Archive for the ‘Phychopath’ Category

Don’t Complain to the Police

April 26, 2017 Leave a comment

The neighbour to the north of the sociopath has been suffering the aggravation for more than 20 years. His way of dealing with the sociopath is to yell and shake fists at him over the fence. He’s an idiot, and that’s why there’s been no improvement in 20 years.

The sociopath has a large diesel tractor. He spends his days on the tractor, dragging a steel beam around, eliminating any chance of grass coming up. The dragging on dry dirt adds clouds of dust to the stench of diesel exhaust. The man is not a farmer. His property is 60 feet by 200 feet, although he regularly transgresses onto neighbouring properties. His property is largely covered with crude sheds and an old school bus. The village is so small and insignificant, there are no bylaws to protect it. The area of the village is considered to be part of the surrounding farmland.

The guy with the tractor is a sociopath. He feels nothing toward the neighbours for whom he makes the days unpleasant. He breaks fences and denies it. He sweeps his dog’s droppings under the fence, onto the neighbour’s property. He pushes all the snow from surrounding areas onto the property to the south of his. This is because it’s the easiest way to get his area cleared, and the neighbours’ areas are of no consequence.

After a few years of trying to get some help from the city manager, the county counsel and even the mayor, the neighbours got a response from the provincial police. They had a couple of interviews at the police station, and one time they were told that the offending neighbour was in the building. Pressure was applied by the police to have the neighbours shake hands with the offender, and the good neighbour was blamed by the police for being unreasonable. The psycho agreed to stop putting snow on the neighbour’s property. That was strictly against the law, so of course he had to stop.

What the police overlooked, was the years of criminal harassment. He redirected rain runoff onto the neighbour’ garden. He used an old oil tank as an amateur incinerator, and burnt garbage in it. Often, he burned plastics and foam rubber, sending clouds of toxic chemicals over the neighbourhood.

The police felt that they had done a good job, blaming the complainant and ignoring the many infractions by the psycho. So don’t go to the police. They’ll blame you, because you make them work.


Terrorists Have Changed My Mind

March 22, 2017 Leave a comment

I’ve enjoyed my life as an adventure. I never took anything too seriously, except my obligations and commitments. Those I took very seriously and fulfilled them promptly, to the best of my ability. To make certain I did the right things for my obligations and commitments, I refrained from wasting time and energy on things that were not my responsibility.

Recently I have been bothered by urges to care about things that are not my responsibility. The behaviour and the words of the Murderous Muslim Fanatics make me care about things that go on far from me and my loved ones. I don’t like to feel that I want to do something to stop them.

Of course I can’t do anything about it. That’s frustrating and irritating. I’m old ‘way beyond my ‘best before’ date, and I’m a peaceful, non-violent person. I can draw and write, but I don’t have access to media distribution. What a feeble thing it would be to write blogs about how I feel about the present state of the world.

The USA is totally nuts. The Eastern areas of the world are totally nuts. The cops are trigger happy. Billionaire sociopaths are ruining morality among lawmakers and courts.

Wealth is an addictive commodity. People who are addicted to it become sociopaths under the illusion that they’re correct about everything and are more important than other people. They are wrong about that, obviously, and must be taught a lesson.

I believe that the pen is mightier than the sword, and the only thing I can do for the resistance against the oligarchs is write. Unfortunately, I haven’t the patience to figure out how one ‘promotes’ their blogs. More importantly, I just don’t want to waste time promoting when I could be writing… which I enjoy very much.

Here I sit, safe from some kinds of attacks. We live in a tiny village of small homes. A wide, former highway runs through the middle of the village. Now it’s just an enormous road that is a quiet ‘main street’. There are no stores, markets, gas stations or restaurants from end to end. There is, however, an enormous, cathedral-like church, and a delightfully picturesque, ancient cemetery behind it. The village is virtually like a little cluster of homes in the midst of broad, fertile farmers’ fields.

We live a lower risk way of life, so we feel fairly safe compared with our former ‘big city’ homes. I can now only fight the oligarchy with my pen. I would never take up a sword.

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.

Marissa Act 3

June 4, 2015 Leave a comment

It was stupid of me, I know, but I couldn’t stop stewing inside over the fact that Peter was fucking that boring bitch Rhoda while ignoring me. Men never ignore me! It was a new experience and I wasn’t enjoying it. The frustration grew within me, and grew and grew until it almost occupied my whole life. I know it was stupid. I know that I should have just picked up another guy and it would be over.

At that ad agency where I was sent as a temp, there was a senior vice-president who looked a lot like Paul Newman. Really – believe it or not. So I decided to fuck him and I did. He took me to a really nice hotel suite where we showered together and had as much sex as a forty-year-old married man could deliver. In the shower, before and after the sex, we lathered each other, caressed each other and it was really fine. Very nice, and the guy was a generous lover as well, and really loved eating me, which was great, of course. There was only one thing wrong. It didn’t work. I was still tortured with frustration over Peter’s insulting rejection and his preference for that Rhoda bitch.

I used to date a cop, an old guy who was a detective inspector. I knew he’d run to me if I asked him to. I got him into my bed that afternoon, and I showed him a real good time. His last good time. As usual, he fell asleep after I’d fucked him dry. I went over to the chair where he’d thrown his clothes and stuff and took his gun out of the holster that hung on his belt. It was a Smith and Wesson .38 revolver and it was loaded with six live bullets.

I walked over to the bed and got my pillow which I wrapped around the gun to muffle the bang. Up close to the old guy’s face, I blew his life away. I went into the shower, refreshed myself and dressed for the office.

About ten that morning Peter came in and went to his office. I watched from the secretary pool to see if he crossed the hall to Rhoda’s office or Rhoda to his office. Sure enough, it was less than fifteen minutes until he went to Rhoda’s office. I took the gun out of my purse – nobody noticed, of course – and got up from my desk. I walked straight down the hall and turned at Rhoda’s office. She and Peter were chatting when I appeared at the doorway. They both turned to look at me.

I stepped up to Rhoda, too close to miss and blew her face away with her life. Peter was, of course, frozen with disbelief. He tried to knock my gun hand aside, but I dodged his swing and shot him in the heart. When I walked back to the secretarial pool they were all freaking out and running down the other hall away from me.

I had given a lot of thought to where to put my bullet. I didn’t want to ruin my face or my hair, so that ruled out anything like the gun in my mouth or something. I also didn’t want to ruin my lovely boobs. In the end, I sat down at my desk and snuggled the .38 under my left boob and put the bullet through my heart as I did through Peter’s heart.

I guess it’s true after all that there’s no difference between a psychopath and a sociopath. I never felt I was a psychopath who would use violence, but I knew I was a sociopath because I never cared, really, about anyone or anything. I wish I could have cared about the loved ones of the people I’ve killed… but I couldn’t so I didn’t.