbing. He didn’t hit her, at least as far as we knew, but it was abuse of a different kind.

Their ground-floor flat was barely habitable. Bazz had three goofy, friendly Staffordshire Terrier crosses, kept fish, tanks and tanks of them, and wasn’t the best fishkeeper – the tanks were often discoloured.

Then there was the mess from three dogs, carpeting the back yard. The smell reached out if you went past the front of the house.

Bazz and Mandy were both about early to mid 20’s. I went over one day, i can’t even remember why. I was talking to Bazz, and he was telling me how they were moving to Sydney. They had an offer of somewhere to live and he’d be able to get work.

A woman came round the corner of the house, looking  to be about mid-forties and not ageing well. Very thin and hard-faced. She smiled, i recognised the smile, and assumed it was Mandy’s Mum come to help with the moving.

We said hello and shook, and Bazz said, “You remember Mandy?” Of course i did, but i couldn’t see her in the woman looking at me. It was less than a year since the first time i’d seen her.

I pretended to recognise her, managed not to look shocked, finished the conversation and went back across the road. To my unsmelly house. Once my sinuses stopped complaining, i realised they were both on something nasty – amphetamines of some kind, most probably.

Part of me wanted to help, particularly Mandy – i could see myself in her.

abusive relationships often go with drug & alcohol addiction

abusive relationships often go with gambling, drug, & alcohol abuse - click pic for information on Signs of An Abusive Relationship

I know there was nothing i could have said, nothing i could have done. Nobody could have told me, when i was young and in love, that i was in a bad place with a man who was wrong for me in almost every way, or that the drug i was taking was messing with my perceptions, and destroying me.

Meanwhile, the house across the road emptied out. The guy who lived upstairs never came back after a court date, and Bazz and Mandy took off to the Big Smoke in his 80’s vintage Holden Commodore.

Pair of kids on an adventure. Dogs in the back, friends helping move the furniture with some hired trailers.

At first, the street seemed quiet without them, then a  man who claimed he had been a medic in Vietnam, plus another woman and her pregnant daughter, moved in upstairs.

With three people in there, it was so crowded that the fights were just like before. A  deaf guy with a weakness for brunettes lived downstairs where Bazz and Mandy used to be.

I have Bazz’s phone number, he has mine. When i next clean out my phone, i think i’ll delete Bazz’s.

No sense in holding on to the dead.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Now Contains Added Bacon!

In other news – the Invasion of Queensland ’09™ has become the Invasion of Queensland ’09 ’10™… probably after mid-year. Which is annoying, but these things are sent to try us. And i know by whom.

God better watch out when i get to Heaven, i am going to nail the bastard’s scrotum to the wall. Another year (possibly that long) in New South Wales? Arrggh.

And i had tshirts made!

I go with what's popular

I go with what's popular

Sadly, Queensland is a bit like Jerusalem – warm, infested with terrorists tourists, you should be able to find a Kosher butcher, and it’s been put off until next year. Lack of funds mainly.

Extreme bummer, and ironic – we had an offer of free rent for a few months that would have enabled us to save some money. Ah well, these things happen. If i discern a reason, God’s Holy Hand Grenades get a reprieve.

Meanwhile, i’m trapped in New South Wales. *heavy sigh* And sooner or later someone  – who didn’t like me being critical over the weather or my paddles in the shallow end of the Central Coast gene pool – will recognise me and try to stone me to death.

Probably as i wander lost in The Wilderness (AKA Erina Fair, biggest shopping centre between Sydney and Queensland). It’s tough being the Antichrist.

I’ll just have to take over this state first. I can’t be bothered waiting until we can invade Queensland. So, the revolution begins.

I  suppose if i had a new tank, especially one with air-con, *hint hint* i might be persuaded to pop down, massacre every Sydney celeb that i can find – except those in my Twitter list. I promise by the #cultofmarkpesce (a strange, sweater-loving cult) not to hurt Mark Pesce.

However, Kyle Sandilands will be first to the wall. I reckon that ‘shock jock’ should be rebranded – ideally in the middle of the forehead with a hot iron – how does “famous for being a wanker” sound?

****

Reading back, i note this is the second blog in a row where i’ve mentioned nailing someone’s genitalia. Though abusing God’s is a new one. I’ll probably find i’m wrong, and “How many of God’s testicles can dance on the head of a pin?” was a common theme for debate in your average Middle Ages monastery. Or nunnery.

Genital abuse could be a theme, or maybe a motif. It could symbolise something. Like me wanting to kill things. I think this is part of being a real writer. “Oooh, ‘ark at her, a motif. Ain’t we la-de-dah?” It’s alright, that was just a voice from inside my head, we don’t pay attention to those.

I could use a staple-gun instead? For Kyle’s boy bits. Would that be more humane? I think i’d enjoy stapling parts of Kyle to a backboard far too much for my own good.

It might be tricky, him being so obviously over-compensating for lack of oomph. (Yes, that is a euphemism, for me being very rude.) Wait, didn’t one of the Hooker Dolls for PrePubescents ® come with her own Professional Dungeon & Dominatrix kit? Or did i dream that?

*sound of whispering*

Aw, shame, because there was a tiny staple-gun in the equipment,
the  perfect size.

****

I was distracted from such happy thoughts by these figures just to hand. Beloved Visitors can be divided, those whose country of origin can be discerned, and those who can’t. Why do you hide from me, preciouses?

About half of you, i know where you come from. Don’t panic! Only your country, nothing more. I landed on one site yesterday that had a groovy widget that said the latest visitor, (i.e. me), came from  “Budgewoi NSW” and swung the animated globe to where i am and zoomed in.

It was just someone’s blog, but I found myself wanting to hide under the desk and pull the curtains, in case a Google Earth van pulled up outside. Talk about scaring the Beloved Visitors. I don’t want to make anyone nervous like that.

However, I need more. I’m hooked on having minions slaves Beloved Visitors.

****

There is only one thing for it – i’m going to have to spread my market demographic. We have eunuchs, budgerigar fanciers, those pining for ponies,  toaster sex aficionados, and the occasional lost soul who seems to be looking for me, or possibly God.

I’m trapped in this deity niche, i need to diversify my appeal. No problem, we already have sex, religion, politics, what else is everyone into?

****

We need more junk food, everyone likes junk food – i need to put in more pies, pizza, beer, and bacon. At the same time, by mentioning low fat, i’ll automatically pull in dieters. Oh, how fickle are search engines.

I found out what a corn dog was the other day – America, your shame is exposed. It’s fat and pigs’ lips, poached in oil. Okay, so technically, it’s a hot dog sausage, encased in corn batter and fried.

Anyway, i need more fat and beer – or at least the blog does. Tea and crumpets are not enough. Marmalade does not feed the man inside. I need some of that cheese that comes in a can in case there are people who don’t get cheese.

I should probably have a sausage sizzle. (No, that’s not a euphemism. Aussie tradition to earn some money, serve cheap eats, outside some shopping centre: sausages and fried onion in bun or bread with sauce.)

Note to self: stop scaring away men by talking about sex. Probably hold off the genital nailing until they get used to the castrations. If i really am serious about spreading my appeal, we need less about me getting the trains to run on time, and more about “Beers for all my friends!”

This blog’s been too low fat, except for the butter on the crumpets. There’s been hardly any booze, and not enough ball games. Unless stapling them counts?

ZOMG! I could staple bacon to Kyle! Woot, pork-on-pork action! “Baybee, we can haz hot secs nao?”

I don’t know who said that, everyone’s saying it was the other guy. I suspect the voices-outside-my-head, because they’re more into puns. I have a better idea.

We could race local wannabe’s like Kyle and his sidekick Jackie O (who makes Paris Hilton look classy), along the Opera House steps. Ooh, we can use Rove, of course.  MacManus and Karl. The Aussie one AND the US one, why not? (Is the US one a cool guy? Cos he doesn’t have to die if you speak up now.)

Celebrity racing, with bacon, uh-huh.
I can see it – nude except for bacon loincloths.

We know what you want...

We know what you want...

The bacon’s just because everyone, no matter what socio-economic bracket, loves bacon. Liberal, Labor, Green, or People Even More Crazy Than Me, out here on the lonely Anarchist Monarchist fringes of polite politics. Me and Al Gore, we both pine to be queen.

Republican or Democrat – even if bacon is your shame – you love it. Bacon’s your guilty secret. And if we staple it to celebrities, sharks will be able to eat them without gagging.

And it occurs to me, i haven’t been instilling enough fear in the populace. I think my new TV show, Shark Versus Wanker, will do the trick.

****

Message to presenters: you will present the show, not yourself, thanks, or we will staple bacon to you.

A special invited audience will throw rotten meat as you run past, then are cattle-prodded dive jauntily into Sydney Harbour. Oh, how we will laugh as you try to make it to the Heads.

Jackie O would look très cute with a few bits of bacon
stapled to her chihuahua (that’s a euphemism).

the next big game show idea

the next big game show idea "Not Waving, But Sharkbait"

I will be chumming the water with fishguts and cheering on the Sydney Harbour Bull Sharks. These are real sharks, not actually a team, but I think it would be HUGE. Yes, there will be cheerleaders from all the major football teams to chase into the water – for a small fee you even get your own cattleprod.

Before someone gets pedantic, that’s a Great White in the picture – it was taken in a studio, with makeup, and Cedric is just pretending to be a bull shark. Cedric is 8 metres (26 feet) long, and normally prefers colder waters. But for Kyle, he says he’ll make an exception.

And of course, that’s Kyle Sandilands to Cedric’s left, pretending to be a human being. Yes, Kyle’s head IS to scale. Don’t forget, no sentient creatures would be harmed in the making of this new gameshow, and we’d dispose of a pollutant. It’s a win:win.

Of course the celeb’s will be in it – look how much money Michael Jackson and Elvis have made since they became dead for tax reasons. Besides, Kyle will do anything if there’s a media pack there.

Excuse me, i think i follow his agent on Twitter,
i have to run before someone else pitches this.

****

What’s Toaster Sex? Sex with household appliances.
Gosh, i need to explain? Just remember to hold onto the cord.
And obviously, to unplug it first.

Here, i’ve blogged about it before. I even had Charlton Heston soliciting gay Hummer sex. (Yes, that’s with a car, men always like cars more than something out of the kitchen.)

If you’d like to see more pretty toaster sex pics, try here too.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Did i ever pretend to be normal?

The voices outside-my-head have decided to do a post. I’m high enough to not care, and Her Majesty is busy carving her initials in the throne, so they think they can fit a word in edgeways.

*********************

I did mention I’m not all here, being part-cat – I was raised by Siamese cats, which of course, means i’m not like normal girls. The nurture-versus-nature debate has no idea what that war does inside my head.

Outside my head, the voices are nice, and never tell me to hurt anyone – quite the opposite, they do a lot of “Stop, that will hurt someone badly for no good reason.” I know you’re just a person like me, no matter that I am convinced i’m the centre of the universe.

However, inside me there’s a Siamese, looking inscrutable and totally Zen, saying “We will play with it before We kill it. Yesss?” In moments of stress, the urge to lash out before anything bad happens sometimes overwhelms me.

tombstone

i did warn you

I know, i know – i sound quite mad. I have no idea why they wouldn’t give me a certificate of insanity – they laughed and said i was the sanest person they knew. With this mind? What is wrong with psychologists?

Who – in the name of all that’s dusted with pixie dust – do they hang out with? Scientologists? My belief system is way more crazy-than-thou, (and i’m apparently competitive over it), with heaps of contradictions that even i can see.

I’ve reached a point where I don’t care. It works for me. I’m not hurting anyone – quite the opposite. I’m not trying to indoctrinate you, this is My Church, and frankly, my worship is a private thing, my covenant with the gods is my own.

*********************

Siamese consider themselves (like every cat, but more so), just visiting from The Wild, while taking advantage of everything humans can offer in way of comfort.

I too hold contradictory notions, my pantheon has no trouble with worshipping Science while i dabble in the Occult, believe in Reincarnation, and some kind of Universal Spirit which might be God or more probably – gods. I also sometimes look at it all from a purely scientific viewpoint – I know that it doesn’t matter.

What do you mean, Deathbringers a funny name for a cat?

Ah, a mortal - greetings - you have brought tribute?

I also quite like the idea of being a deity myself, (seriously, i’m much better at managing the lives of others than i am with my own, like most gods), though cult followers are disconcerting, as i get paranoid when people are behind me.

However, someone saying, hey, i really like what you’re doing, is exactly like injecting happiness, so don’t stop, those who get the urge.

Whatever i believe, i live my life as if it was the last one. It’s what you’re supposed to do. Enjoy it. It doesn’t mean partying crazily every night or fucking as many people as you can, or making as much money as you can – none of those things by themselves bring joy.

Enjoy simply means, have joy with it. To quote Monty Python…

Life’s a piece of shit,
When you look at it.
Life’s a laugh and death’s a joke it’s true.
You’ll see it’s all a show.
Keep ’em laughing as you go.
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.
And…

Always look on the bright side of life.
Always look on the right side of life.

Yes, i’m the Queen of Darkness – of course i enjoy black humour. The voices want to know how we ended up singing Monty Python songs.

Do i need a reason?

*********************

Thus endeth the lesson.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com


With zombies, u need to blow their heads off…

I wrote a cranky post about how Michael Jackson’s death circus was sickening me. I was wondering if, when Gary Glitter or OJ die, everyone was going to prance around saying things like…

“Aw, his mommy/daddy was mean/abusive/over-pushy to him, let’s forget about the nasty (a) child sex (b)  murders (c) the armed robbery that finally sent the SOB to gaol (d) moments when he bought his his way out of a court case.”

But it was too cranky. And might have got me sued, lol. Yes, this is the cleaned up version. What do you mean, you can’t tell? Feck, i’m on drugs, i’ll say that in my defence.

With the original post, by then, the drugs had kicked in, and i was no longer in quite such an evil mood. The Queen of Darkness had been in total control. Pain does awful things to my empathy chip.

Small children start to self-combust around me. It’s scenic, and looks great through the filter of the drugs i’m on, but people talk. Next thing i’m being shunned at the pharmacy like when i ran over those pensioners in my tank.

When the drugs kick in, the voices-outside-my-head – the compassionate, nice ones – take over, and I can even feel sorry for the freak and his still-travelling freakshow.

This is me, biting my tongue. And on enough drugs to no longer care. Seriously. This is someone else, who didn’t and wasn’t. But of course, they have a legal department, and besides, they’re part of the Murdoch Empire, so they end up in the category of Satan’s Minions and it’s quite alright if you want to go hate them.

You can hate me too if you like, but it won’t do any good either, i don’t like Michael Jackson – i didn’t when he was alive, and i’m not going to be a mealy-mouthed hypocrite and start acting like he was some kind of wonderful person.

I quite agreed with the article, but then i’m a monarchist anarchist, which is simultaneously so left wing and so right wing, that I sort of meet myself out the back somewhere, but in an attractive way – which is why you really need to vote for me as Queen of Darkness.

As the writer so eloquently points out – in regard to Michael Jackson – playing the victim doesn’t entitle you to abuse others.

(Look, i’m being nice, and paraphrasing things so you don’t have to go looking at links unless you want to. Yep, am completely wasted.)

***********

When i take a break during the day, (from the epic sci fi fantasy thing, which keeps morphing, so i won’t say any more than that, as already i don’t think it’s going to be a rite-de-passage story any more), my main source of amusement is Twitter.

It’s many other things as well as a laugh, including friendship, the opportunity to help others, (shh, i have these urges, i can’t help it – oh damn, now i’ve told you i have to kill you), and to both teach and learn – oh, and to make a right royal arse of myself, when i forget how many hyper-intelligent people are actually paying attention.

I like everyone in my list, or they wouldn’t be there. Some, i love to bits. A favourite tweep (or whatever the singular form of tweeple is), is @_SATAN_ . He’s playing the role so well, i find myself wanting to actually applaud.

_SATAN_ is in Australia, of course, because even the Kingdom of Darkness appreciates booze, sport, sunshine, and a social security safety net that includes healthcare. He’s in Victoria i believe, but @__God_ is in South Australia.

Which possibly explains __God_’s drinking problem, there are a lot of vineyards there. He seems to be falling apart lately.

__God_ Really people, who here hasn’t shat themselves after a few snifters? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

Turned out he was coming out as a sharter in a fabulous rant (over several more tweets) in support of a footballer who literally mistook a hotel corridor for a toilet.  __God_ only knows if he’s going to make it through the footy season. I mentioned that sharting was a sign of alcoholism.

(In the following examples, for those not familiar with Twitter, an @ sign means the post is directed to the person after the @.)

_God_ @stinginthetail daily binge drinker is the preferred terminology, thankyou

__God_ Poached salmon and bok choy in ginger broth. White tea. Someone please kill me now. I NEED SATURATED FAT AND ALCOHOL!!!

We may need to get _SATAN_ to do an intervention. Mind you, he’s  more likely to say something like this.

@_SATAN_ Who was it that said ‘everything in moderation?’ Ha! Moderation is for wimps and losers. You’re not a loser, now, are you?

He makes it all seem sensible. His conversations with other people are the most fascinating things, and it’s well worth following threads. _SATAN_  wouldn’t be the Bad Boy of Hell without Tweets like…

@_SATAN_ Now, if your girlfriend is being too demanding, why don’t you glass her? It’s the only way she’ll learn, dears..

Glassing – for those not familiar with the term – means smashing a glass in someone’s face. Yes, it’s horrible – he’s _SATAN_.

And in the Aussie news, another footballer was gaoled for eight months with good behaviour, after he glassed his girlfriend in the eye during an argument, then lied and said she’d fallen, changed his story and tried to blame it on his best mate, and then tried to argue that it wasn’t that bad because the doctors managed to sew her back together neatly.

Here in Australia, if there’s evidence of an assault, you don’t need a complainant to charge someone. (Oh yeah, _SATAN_ would be proud, she’s still with him.) It’s Australia in the winter – of course __God_ and _SATAN_ are football fans. They both get great replies...

ScotPThomas @_SATAN_ “Glass her”, o dark lord? Is there a recommended technique that I should use or should I just be creative?

And this…

Espimufin @_SATAN_ what if she’s not my girlfriend? can I glass her anyway?

I ended up following both those guys, they seem promising. (Erm, yes, they were being funny, i read their other tweets.) _SATAN_ and I had a nice conversation about sex toys and masturbation.

He’s preaching to the choir here. Of course, i’m not the only one with a Dark Kingdom passport…

ScotPThomas @_SATAN_ so how hard would it be, to like get in the top of the armies of hell? I mean, I’m already a member of the media. Good enough?

As _SATAN_ says…

_SATAN_ The Stones say “you can’t always get what you want”…well, I’m here to tell you that you can. All you need is a semi-automatic…

Well what have i been telling you? Yes, a man after my own heart. And yes, it does seem, as the lovely Tweet_Fail reminded me, when i said he was worth a follow…

Tweet_Fail @stinginthetail Nepotism: The AntiChrist and Queen of Darkness recommending @_Satan_ – Nice!

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