Archive for February, 2011

Sociopaths

February 10th, 2011

A friend of mine wrote a letter to the national papers recently.

Not one published it.

I wonder why?

-oOo-

Sir/Madam,

In light of the actions and activities of the Government and their banking buddies, many people are calling for investigations, resignations and punishments for those responsible for the mess we find ourselves in. These calls appear to be rebuffed or just ignored by those in authority. They continue to attack the poor while still looking after themselves and their friends. Short of a bloody revolution, it’s hard to see anything changing soon.

It’s also hard to understand their lack of remorse, their refusal to account for it all and take responsibility, and worst of all, to see them strut around like peacocks, bloated by their own self importance. Then I discovered what a “sociopath” is.

A sociopath will normally have a conventional appearance, so they do not stand out visually. But then the definition becomes interesting. They are glib and superficial, are manipulative and conning, have a grandiose sense of self, are pathological liars, they lack remorse, shame and guilt and they suffer from shallow emotions. But it gets better. They are callous and lack empathy, they are irresponsible and unreliable, they lead a parasitic lifestyle, they do not perceive that there is anything wrong with them, they are secretive, paranoid and authoritarian and they have an over riding need to find victims. They have an emotional need to justify their disgraceful deeds so they actually need the victim’s affirmation, respect, gratitude and love. How sick is all that ?  Does any of it ring any bells for you ? Are they alarm bells by any chance?

The first 166 names you come up with will probably be the same as mine. It would be an ironic laugh if it wasn’t for the fact that sociopathy is a mental illness that needs treatment. You would not let sociopaths take control of their own cars, much less a bank or a country. Perhaps instead of calling for convictions and imprisonment for our betters, we might show them a little sympathy and instead have them all consigned to a mental home, for their own good and ours,

Yours etc

A forgotten title

February 9th, 2011

I have said before how I like the age I am.

Getting old has so many good points that I would be hard pressed to mention them all.  Probably the best one is the ability to get away with just about anything.  No matter what I say or do, people just look at each other and make some pitying remark about the sad old codger.  The fact that I say and do those things deliberately is just part of the fun.

There is one aspect of aging that is genuinely pissing me off though.

The fucking memory has gone to the dogs altogether.  I have heard of this phenomenon before and I didn’t really believe it, but it really is true that I couldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast but can remember the smallest details about things that happened years ago.

Most of the time, I get by by writing little notes to myself.  There are little scraps of paper all over the house usually with telephone numbers on them and I can’t remember who the numbers belong to.  Other scraps of paper have shopping lists on them where I have gone down to the village and bought everything on the list, only to go back down again later for something I had forgotten to write on the list, and hadn’t remembered when I was down there.

Another one that is always catching me out is the central heating.  We have a strange looking yoke in the kitchen that looks like a wood burner, but in fact runs on kerosene.   It is a great yoke and heats the whole house.  The problem with it is that to fire it up, I have to open the oil tap and wait for a couple of minutes before chucking a match in.  But I always forget and half an hour later, Herself will come in from the garden and ask why the heating isn’t on.  By that time of course the fucking yoke has flooded and is very difficult to light.  Take it from me, but a lake of kerosene is a lot harder to light than a small puddle.  And it stinks the house out after.

Of course I get a load of exercise around the house, as I am forever going into a room and then forgetting why.  That means I have to retrace my steps to see if I can remember why I wanted to go into that room in the first place.

The other great source of healthy exercise is my pipe.  I am forever putting it down somewhere and then forgetting where.  This means an extensive trek around the garden, the sheds, the garage and every room in the fucking house.

Who says smoking is bad for your health?

Go away and leave me alone

February 8th, 2011

One thing that really pisses me off about elections is the amount of rubbish that is thrown around.

That rubbish falls into two camps – the shite that is thrown through my letterbox and the shite they stick up on poles everywhere.

For some reason we seem to be a two party constituency at the moment.  Fine Gael have cornered the market when it comes to plastering the poles with their fucking placards, and Labour are doing their damndest to fill up my porch with their shite.

I would dearly love to know if ever in the history of this country, someone has voted for a candidate because of a fucking poster.  I have never heard of our Fine Gael candidate.  His face is plastered everywhere, and despite their best efforts, I still couldn’t tell you his name.  I will say one thing for him though – he is the ugliest bastard I have seen in a long time.  He has a face that not even a mother could love.  I have commandeered one of his posters and have stuck it in the field, facing away from the house, of course.  It makes an excellent scarecrow.

As for the rubbish that comes through the door… Why the fuck to they have to send the same thing to everyone in the house?  Three lots of shit instead of one.  [I registered Sandy as a voter some years ago.]  Again I couldn’t tell you who my Labour candidates are despite having about nine cards posted to me.  They just go straight in the bin.

On a point of principle, I do intend to memorise every candidate who comes through my letterbox or defaces my lampposts.  I want to know who not to vote for. 

If any candidate calls to my door, they are going to get an earful about despoiling my countryside.

Except of course for Fianna Fail and the Greens.

I have a very special welcome lined up for them.

Making the heart grow fonder

February 7th, 2011

Apparently my little pearls of wisdom are too much for my server.

It crashed.

I have given it a severe kick.

It apologises.

Now it’s in a sulk.

Heh!

Weird

February 7th, 2011

They are running that weird advertisement again.

I couldn’t find this years version so you will have to make do with last years, not that it makes any difference as they are identical apart from the dates.

Could someone please tell me something?

Where the fuck are those skyscrapers in Dublin?  It’s the Dublin Festival, not the New York one.  Or are we once again supposed to be overawed by the American reference?

And while you are at it, could you please tell me what is supposed to be so endearing about a yoke that looks like something out of War of the Worlds?

The message I get from the film is to stay well away from New York, otherwise I will be eaten by a load of canvas chairs.

It certainly doesn’t make me want to go to a film festival in Dublin

« Prev - Next »