Archive for the ‘malibu’ Category

I’m Up To Here With Sociopaths

March 20, 2017 Leave a comment

I’ve had an epiphany. I know what makes life so inconvenient or worse for most of us. It’s all those fucking sociopaths. I take as my definition of a sociopath as a person who lacks any perception of what his or her actions do to other people. It is obvious to me that they are the source of our troubles.

You have a neighbour who plays bagpipe music loudly every night ‘til eleven o’clock. You explain how upsetting it is and ask if it could be not so loud and not so late. He responds that what he’s doing is not illegal. You point out that although he is allowed to do it, doesn’t mean he should do it. It disturbs sleep, makes the dog throw up, and invades all the surrounding homes with a sound that only he likes. A sociopath reminds you that he’s allowed to and walks away.

In the above case, should you live in Canada, you can apply “The Nuisance Law”. If you read it, you will see that there ARE restrictions beyond what a local bylaw might say.


You’re in love with your boyfriend and are happily sitting with him on a blanket on a beach. Nearby there’s a few well-built and tanned young women. They are enjoying cold beer in the hot sun. Your sociopath boyfriend gets up, walks over to them in their bikinis, and asks if he could have a beer. They give him an icy bottle from their cooler and he drinks it with them, chatting, joking and flirting. Afterwards, he saunters back to your blanket. He hasn’t a thought of what it might mean to you that he did that. Drop him as soon as possible.

The terrifying thing is that sociopaths can rise in the ranks of society and business. It is obvious that sociopaths bring about the economic disasters that abound in recent years. They feel nothing about the damage they do to innocent shareholders or the pensions of working people. They go by the rule that if they are able to do it they have a right to do it. Sociopaths are the scourge of society, and recently I feel they number more than fifty percent of society.

I still feel sick when I think of a piece of closed circuit street footage I saw some years ago. A couple of black kids are fooling around with a handgun, in the open, on a city street. In front of them is a park bench with its back to them and an old lady is seated on the bench, also with her back to them. The kid with the gun, he appeared to be about twelve to fourteen, walked up behind the old lady close enough to touch her, pointed the gun at the back of her head and blew her brains out.

His response to the result of his actions was exuberance. He squealed with delight and did a little dance, waving the gun around. He must be a psychopath. He had not one moment’s thought of what he might have done to dozens of other people who loved her. She might have been awaiting a bus to take her to see her first grandchild. To the sociopath, it doesn’t matter. If you are associating with one and you know it, move away. You think you’re exempt because of your relationship. You’re not. You will be hurt when your turn comes.


The Black Lion – act 3

June 28, 2015 Leave a comment

It seems strange even to me that my favourite time is when I’m at home alone in my tidy little apartment making preparations. My legitimate press certification enables me to search in some exclusive websites that civilians can’t access. On this occasion, I learned of a man who had a wife and a mistress. He beat the wife and treated the mistress like a princess so I did some research. He was a bigshot music producer that usually worked on movie soundtracks.

I dug into Arturo Miodotti’s personal life. He lived with his beaten wife on a palm tree shaded street in Beverley Hills. The home on Malibu Beach is enjoyed by his mistress. She’s a married airline pilot who’s enjoying two lives. She has the luxury of Miodotti’s Malibu Beach House at one end of her travels and a lovely town house on City Island in New York at the other end. That home was shared with her husband of five years, Chad Thornton, a financial journalist.

I’ve always wondered why, when a man or a woman is a cuckold he or she goes after the other man or woman. That seems weird to me, because the other person, the lover, has made no covenant with the cuckold. The spouse or mate or significant other might have made a vow of exclusivity but the external lover made no such agreement. In fact, the lover might be unaware of the other’s commitment. Even if he or she is aware that the other party is in a committed relationship, it shouldn’t have any power over the lover’s actions. If a wife wants him, if a husband wants her and it’s reciprocal, why not?

I once had a boyfriend who believed it was right for a man or woman to simply enjoy sex anywhere, anytime with anyone. This dork couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t marry him.

The best information for me in Arturo Miodotti’s personal life is that he takes walks on the beach alone, from sunset until darkness falls. I descended to the water’s edge to wait in the darkness. I saw him in the glow from the windows of surrounding homes when he was returning to his own place. He was unable to see me in my black lion costume. I wanted to be seen as a man so my boobs were strapped down. I’m almost six feet tall, so my size would be believable as male. With the hood over my head the black wool shag hung like a male lion’s mane.

I followed silently and when he ascended the stairs to the entrance I bounded up behind him. As he slid the glass doors open he heard me and turned. When he saw me, like a black lion reared up to strike, he shrieked and turned to run inside. I jammed the Taser into his lower back. He straightened up, got rigid and fell on his face just inside the door, vibrating like a tuning fork. I closed and locked the door and dragged Arturo into a bedroom. I assumed it was his because the walls and ceiling were all mirrored. I took off my hood and stripped all the clothes off of him. When he was stark naked I tied his hands to the headboard and his feet to the footboard. He was beginning to stir so I drew a chair up beside the bed and watched him wake up.

“Who are you,” he croaked. He tried to rise and discovered his bindings. Then he discovered he was stark naked. He looked at me. “What’s going on?” he said.

“Do you hit your wife?” I said.

“What’s it to you?” he said, and tugged at his bindings. “I’ll get you for this. I recognize you now. I’ve seen you on that crappy news show.”

“Well, you’re quite a dramatist,” I said. “What might it mean that I don’t care if you know who I am, but I take care that no one else knows who I am?” He thought about that for a moment. He began to thrash and tug to break his bonds.

“It means you’re going to kill me,” he said.

“That’s right,” I said. I brandished the Black Lion branding iron before him. “But first…”

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