Mitch McConnell is a Psychopath. Prove Me Wrong

“McConnell is a control freak in the most powerful legislature in the world. He relishes stopping everything for the people while bending over for his corporate paymasters, from Wall Street to Houston to the Koch brothers.” – Ralph Nader, Albany Herald, Oct 23, 2021

Thanks to: https://www.albanyherald.com/opinion/ralph-nader-when-mcconnell-says-mush-his-senate-dog-sled-team-pulls-without-question/article_4b69fa8a-3408-11ec-b217-9fd201a0afae.html

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Dating Site Psychopathy Exposed

I’m conducting experiments with men afflicted with psychopathy, and I’ve carefully observed that their brains operate along the same strand of deceitfulness. I’ll make you a list of psychopathic “sameness”. I guess that is a good descriptor of behaviors and words and activities that are weirdly associated among ALL of the psychopathic men on dating sites. Beware of some of these clues exhibited in profiles and messages from a disordered fellow:

(I’m sorry, I don’t date women so I don’t know the psychopathic clues for them. Maybe a commenter can tell us.)

• Love of cooking is common among them, not always a red flag, but take notice in conjunction with these other flags …
• Love of biking extremely long distances (here in Florida anyway.)
• Love to be adrenaline hunters.
• Love to promise to not conduct themselves like idiots and play emotional games. Does that need saying? It’s bait for already emotionally played women desperately seeking solace.

Come hither, damaged damsels, you’re safe with me.

• Love of writing wordy prose that seems earnest on first glance, but is devoid of emotional content. Word salad.

It’s ridiculous how psychopaths say the words but don’t know the music.

Have you found that the sensuality of women is something to appreciate, you emotionless fuck?

“We” do always pick the same type of guy. You, ya trickster you.

Good people don’t have to develop skills …to be good people.

• Love to flat out tell you what a truly amazing guy he is and that you would be lucky to have them. Lots of them have no sense of propriety nor humility. Ugh, it’s wearying.
• Love to send overly excited reactions to items in your profile: “OMG! I love the same things!!!!” Makes you feel real good, don’t it.
• Love to share lengthy stories with extraneous details of their life that have no relativity to your new introductions. You’re made to feel like you’re already a close friend. “My boss’s daughter was building a house … blah blah blah …”
• Love to talk endlessly about their numerous former relationships. This may be an attempt to groom you into behaving like a past (maybe present) girlfriend: “She would always stand at the door and wait for me to open it.” “She offered to pay for half of the meal.” Stop it, asshole, I’m not her/them. Also, bore snore.
• Love to demand lots more pics of you immediately via text, (to add to his pic collection of gullible people).
• Love to introduce the subject of sex really soon. I sat down for a first date lunch and before 30 minutes was up, I learned all the gory details of his S&M experiences. Boundary check much?
• Love to call or text you early in the morning for no reason, and/or later at night than the social norm. Boundary check? Or love-bombing?
• Love to leave you hanging, then act like nothing happened. Below is an example. Also note, this guy is pouring on the garbage and some bizarre love-bombing. How does he know that I am “truly charming” and also “so full of sensual passion”, since we only just texted boring introductions the night before? I feel really sorry for the women who fall prey to this “superficial charm”.

• Love to barrage you with interview questions, requesting every detail of your life in a short amount of time.
• Love to offer enticements that get your hopes up: “I do a lot of traveling to exotic places, and it would be great for you to come along.” Moral of the story: Don’t get your hopes up.

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***The disordered brain of a psychopathic trickster does not belong in any lawmaking position. I advocate psychopathy testing for political candidates.

Learn more at DomesticEnemies.Org ***

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Postcard to myself

There are venomous snakes in this box. You think it’s chocolates and that I’m sorry, but I’m not and it’s snakes.

I have been going through some cards, letters and postcards from my life up until now. My old room is getting ripped out and replaced with something new, to cater to my parents’ obsession with decorating and modernising their house, so all these forgotten bits and pieces have been coming to light for the first time in 10, 15, in some cases 20, years. What can I say? I’m a magpie.

And there’s this stash of old post, which has given me a new perspective on my upbringing. Because I was relatively late to become aware of psychopathy and specifically that it pertained to who I am (this I discovered at the age of 18; I’m now 25), I have been under the impression that other people in my life were similarly clueless about my nature. Not so.

There’s the card in the picture, sent to me one Christmas by a school friend, who wrote that it “reminded me of you… happy Xmas, you weirdo.” There’s another card, sent by family friends, with reference to an atlas they bought me: “You always said you wanted to take over the world. Let this inspire you.” Rereading that today reminded me that, yes, I was a megalomaniacal motormouth at one stage of my childhood, and had evidently revealed some or all of my plans to this family – rookie Bond villain mistake. And that is why I will never get the chance to be tried for war crimes in The Hague.

Then there was this bizarre Wallace and Gromit birthday card, sent to my grandad from all of my family, which read inside, in my mother’s spiky handwriting: “Happy birthday, Dad. This card was chosen by Jamie on the understanding that you’ll post it back to him.” It was dated 1997; I was three. Little control freak.

Sure, so there’s no smoking gun. No “Ohhh my God, my baby’s a psycho, what do I dooo?” letter. But there’s knowledge – and acceptance – of my personality. I’m lucky to have parents who have never tried to deny who I am, and who have supported me from the start. It just goes to show that sometimes close friends and family know you better than you do yourself.

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In the same pile, I also came across a postcard from Montenegro, sent in 2008 by me… to me. It was postmarked and everything, sent par avion across Europe from the tiny Balkan state to my home in England. This is it, folks – peak narcissism:

Dear future self,

Ha! Ha! I’m on holiday, you’re not!

Classy.

It goes on –

Hope the ol’ ear has cleared up by the time I get this.

Oh, that’s right. I got an ear infection from the poorly-chlorinated swimming pool. I had to get some strange ear potion from the apothecary in Kotor. Yes, apothecary;  Montenegro’s a hell of a place.

I am sitting on my apartment’s balcony. Jealous?

Yes. Fuck you.

Anyway, fuck you.

Be you later,

James

Great, well thanks for that, 15-year old James.

The moral of the story? Never meet your heroes, because they’re sure to disappoint.