Certains banquiers sont de gros FEIGNANTS et sont du côté des voleurs (les joies d'une carte "CB")

Ben tiens... Encore une arnaque de plus en notre bon royaume de France.

Celle-là ne m'est pas arrivée à moi, mais je me coltine la paperasse et j'ai l'impression que mon banquier et mon conseiller moitié me prenne pour une buse, moitié sont NULS à pleurer.

Pour faire dans le court, la famille a été victime d'un vol sur Internet (produit commandé jamais livré). 

Le problème a été immédiatement signalé.

La commande à "ABC" a été payée à "JKL".

On demande le "chargeback"/rétrofacturation - comme indiqué sur les sites du gouvernement - sauf que le truc est passé par CB (carte bancaire), pas par VISA ou Mastercard et donc, c'est un "litige commercial" et débrouillez-vous avec le vendeur voleur.

Il existe des textes de loi qui sont censés nous protéger, mais les cartes co-badgées CB (la quasi totalité des cartes en France parce que... y'a pas l'choix) suivent leur propres règles. 'Faut dire que c'est compliqué de suivre un paiement électronique (le gars à la tête de l'agence où il y a eu le problème ne comprend pas comment ça marche ! Je ne plaisante pas. Hélas !).

Chez VISA ou Mastercard, le chargeback serait en route depuis belle lurette pour non respect des directives européennes. 

Chez CB, c'est : "on s'en tape et ne nous dérangez pas avec vos problèmes".

Donc : 

- problème tout de suite signalé. On bloque l'opération ? Ah, non, il faut payer le voleur.

- on peut faire revenir l'argent volé ? Ah, non, c'est un litige commercial qui ne regarde pas la banque.

Et ça vous est dit, sans broncher, par des gros BALTRINGUES qui jouent régulièrement au poker avec des milliards, se font aider par nos politôcards (donc avec NOS sous !) et ne font strictement rien en cas de problème.

Je fatigue. Grave.

No Dye

I'm growling (again) about the way people treat me when they focus on my whitening hair. It's not merely that they see it, no... it's all they see.

Even people who have known me for years tend to forget that I was playing with their children - and that, no, I'm not older than their aforementioned children (that happened to me just yesterday, and it was massively weird).

There was this supermarket employee in Chinatown who stared at me because I was checking the different sauces. His eyes (and general expression) seemed to say "Are you lost, lil', old lady?". Seriously, what the flurch?! I had to state "I'm fine. Ta!" for him to stop staring.

I'll admit that I enjoy my depigmented privilege on overcrowded buses as no one asks me to vacate my seat (not proud of it, and if someone who's really, actually old is near me, I do offer my seat - I'm not a monster).

My neighbouring cousin and I have the same depigmented problem at work (not when we work on a book together - though our depigmenting is different, which is funny as it seems to come from the same bit of shared DNA). Our students must think that we were around somewhere when the pyramids were being built - and the oldest amongst the staff, but we're not (I've got only three colleagues younger than I, and my cousin has just the one). Yet, since the wires on our heads are white, some of our students seem to think that we are an inch from retirement - or death.

My poor cousin just had to deal with a student (to whom the administration of her school decided to give another chance to pass) who thought that it could plagiarize "its" assigned work - coz my cousin, being white-haired and all, must be senile and she'd never, ever flurching notice that "it" copied and pasted pages and pages from the Internet. Right?

What's wrong with these people's eyes? Can't they bloody look at our skins? Not a wrinkle, for Merlin's sake (laugh lines don't count - we do laugh, and we're not planning to stop!).

When I get a coat of arm, "Fronti nulla fides" is sooooo my motto.

For the moment, I think I may start asking people if they left their Labrador at home by mistake*.

*: oddly enough, I think I've been going through anger-generated adrenaline rushes recently, and it's a strange state...

{Family} Business as Usual

Yes, this is going to be a growl (and we're not Sunday yet).

Sorry about that; you know the drill: feel free to skip the post.

First, I'm sorry to be so silent, but between my jobs, our trying to launch our company, my back playing tricks on me (yes, again), and the bronchitis of the year, I didn't post last month.

Why do I post today? Because I need to vent. Because I always do what needs to be done at work, but I just got lectured by relatives who do fuck all all day, and who feel entitled to lecture me.

Last night, I got home an hour later than usual because traffic was hell and I had to take another route home (incidentally, having to wait for a bus in the cold for twenty-five minutes). Like a good, well-trained idiot, I checked that my relatives were okay, and I mentioned that I was planning to send an update to school about a student who should have been in class but wasn't (I don't even have to do it; it's just me being nice and keeping the admins posted).

I was frozen, knackered, and my back was properly killing me. For once - for once - I went to bed early.

And today, my relatives, who usually forget everyfuckingthing about my life, asked if I sent the e-mail, and I said "no", because it's the truth.

And I heard, 'Ah! I just knew you wouldn't do it!' (clearly implying that it is customary to see me drop the ball).

I barked that I went to bed because I was properly exhausted, and they did hear that I was pissed off.

As usual, they phoned back a few minutes later, to merrily talk about something totally irrelevant, and allegedly fluffy to try and make me forget that they'd just behaved like wankers.

<insert snort here> I know all their manipulative tricks...

Today, Scotland (bless them!) unanimously voted to protect victims of physical and psychological abuse. When can we start doing this with relatives DNA-related nightmares?

La SNCF, c'est (vraiment) [pas] possible

Si vous n'avez besoin de rien vous serez tout de suite servi.

Mon dernier voyage en train ?

Je me lève à l'aube (littéralement), arrive à la gare bien en avance et mon premier train part... A la moitié du voyage, une erreur d'aiguillage (ben voyons !) nous fait prendre un retard de 25 minutes - dommage, je n'ai que 20 minutes de battement pour attraper mon second train.
Que va-t-il se passer ?
Le contrôleur nous annonce que la correspondance sera assurée quand même cinq minutes avant l'arrivée en gare (merci pour le stress, les gars !).
Une fois sur le quai, ben t'as intérêt à battre le record de vitesse avec ta valise si tu veux l'avoir le TGV (quelques palpitations plus tard et un poignet abîmé à cause de ma valise super lourde, la porte s'est carrément refermée sur mes fesses - on courrait tous sur le quai, mais le chef de gare était pressé pour l'autre TGV... Ben mon gars, t'as qu'à apprendre à tes collègues à aiguiller les trains correctement).

L'année dernière, la SNCF m'avait laissée en rade à pas d'heure dans un gare dangereuse (Mère avait payé ce billet-là).
Je râle et le médiateur me donne raison (en bons de voyage, mais c'est déjà ça). La SNCF ne conteste pas, mais ne fait rien.
Depuis plus de quinze jours, après être passée en agence où on m'a dit de téléphoner au SAV, je tente de joindre ce service, mais le choix d'option ne marche tout simplement pas (avec deux téléphones !).
Je demande de l'aide à la SNCF sur Twitter et de fil en aiguille, on me demande les références du problème pour nous aider, puis nom, prénom, adresse, courriel, numéro de téléphone (l'âge du capitaine et mon mot de passe Twitter, aussi, peut-être ?!!!).
On me promet la relance du service hier...
... ce matin ? Ah, bah, "contactez un autre service, nous, on ne peut rien faire".
Conclusion : ils se payent nos tronches, bossent comme des "plonkers" (ouaip, de l'anglais, je sais, mais 1 - je suis bilingue et 2 - c'est le mot parfait pour les décrire !) et refusent de payer ce qu'ils doivent.
A en juger par les messages d'autres personnes sur les forums de la SNCF, le SAV est souvent en rade et ils bossent quand ils ont le temps.

Bloody plonkers!

Varieties of Denialism

Bipeds that cannot accept facts because they don't fit their agenda, beliefs, or whatever have a way to make my blood boil.

With the film Denial coming to our screens, the number of Holocaust denialists has become more visible with these decerebrated bipeds flooding forums and comments threads.

Just this morning, I've seen a bunch of village idiots doubt that the Holocaust happened; one even found it fishy to not be allowed to doubt the evidence - and the testimonies of the survivors! There were also idiots adding the Holodomor to their list of denials.

As a historian, I understand that we can doubt that the battle of Agincourt happened exactly the way it is reported in archives - but we can dig up testimonies and get a fair idea of what happened. All one needs is hard work - and a working brain.

What I cannot understand is the collection of village idiots, from all over the rock, who can read all the documents we have in archives, and who can meet survivors or read their testimonies (be it about the Holodomor, the Holocaust, or even the sex slaves for the Imperial Japanese army), and who say, 'Nope! I don't believe it! It just can't be true!'.

They make me want to yell and make them sit down and educate themselves until their two and a half brain cells have a spark of illumination.

My introduction for the publication of Shakespeare's Sonnets for Éditions Aikyō is dealing with all the varieties of denialists about Shakespeare.

I ended up dividing contemporary denialists into two categories: prime and secondary.

Secondary denialists are the collections of village idiots who might well doubt that our planet orbits around the sun if it became fashionable in their circles to think so, or who do not have enough brain cells to understand facts and the truth. They're infuriating, but I fear most of them are just too stupid.

Much worse and twisted are the prime denialists. These are bipeds who, I think, do understand the archives and the testimonies, but who have decided to not believe them. These bipeds have decided to spread lies (not "post-truth", not "alternative facts" - let's call a spade a spade: they're LIES); maybe they're doing that to enjoy the chaos and pain their words will generate, and/or maybe they have some hidden agenda to promote - be it hatred for one subdivision of humanity, or be it to promote their own work.

If we take into account the scary number of secondary denialists, the prime denialists have a lot of quarterwits (I do fear we're talking about creatures way below the average halfwit) who are ready and willing to pay to buy their books or watch their films or documentaries.

We have ignoramuses and simpletons falling into the cunning traps of manipulators and profiters who would say and do anything to make money and become famous.

Both categories annoy me, but I have some compassion for secondary denialists... Prime denialists, not so much, as I see them as liars and dubious, devious, and unethical creatures who would deny that their own mothers gave birth to them if they could gain anything from spitting that lie.

I do believe that "Knowledge is power", and I will always fight against prime denialists who try to pervert what decent people know to be truths.

Victim Blaming Is Alive and Well

I really should read fewer newspapers.

I really should not read the comments.

I was reading a new article about the latest "scandal" about a courageous rape victim who was betrayed by the sentencing judge (because the culprit, as a fellow star athlete, deserves to not be properly punished).

It's this New York Times article (it's good, and I've got nothing to say against the journalist).

No, my problem is with whichever plonker picked a victim-blaming comment as a NYT Picks:

There are other similar comments on the thread. Of course. Gosh! My Sarc font is on again!

It's not about showing both sides of an argument. There's NO argument; one does not betray a victim yet another time by giving "air time" to a caveman. Full stop.

Oh, and for good measure, here's the mug of the culprit's protector judge:

I could add something about the letter that the culprit's father wrote, but there's no point in risking my lovely brain cells. Go read about that other caveman; he's a piece of... something.

Walk in My Shoes

It's funny how people on Twitter (I'm not on Facebook, but I guess it's the same over there) retweet and like things, but they seldom actually chat. I'm not such a big fan of silence, so I try to talk to people when they send something that touches me one way or the other.

Yesterday, Louise Brealey sent a link to a video about abuse. Even though I'm fine these days (that's a wonder with the amount of stress generated by the launch of our company!), that short video made me cry because it reminded me that my own mother is either in denial about what my abuser did to me or she really believes that I should have been back to normal five minutes after he left.

This is not how it works.

My soul is scratched - but healing.

My heart was broken - but I've found some glue to repair it... though the tiniest pieces are fucking hard to put back where they belong.

When I met my abuser, some people I knew could have warned me against him. They didn't.

It took him six hours to worm his way into my coat of armour and toss me into a tiger trap where I woke up, broken, hurt, lost. Lost... important part of the issue in my case. I couldn't figure out what was going on.

One day, I remember thinking, as it's often the case with victims, 'Why do I allow him to do these things to me?' and then... it hit me. It was the wrong question.

The right question was, 'Why does he think he has the right to treat me like this?'

He had no right to hurt me.

Too bad for me, he was a manipulator, and he'd found all my buttons within hours of meeting me, and he could abuse me all he wanted.

Fast forward a few years, and I'm healing.

Yesterday, someone at @BoxRoomFilms tweeted me with kind words after I mentioned being a survivor. That was quite nice. It was 'Hey! Stay strong, fellow human being!'

And this morning, I got this:

Ah.

So it's my fault if I was stupid enough to pick up a snake. I was bitten, and I'm the only one to blame - because me, myself, and I, we picked up a snake.

That was a lovely punch to the gut.

Miss Valicia thinks victims are the only ones to blame.
Miss Carla felt the need to remind me that I was stupid enough to pick up a snake, so I deserved being bitten.

Thank you so much, sisters.

No wonder my friends in town don't want to hear what I have to say when I feel a bit low because of the long-term consequences of the abuse, and no wonder my own mother wants to forget about the whole thing.

As I told Miss Carla, this is victim-blaming AND my snake looked like a bloody canary when I met him. He was delightful until he morphed into his own version of Mr Hyde. AND, to the rest of the world, he was ALWAYS Mr Charming.

I'm not stupid.

I wasn't stupid back then.

I was targeted by a sick wanker, who, unfortunately, was twisted enough to find a way to control me long enough to do with me as he pleased.

It's frigging easy to say 'Don't pick up a snake if you don't want to be bitten!'. These creatures don't show their fangs until it's too late and the VICTIM cannot escape.

I wish we could eradicate all forms of abuse, but it seems that there's still a lot of education to do if we don't want the Valicias and Carlas of the world to hand out useful advice to not pick up the snake, but it seems that people who haven't been walking in the shoes of a victim of abuse simply cannot understand how devastating and paralysing it can be to find oneself into the clutches/fangs/whatever of a gifted abuser.

We're not stupid.
Our abusers are twisted. They're the ones who must be blamed. To keep working on the snake image, the issue isn't 'Why did the girl pick up the snake in the first place?', but 'Why did that snake think it had the right to bite its rescuer?'.
Victim-blaming isn't nice. There's no need to pile up more negativity on the backs of victims.
I suspect that Miss Carla is in the US. I'll see if she answers when she gets up, but I doubt it...

My first play will be out in June, and I must say I'm 'happy' that it's about abuse and the dire consequences it can generate.

The Constant Threat of a Relapse

The annoying thing when you're a survivor with PTSD is that you've got to manage the things that could make you jump off a cliff. 

If you're lucky, you've got someone (or many people if you're really lucky) helping you and holding another sword next to yours, and ready to have your back against the Void. I've got a lovely brother who instinctively understands how easily I could snap (he's the only one seeing my seems come loose when I've got an attack, and he's always found the right words to generate some light in my darkness - last December, the Void caught me by surprise, and I collapsed like I hadn't in a decade within a day. He was there as I navigated the Void).

The medication I take against the Void is mostly working, but it's not 100% efficient, and negative incidents can push me towards the Void in the wink of an eye.

Over the past week, I discovered that the business plan we had had to be modified because we simply can't afford to start that kind of business as we'd dreamt it. What's petty and sordid is that we're asked to buy a kind of insurance that we've already got from another source, but noooooooooo! We must have that special one (and whether we're successful or not, we must pay - and we'd get absolutely no advantage since we're already protected). After a few hours when we pictured our lovely plan going down the drain, we found our Plan B, which is going to allow us to work, but within a very different frame (and we're not entirely out of the wood registration-wise, but there's still hope - I think).

Then... a manipulator Apparated to my doorstep, and I didn't spot the trap until I'd already done what that person wanted. Oh, it was nothing bad, but when you've been in the claws of an abusive manipulator, such a tiny thing makes a lovely last straw.

I've had a mild panic attack for not spotting the trap, but I've done everything I could to manage keeping the Void at bay, but I'd rather not have to deal with such bipeds.

It started as a joke on Twitter, but there's a plaque on my door, and I'm very seriously considering writing "By appointment only" there.

As well, I swore to myself to no longer answer the door unless all the building's fire-alarms are going off and there's a brigade of firemen begging me to open the door. Even though I know most of my neighbours (and I've known them all my life!), we never visit one another, so only strangers would come bug me, and the threat of meeting another manipulator is just too scary.

I'm probably turning into a misanthrope light, but allowing strangers in my life's too big a danger with no benefit for me. I need my home to be a safe haven, a refuge where I don't risk being hurt.

I guess I'll feel better after a good night of sleep (or two), and with some lovely sunlight around, but I was lucky that my meds work well and that I spotted the sign of the impending panic attack and did the one thing that works against it.

I bet it's tough to imagine how tiny bumps on the road of life can look like the Himalayas to survivors, but that's how they feel... And it sucks.

Smokescreen for the Sheeple

If I could afford it, I'd buy crates and crates of Daniel Pennac's Au bonheur des ogres, and I'd distribute copies at the door of some department stores.

The novel has been translated - and I'm not going to spoil the plot, but let's say that the sheeple I've seen queueing (queueing!!!) to have security guys give a quick look at their bags' innards make me want to cry (and cuff them in the hope to kick-start their three brain cells).

That's Security theatre and smokescreen for sheeple. It's the Man wanting to cover his plump behind just in case the next batch of murderous plonkers take his store for target. *points at Mr Pennac's novel again*
It's the politicos wanting to be re-elected/elected/whatever/something and spreading fear because frightened sheeple are easier to control.
It's sheeple being afraid of their own shadows and surrendering freedom, democracy, and life itself in the faint hope that the bad guys won't hurt them. Maybe the worst guys won't get them (but no one can promise that), but the bad guys are all those bipeds grooming sheeple to surrender liberty in exchange for nothing - coz if the worst guys want to do some evil, guess what? They will; one way or the other.

Pay attention... yes.

But stop asking how far you must bend to please the manipulators.

I've seen what happened in the US. The country went from "only a police officer can legally touch you - if s/he's got some super valid reason or a warrant. Full stop" to "Allow a biped in a blue shirt to be more intimate with you than your last date. It's for your own good. If you mean to rebel, we'll detain you, make you miss your flight, spend hundreds or thousands of dollars - and you can't sue us, coz we're here to protect you from the bad guys, so shut up and don't mind the gloves (used on all the previous passengers, too, coz we're too cheap)".

I don't want that here.

I refuse to have that here.

I'll fight against that for as long as I can.

I pointed out to co-workers that some of the guards who are posted at our school's door touch what's inside some people's bags (which is, still for the moment, illegal: they can look all they want, they can't touch; only a police officer can - if s/he's got suspicions about an ongoing crime or a warrant). The brave guys told me to tell them. Tell them what? 'Hey, guys! You should have a word with whoever taught you because he was an idiot who could get you sued if you ruffle the feathers of the wrong person.' Something like that?

The men to whom I told that work more closely with these guards, and I thought they could have a quiet word with them (all the more since they agreed that touching someone else's property's illegal), but they don't want to make a fuss. They seemed to think that I was overreacting somehow and that I should let it go - to keep the peace, you know.

Next, my co-workers told me to not let the guards touch my belongings. Thanks, guys, but I do not (last time one tried to move his hand closer to the inside of my bag, I jumped backwards). I just don't want the guards to be in trouble the day they do that with someone who does know the law and who's ready to stand her or his ground, and who's got the money to sue.

I find it astounding and properly scary to see so many sheeple accepting what they're told without even checking that they're not being lied to.

- Spread your legs and bend over!

- But I just want to buy some carrots!

- Believe me, it's for your own good. It's for your protection.

- But...

- (losing patience) Obey me or I'll call the cops!!!!!

The worst guys must be rolling on the floor laughing madly. Alas.

Oh, I wish the sheeple would think and stop being afraid.

Give Me Liberty or Give Me... The Right to Growl at You

If I were President of Earth (the measure is already implemented in my empire, because that was the right thing to do), I'd have Strategy classes in all schools from the age of 6.

That'd teach Earthlings to spot manipulators and bullies - and bad politicos (or are they covered with "manipulators"??). Anyway... elementary strategy seems like a good idea to fight against the sheeple problem.

It's a real need, because John and Jane Doe seem to not notice how their Liberty is eroded one millimetre at a time.

In the wake of the recent events in France, local politicos have been taking emergency measures - strategy reading of this: they must be seen doing something (even if that's just following the script that the bad guys are expecting - if I were President of Earth, I'd do something so unexpected that the bad guys would freeze long enough to be tackled by the good guys I'd have sent; and yes, I know what I would do).

As well, we're assaulted by pseudo-specialists on telly who yell that you're a bad Republican if you don't obey blindly (that started two days after the attacks) - and the politicos are already in election-mode (ballots casting in 2016 and 2017!).

As well, we're fed pseudo-polls that say that over 80% of the population is in favour of the increased security measures - strategy reading: if you seem to be against the additional security measures, you'll appear to be a minority, and that's not safe (in clear: we're going to make you stay silent by scaring you with invented or twisted polls).

Over the past days on Twitter, I spotted this: 

 

It's rather accurate, if scary.

There are good articles on the topic here (about political sheeple passing laws in emergency), here (about the testimony of an ex-hostage of the plonkers), or here (about the manipulation and lies amongst the bad guys themselves).

And from the 18th century, there's the infamous: "Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety."

I'm currently growling because of a detail. A little something. A bloody millimetre.

You see, when I go to work, we've got two guards at the door now, and I've got to show my badge - and open my handbag.

Legally, the guards have no special power over me. I open my bag because I'm a nice gal (and I need to go to work, and I can't wait for the coppers to show at the door to check my bag), but... the guards are forbidden to touch my bag. "Visual inspection", and that's it.

Of course, the bloke who checked my bag the past days puts his hand on the side of my bag - and he's doing that with everybody (I witnessed it myself and I asked my students).

I may end up being in trouble, but if I deal with the same bloke next time, I'll ask his boss to send him back to training.

If I allow this millimetre to escape me, what next? Registering as a slave for the bad guys? Allowing a male in a blue shirt to check if I'm hiding anything inside my body?

Sweet something. The bad guys must be laughing... but not for long. I'm going to defend all my legal millimetres, and I'll let no one limit my Liberty - it's already tough enough being a gal on this planet. I don't need more plonkers to bully me.

I feel like taking my favourite towel and raising my wand to get a lift home (yes, mixing fandoms. Problem?).

'Why Aren't You a Copycat?'

The question in the title of this post? Oh, it's just what a relative recently told me. Apparently, the secret of a good life is to do what my neighbours do.

Yeah...

Right.

I could read this as a "we want you to be happy (or happier than you already are)", but in fact, it all boils down to success and money.

Yesterday, I was treated to a lecture that was meant to bully me into doing what "that wonderful neighbour's doing to improve its life" because I "clearly need more money".

I'm not equipped to understand that need for greed, and I'm not equipped to care about what people I barely know do with their lives. If they're happy, good for them, but I'm me, myself, and I, and I don't want to copy a stranger in the faint hope to please DNA-related sharks.

My mistakes are mine, and my triumphs are mine, too.

It's days like this I'd like to head back home to Mars. I'm sure Curiosity and the other rovers are cool company...

Opposable Thumbs Aren't a Licence to Kill

I'm quite furious, so don't mind the cosmic-sized growl (and do click back if you believe that bipeds are the crème de la crème on our planet - oh, or if you like politically correct crap).

I recently signed a petition to try to save a Mamma Bear who was accused of killing an off-trail hiker. I've just read that she was slaughtered.

This is what happened and here's a very good statement on the topic.

The first to say that 'she was just an animal, and a dangerous one!' gets Gibbs-smacked with a rolling pin to Kingdom come.

She was a good mother, who was executed (and her two orphaned cubs may be killed or sold to slavery).

The whole situation made me furious: the arrogance of the bipeds, who think they own the rock (no, you don't, Cupcakes; you share it with all the other lives on it), and the officials hiding behind pseudo-science in order to sell their 'We had to kill her' to the average sheeple who'll think "Oh, well, if there was no other way... They know what they're doing; it's their job" (I want to cuff the idiotic sheeple and bite the officials for resorting to slaughter).

And then, there's the first comment on the page of the second link I just gave you, where a delightful biologist resorts to comparing apple and cheese by mentioning a story where a bear, in town (fake gasp & Sarcasm font firmly on), invaded someone's house. Hashtag Crikey.

I find it revealing that the first comment talks about a completely different scenario.
If I were to find a bear in my flat, I'd wonder how he got in (we don't leave our doors open where I'm parked), and then I'd run outside before calling people equipped to deal with him (we don't keep firearms either - we have no need for them).

It must be cool to think that you're so special that you can invade an animal's territory and have it killed if it nibbles you, but the animal cannot visit your house. 'Oh, nooooo! It's an animal that must stay where it belongs!' Well, sorry, Cupcake, but it belong on this planet, just like you. You're not special because you can hold a can of soda or load a gun - not in my book, at least.
If I were to venture in Yellowstone, I'd be on the bears' turf, and they can do whatever they want. If I'm stupid enough to not follow the safety rules and I end up turned into bear snack, that's karma (and probably a spot of Darwinism).

Seriously, do read Dr Bekoff's page (still link #2); it's enlightening on many levels.

A very good mother was massacred because some bipeds wanted to punish her for being a bear.

All bipeds stepping outside (parks and forests aren't just enough, as the average plonker will go scratch the head of a cobra for a good selfie) should sign standard waivers to prevent future slaughters.

I really wish I could keep Curiosity company; things must be quiet on Mars!

Life & Art & Abuse & Boycott

I love documentaries, and I love Auntie Beeb.

I quite like Victoria Coren Mitchell. I like her in Only Connect, and when I spotted How to Be Bohemian, I watched the three parts of this documentary.

First, it was very interesting, and I always like to learn new things.

Then, in the second part, when Mrs Coren Mitchell talked about Eric Gill (a man I'd never heard of until that moment - because I'm still not omniscient or plugged into some Akashic Records), I wanted to give her a hug and thank her for no longer wanting to see some of his art after learning that he'd abused his young daughter and that he'd used her to inspire him.

Apparently, Eric Gill couldn't keep his equipment in his trousers (so to speak, since it seems that he took to wearing dresses and robes - to be always ready??). He screwed many, and on his list, his own sister can be found.

All right. I'm not going to be your average prude, but I can't help imagining a man manipulating his sibling into having sex with him rather than having her agreeing to fuck her brother. But, let's try to be hugely tolerant, and let's say two consenting adults had some fun together. Not our business. Fine.

But... according to the man himself, if his diary's to be believed, he raped at least two of his daughters. There is no possible way we, as humans, can hear that and not wish to send a creature like Gill into complete oblivion (if I could go Egyptian on the guy and erase him from History, I'd be tempted).

But then, Mrs Coren Mitchell interviewed Fiona MacCarthy, a biographer of Gill, and then I realized that when it comes to standing by the victims, we're not out of the wood.

Mrs Coren Mitchell asked if we should know the background of a work of art. If the life of the "artist" goes into illegality, shouldn't we stop the person? Being an artist doesn't give anyone a licence to abuse or hurt anyone else (artists can drink, smoke, and snort powder as much as they want; I don't care - as long as they don't try to force me to join or attempt to break my favourite vase).

So, here, we're talking about a man who raped his own children. Even if he had a brain tumour that could explain his vagrant prick, he was an abusive manipulator and a sex predator in my book.

And here comes the immunity card for him: he's an artist. <insert fake gasp here>

When asked if the real life and the art should be viewed as separate, Mrs MacCarthy made me cringe.

     Fiona MacCarthy: I can separate them. And I think that it's the kind of dichotomy in human behaviour that somebody who can behave so reprehensibly can produce these works of supreme art.      

     Victoria Coren Mitchell: Something like the Girl in Bath though, the images he made of his daughter, those erotic images of a naked child. I'm afraid it makes me want to get in a time machine and kneecap him [that's the part that made me want to hug her! I'd lend her a hand!]. Do you find those images beautiful?

       FMC: I still find them beautiful, yes. And if he was a less good artist, I don't think I would bother with him. I don't think that I would be at all concerned with his sexual life or at all interested in it. I think that’s the testing thing. It's this curious tension that produces the rather particular beauty of those images, and I think, perhaps, even that one understands them more deeply by knowing the history.

    VCM: But you might say, well, knowing that he abused his children in this way; yes, one understands better what he was doing in that drawing, and in understanding it, one wants to reject it, no?

     FMC: Well, I wouldn't say that, you see. I think that people who try to police works of art according to what they believe to be the political views or the sexual behaviour of the artist, then they rule out an awful lot of great art. What about Wagner? Do you switch off Wagner because you disapprove of his anti-Semitic views?

       VCM: Yes!

       FMC: You do!? You switch him off!

       VCM: Yeah, I realize that strikes you as terribly philistine…

       FMC: Yes!

      VCM: And I do know it's complicated, I love the poetry of Yeats; he was in his own weird way a sort of Nazi sympathizer. I know these things are complex, and it’s very hard to make an absolute rule, but when I look at those images of Gill’s young daughter, and I know that he abused her; I think it's not something I want to see again.

      FMC: Well, I think that this is a very, very narrow view of art, of society, and that one can’t be so dogmatic. One has to try and take it on board.

This is not victim-blaming, but when someone says, 'Oh, but that Artist is soooooooo good that I can ignore the fact that he (or she) [or it, for all I care] is skinning kittens alive for fun.', then that is deciding to not condemn the fellow biped for doing something bad because that biped is doing something else that you like.

It's simple enough, you put yourself in the shoes (or the paws) of the victim, and you think long and hard how you'd like the rest of the world to come to your rescue. Do you want the coppers to come and stop the abuse, or do you want an art critic or a fan to tell you to be proud of your abuser because he's suuuuuuuuuuuuuuch a grrrrrrreat Aaaaartist? Go on, answer that one.

No amount of genius justifies throwing a victim under the "art" bus.

That's true for Gill. That's true for any abuser who happens to be an artist, like that so-called writer-actor-director who was accused by his step-daughter (the girl is toast in that art world, and the man's still working and getting trophies).

Mind you, that's not limited to art. Have some money (a few billions should work), and you can get away with abusing, say, your step-daughter - the judge will only order you to serve four months - two if you're a nice bloke, coz you lead a "productive life", and your family's important for the community.

When I go shopping, it can take me time because I check that I'm not going to give money to companies that have despicable business habits and/or nasty bosses.

I do the same with artists. I've got a blacklist.

There are enough decent geniuses to entertain us (I didn't know Gill before I watched that documentary, but when I saw his art... I didn't feel a thing. To me, he's in the "nothing to write about" category, and now that I know what he did to his children, I'll ignore anything by him. Not because I'm a philistine - I'm not, but because he's not that good, and as a man, which is inseparable from the artist, he was a monster).

I'll still enjoy the works of any drunkard, drug addict, libertine, but pardon me, I'll draw the line at rapist... and no amount of justification will make me agree with you if you want to keep enjoying the works of any biped guilty of that crime.

That's not a "very, very narrow view of art, of society", that's the position of a survivor who knows what it's like to be in the claws of a monster with the rest of the world ignoring your plight. So gimme another tune, Cupcake, and behave like a decent human being and shun the monsters - quite often, they're overpriced brats who are selling you some invisible cloth. The sooner you see that the king is naked, that their art is empty, and that you're standing by a plonker who's dragging you into the abuse, the better.

*curtseys, & hops off the soapbox*

The Gullibility of the Standard Dru

'Oh, come on! Show us!'

That's what I heard a few hours ago when I told my own version of the Dursleys that I'd started a new painting.

I wanted to wait to show them my first attempt at a portrait (and in a much different style than what I usually do).

But they sounded so genuinely enthusiastic... I caved and e-mailed them a photo of my current painting project.

You see, I want to believe in goodness, positivity, and decency. And that's when I'm a gullible idiot.

Oh, I'm not going to pretend that I'm about to create a Rembrandt (I wish!), but it doesn't look like a made-in-a-drunken-stupor-inside-a-dark-cave Picasso (on a bad day) either.

Then, it was a real festival:

- It looks nothing like him. 

Yeaaa! Except that I didn't tell you who it was supposed to be, and you've just mentioned his name, so...

- Did you use that trick of yours to draw the portrait? 

Yes, I did.
The thing is, I can draw (no Leonardo here, but I can produce something decent; all the more since this is for fun and I'm not pretending to be a genius), but when I want to be quick... Yep, I came up with a trick. A trick that I told the Dursleys about because I was happy with this trick (and I've since discovered that some pros have something slightly similar, so... So there!). Biiiiiiiiiiig mistake, because now I'm even more a clumsy, ungifted amateur in their heads, and 'Ahahah! Dru's so funny thinking that she's any good, whilst she's only using a stupid trick'.

Oh, and the best:

-Well, it's not finished <insert pregnant pause here>, but he is.

Of course, I had to be reminded of my role-model and hero's death in such a callous way.

Could you twist that blade to your right, please? I think you haven't sliced all of my heart.

I know my voice turned icy, and my DNA-related, cowardly bullies felt bad - for not having the guts to push their little game any further.

Then, they started talking about my birthday. Did they want to know fluffy things about it? Nope. They just wanted to know who, amongst my friends, had forgotten to mention it!
The thing is, there's my legal birthday, which is nice, but not that important on my calendar, and there's... my chosen birthday. You can bet the Muggles don't know about that one!

So, you see, I still cave from time to time because I'd like it to be true that people change, but I'm beginning to think that I should stick to my gun (i.e.: People do not change, improve or become nicer).

When the painting's done, you'll get to see it. My Dursleys? Definitely... Yes... When pigs fly.

Get a Life, Pay Attention & Use More Brain Cells

About last week's events in France, this post's going to be in three growls parts:

- against the brainwashed plonkers who murdered innocent people

- against the idiots who are somehow blaming the victims (and silly bipeds in general)

- against the sheeple who are ready to surrender to terror 'coz'

The bonus shall be about all the awesome people who are reacting beautifully.

So, here we go:

Point 1:
If you're the "mastermind", chief, plonker-in-command behind any "terror" (read: cowardly) act, there are two possibilities:
A) You're a warranted nutcase smoking the bad lawn, and then you're a hopeless creature that will be useful only in fertilizer form (the sooner, the better).
B) You're a twisted plonker who brainwashes people in order to control them and/or make money from their work and/or death. You deserve to rot slowly. Full stop.
[I can't remember if I've stated it anywhere in this blog before, but I don't believe in the death penalty. Since I don't believe in Heaven or whatever, I view death as the easy way out. Despicable bipeds deserve to live a very long life - working from oubliettes in order to compensate their victims.]

It's quite easy, Cupcake...
You're allowed to be shocked, angry, sad, annoyed, but no one died and made you king (or queen), and you've got no right to kill anyone because your "deep" belief that the Supreme Being has been insulted makes you think that you can grab a weapon and start shooting people.
If you want to defend your Supreme Being (you know, the one who, because you think He/She/It is a Supreme Being doesn't need you, the human gnat on Earth, to defend Him/Her/It because He/She/It is a SUPREME BEING, and if you believe that He/She/It created everything, then you're not needed to avenge Him/Her/It - incidentally, if you do hear His/Her/Its voice or voices, phone Bedlam, you need medical help), write a poem, start a petition against the person or persons who offended you (telling him/her/them that they're idiots - or be inventive, but always polite), paint a painting, draw a drawing, sue someone, BUT DO NOT RESORT TO VIOLENCE.

The foot soldiers of terrorism need to be educated. with more brain cells being active, you quickly realize that killing people makes you leave humanity.
The plonkers from point 1B who are using children to blow up people are genitalia-lacking clots.

Basically, it's simple: don't kill people because they say (draw, sculpt, etc...) something that you don't like. You tell them that you disagree, you mock them, you write theses against them, or... *fake gasp* you ignore them because they're not worth your time.

If your so-called faith is shaken by people with a different belief, first you're thin-skinned and you're not fit for survival (and you need to get out of your cave more often), and then your "faith" isn't that deep. Actual, deep faith is never shaken by anything from "outside" (that's where I was until I stopped being afraid, and I apostatised; I know what I'm talking about, and I can still give you lessons about faith).
If you're bothered by anything, work to prove that you're better than that.
As well... Get. A. Life. You're not helping by killing your brothers; you're not helping your so-called cause, and you're not even the real McCoy, or you wouldn't be killing people (this is not 2015 BC, when cults started wars and genocide; get on with the script).
Plant a field, build something,... Do not kill.

I watched again To Have and Have Not recently, and the assorted plonkers need to realize that there will always be people to stand up to them. Always.

Paul de Bursac: You don't think much of me, Captain Morgan. You're wondering why they have chosen me for this mission. I wonder too. As you know, I am not a brave man. On the contrary, I'm always frightened. I wish I could borrow your nature for a while, Captain. When you meet danger, you never think of anything except how you will circumvent it. The word "failure" does not even exist for you. While I, I think always, suppose I fail and that I am frightened.
Harry Morgan: Yeah, I can easily see how it wouldn't take much courage to get a notorious patriot off Devils' Island. But uh, but just for professional reasons, I'd like to know how you're going to do it.
Paul de Bursac: We will find a way. It might fail, and if it does and I'm, I'm still alive, I will try to pass on my information, my mission, to someone else, perhaps to a better man who does not fail. Because there is always someone else. That is the mistake the Germans always make with people they try to destroy. There will be always someone else.

On to Point 2:
There are chums of the plonkers who will always be ready to say that the killing cowards did what needed to be done - back to "Get. A. Life." (and a brain).

There are idiots who will say or write that 'Yes, it's a tragedy, but [mind my Rule #11] the victims brought it upon themselves (to be killed/raped/maimed/WHATEVER) because they'd offended their attackers, or where at the wrong place at the wrong time.
Soldiers have one word for that: chickenshit (that's "poppycock" in civilian parlance).
Nothing ever justifies killing people because they said something, drew something that you didn't like or were doing something that you don't approve of.
If you start saying 'It was wrong, but (...)', you stand by the side of the culprits, and that's because you're:
A) stupid
B) playing ostrich and refusing to say loud and clear that the culprits had no right to do whatever they did.
C) brainwashed and can't make the difference between freedom (of speech, movement or anything) and safeguards put in place by society*.

*: allow me to add something here. Some people are saying that there are limits to free speech. Yes! One doesn't yell 'Fire!' in a theatre (if you do and you get trampled to death, that's instant karma), but if you do not show respect to Zeus or Thor (and you make fun of their followers), it may be unfunny or bad taste, but that's never a reason to be killed.
Some will say that there are different laws all around the globe. Indeed, but it doesn't mean that all these laws are fair: in some countries, I'd legally need a male guardian to be allowed to breathe - that's slavery, and I'll fight against it because I may not be a citizen of those countries, but this is my planet, and I want all my sisters and brothers to be free, educated, and healthy (and happy if possible). Our species has been messing things up for too many centuries; time to grow up, and get working.
The Gods can surely take care of themselves, and arrogant bipeds shouldn't massacre in their names (and that's when I wish that Zeus or Thor were real and they'd blast to oblivion the arrogant bipeds).

Then there are other people who are saying 'What happened in ABC is a tragedy, but let's not forget what's happening in DEF, or GHI, or XYZ!'.
It's not a competition, Cupcake.
Horror and intolerance must be fought everywhere (and that's why learning and teaching History is so important).
I remember the soldiers who were frozen in the trenches in 1914-1918, I remember the victims of Holodomor, I weep for the citizens of North Korea, I want our Nigerian little sisters to go back to their homes and their families, I still miss the Bamiyan Buddhas, and I'll laugh at any plonker telling me that I cannot make fun of him because he believes in the Tooth Fairy (he's welcome to write me a sonnet ridiculing me - or a haiku if a sonnet's too complicated for his three brain cells).
I probably read too many newspapers, and I remember too much History, but that's because I want to be a better citizen of the world.
Of course, we can't fight everywhere at once but, one step at a time, all evil, intolerance, and obscurantism must be fought - or human should no longer be a synonym for kind.


And Point 3:

Some will say that when Benjamin Franklin wrote “Those who would give up essential Liberty, to purchase a little temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety” he meant something else (and boy! Can they write convoluted texts that are mostly cryptic and quite beside the point but that serves their agenda).
Whatever Mr Franklin meant at the time, the modern sentiment found in these words is accurate today.
We can see how the smokescreen of Safety can be sold to brainwashed sheeple (American TSA anyone? You know, the ones who illegally irradiate you and pat you down without being police officers - that's illegal, too).
I got it just this afternoon when I objected to my handbag being "checked" (just looking, no touching); I said it was useless because the charming boy who checked it saw only a part of it, and today I was working in a place where all sorts of chemicals are stored (bad guys don't have to bring anything in, they can shop inside - do read Daniel Pennac's Au bonheur des ogres). A colleague then told me that 'it had to be done for safety'.
Honestly, if people paid attention, we wouldn't need that theatre to make sheeple feel safer (the real bad guys have already planned something else, it's the average nutcases that we need to spot - and one cannot do that whilst glued to a mobile screen... just saying).
I'll keep growling, but I'll show my bag at work. Any store asking me that can dream on (especially one like in Au bonheur des ogres).
If we allow politicos to tell us what we must allow to be done to us, allegedly for our own protection, that's just like my needing a male guardian in some countries. Sorry, I'll follow the laws that already exist, but I'll use my lovely brain, my knowledge and a healthy dose of common sense, and if a politico asks me to give him my home keys, my bank account details, and all my Internet passwords, I'll tell "it" to go fry somewhere else.
I bet some so-called terrorists are dying with laughter when they see gutless responses, empty threats, and general inaction - and when they see countries make to quake in their collective boots for nothing (back to TSA: they've never caught any bad guy, but some of their people have committed crimes, but hey! That's for your own good).

Safety, yes, but not in a stupid and scared way - or the bad guys have won (and they must not).

Promised bonus:
There can be a lot of positive energy in the face of most horrific tragedies. If we actually work (not just say things), we could do so much good.
We could improve education, equality, opportunities.
If we treat one another like cousins (even if we disagree sometimes, like in all families), humanity could have a bright future.
If kindness cannot overcome pettiness, stupidity and sheer evil, there's no point in being here (I bet the Easter Bunny and Ma'at would agree with me).

'She's guilty!!!'

Preliminary note: I considered not posting this one, but the amount of sexism and victim-blaming I've read today is making me see red, so before I blow a fuse, I give you a growly post on a thorny topic...






I'm back home, and I'm angry... because I was silly enough to watch the news (I should stick to newspapers and Twitter; those can already make me growl, but usually, I don't get to put a face on plonkers saying stupid things).

So, there was this section about the death of a baby, killed by his violent and abusive father.

Allow me to yell this in red: WE MUST EDUCATE PEOPLE ABOUT ABUSE AND HOW TO HELP VICTIMS!!!

It was a complete festival of victim-blaming in that section:

- the neighbours: heard the shouts and the wife being beaten, but they did nothing and said nothing.

- the wife's mother and father-in-law: scolded the husband, and stopped going to see their daughter after the husband threatened them with a knife.

- the wife's father: he tried to protect her by telling her to leave, but now he blames her for staying.

- the various shop owners in town: saw the black eyes and bruises on the wife, but they "didn't want to get involved" because it was "none of their business".

When the wife got pregnant and her husband kept beating her, she went to the police.

What happened?

The husband got a few hours of community service. Awwwwwwwwwww!

Now, he's killed their baby.

I've just seen the Prosecutor declare calmly that the mother is somehow guilty as well because she didn't protect her child.

What about going to court six months ago and trying to get protection - and being left alone with a drinking sociopath?

What about being brainwashed into believing that she couldn't do a single thing without her husband (as per several shop owners' testimonies!)?

What about being another victim in this? Just a victim.

People who've never been abused can't imagine what it is. As I've already said before, my own mother is deeply convinced that I could have left my abuser in the wink of an eye, and that I should have been back to "life as it was before" five minutes after leaving him.

*snort* That's a pretty dream.

Abuse victims are in a form of hell on earth, and manipulation is a form of torture.

Yes, some mothers will react and leave when their companions start attacking their children. Some can do that, because that act of violence becomes a freeing trigger that helps them make a change.

Unfortunately, not all can do that, and the Earthlings should be told and taught that until they understand that abuse victims have their souls shackled and restrained.

I'm quite angry because what I saw made it clear that the wife is a victim, too, and the Prosecutor clearly felt contempt for her.

Her parents fled, the whole town turned deaf and blind, the police and the court gave a half-hearted slap on the wrist to her abuser, and now that the murderer she couldn't escape has killed her baby, she's probably going to end up in jail.

If I were the judge... I'd make sure she gets proper help, and I'd add the number of years the Law wants her to spend in jail to the sentence of the real culprit... but that's me, a Survivor who knows how quick and easy it is to fall for a predator.

Instinctive Strategy

I hope I'm wrong, but... I think it's not a bad thing to put my feelings in writing here. If it turns out I was being paranoid and nothing happens, this post will look silly. If my instinct was spot on, it'll be a testimony about the consequences of what I wrote about here and here.

It turns out that I'm fighting depression (that's not something new, and I'm lucky to be seeing more light than shadows these days), and I have PTSD, which is why the May bullying incident hurt me so much.

My bosses and administrative colleagues have been given a summary of the situation, but since they know that a few lazy idiots will sometimes try their luck, they weren't bothered about the liar I had to deal with (I've got a printed file of proof showing I'm fully innocent and I've been nastily accused by someone to whom I gave a second chance, and no one wanted to even read that file at work).

The one colleague to whom the "affair" was handed even told me that perhaps my accuser was stressed (someone else mentioned a possible "cry for help").

Now... I know that the configuration is possible, but... when I'm stressed, I have gastritis, I don't spew nasty lies about people I barely know.

Let's imagine that it was a cry for help. I said that something had to be done, and nothing was done. More problems can be expected, then.

That being said, with the amount of lies, twists and silliness from that person, I do believe that this biped was trying his luck, hoping I'd be a fool... or I'd cave because of the false allegations. Wrong gal for that.

Those lies may have unsettled me and pushed me into a short episode of PTSD, but I keep growling, even when I can't sleep well because I'm unfairly accused by a plonker.

If it turns out that the culprit has a brain issue, I'll visit him in Bedlam (or wherever), with treats, and I'll be kind.

If, as I fear, that nightmare-on-legs is trying to be the clumsiest manipulator in the History of bullying, I'll see him again. Sadly, I do believe that it's the kind of biped who could become violent...

I often have rather good instinct.

I'm not too bad in strategy.

I think the issue is far from being over... but Merlin! Do I hope that I end up being wrong!!! [Update in December]

Conspiracy Theory (May Contain a Dose of Common Plonker)

Allow me to start this with banking woes (you'll see it's convoluted, but it weirdly makes sense). 

Once more, I'm dealing with banking plonkers who are abusing the Law because they think no one is going to pay attention or check what they say.

I do understand that the UE is trying to take collective measures in order to prevent funds to be sent to terrorists and to avoid the average money laundering, but... there is a sub-part to that law that says that they're allowed to work case by case and decide who is potentially a threat.

Just today, I've seen a banker refuse a retiree to open a new account (well, it took them a frigging month to react and notice that there was a "problem") for a stupid (oh... and incidentally just plain illegal) reason.
In my book, it's just that the bank manager doesn't have the guts to allow the opening of the account because that biped had decided to follow the main rule (which is incidentally wrong on that head here, according to two official sources - but never mind that detail).

It's utterly stupid. With exactly the same "legal" situation, the same kind of account was opened in another bank a few months ago.

That retiree isn't planning to start a live remake of Saving Grace or to do anything illegal; it's just about not having all the eggs in the same basket...

Well, that bank has lost one client - and me. And once I've moved, I'm going to send an icy letter to the highest plonker I can find in that bank to tell it that its subordinates are robots who can't think by themselves (all the more since there is a bloody loophole!!!).

I'm about to make a sexist remark, but the banker who accepted to use the loophole was a man; the one who didn't is a woman (and Merlin! Was she limited and patronizing! Coming from someone sending a retiree packing, that was a bit rich!). 

Just because that girl has made me waste time, as I worked to prove that I was right, and she was wrong... and because moving my account is going to make me waste more time, this is war.

Our contact in the stupid branch pointed out that the manager wasn't there to give the green light.

*fake gasp* 

Do you mean that the rest of that branch is on hold when the boss isn't there? Crikey! The manager must be quite something!

Apparently, they've never heard of delegating duties (or using their brains, mind you). Idiotic sheeple.

It's strangely things like that that make me want to believe in most conspiracy theories. Yes, I did write 'want to'. Because I'd rather have the people at the helm be cold-hearted manipulators, who plan wars years ahead, make deals with the enemy in secret and take us all for slaves that they can use as they please because... Well, the alternative is that they're as limited, stupid, idiotic as the gal at the bank, and they muddle along as clumsily as they could.

It may be silly, but I prefer dealing with heartless people with excellent brains than with the average plonker elected by chance and vaguely coping with everything.

Then again, if most sheeple are representative of the selection of bipeds on earth, perhaps there are only lucky plonkers. Perhaps there are no conspiracy theories, just dire situations created by the empty skulls of inadequate idiots who associate with other idiots who are incapable of doing anything correctly...

Dear Universe, I really do hope we're being manipulated. If so, that's awful, but the alternative is just too scary!

Irony&Sarcasm Alert

All right... there's something in the air.

This time, I'm having a hard time with this.

I started shaking my head from the very start: in BBC's Sherlock, John and Sherlock have to tell everybody that they're just friends, because two blokes living together can't be just "friends", and nobody believes them.

*cough*

Sweetie, by Series 3, you should realize that this is a continuing joke that the writers have decided to keep because it works and it makes people chuckle or smile.

It's a very good thing that I'm not home, where I finish my cuppa whilst reading the news at my desk, otherwise I'd have killed my keyboard and monitor, spitting my tea, when I read this: 'The creators of the series, Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss (the latter is a gay man) have explained that they wanted male friendship to be at the heart of the story.'.
Mr Gatiss is a gifted writer; full stop. His being non-heterosexual, and yet writing about Sherlock and John as just "friends" isn't a point in favour of the argument.

I do understand that many people (putting both sexes in the same basket here) are unaware of slash and/or yaoi, and unaware of the other many people who are quite fan of pairing same-sex characters together (I know that Holmes and Watson are just friends, and that Rizzoli and Isles are just friends, as well - that doesn't change the fact that my lil' slashy heart beats a tad faster when the canon writers feed the illusion of slashiness).

The journalist must be living in a quiet place, in quiet circles; slash is all around, and friendship isn't an endangered species.

We're going back to the "gay cake" in Northern Ireland, and once more, The Irish Times misses the point (but serves Rome beautifully!).

I still haven't checked what the local laws say, but that's not important as human rights and common decency should be the only guide (and yes, I do mean all over that sad, petty, disheartening rock that we call home).

This is a happy mix between 'I want to have the right to bully, and not be called a bully because that's giving me a bad reputation and my skin isn't thick enough' and 'the world is about ME, ME, ME, and I want to do only what I like' (hint: being an adult isn't always "fun". Sorry, Cupcake).

If you make a living making cakes, you take the order, bake the cake, and hand it to your customer with a bright smile.

Apart from the fact that someone wants a free pass to discriminate against someone different, it's an open door to being childish. As a teacher, should I be allowed to toss out the students who aren't good enough according to my horoscope? As an editor, should I be allowed to read the first and last page of a novel or a script and say that I've done my job? No, that's not how the world works.

I've got a hard time dealing with weddings (for personal reasons). If I were a baker, should I (and would I) tell Mary and John to got to hell with their wedding cake order? My answer is: No, I wouldn't. I'd make the most beautiful cake, because they believe in weddings and married life, and because their beliefs do not threaten mine.

It's all about not being afraid of the other, and knowing oneself, and being strong enough to not be bothered and frightened.

Incidentally, it's relatively well accepted that the first to mention the Nazis loses the debate. I would like to add to the list of debate-losers the ones who quote/include/mention/think about Queen Marie-Antoinette in anything related to cakes since the cake quote attributed to her is a fake.

The last paragraph loses the plot (and the debate): "It is both sad and ironic that the cake featured an image of the two Muppets pals. It is sad, because it means that even children’s programmes are fair game in the culture wars. It is ironic, because the real message of Ernie and Bert is about learning to get along with people, even when they are very different to you.".

You see, there are two things.

First, this is 2014 and everything is potentially slash-able or yaoi-zable. Get a copy of the book, and deal with it. It may not be your cup of tea, but it's a cultural fact all around the globe. (Join us... we have fruitcakes and fancy teas)

And then, if the real message of Ernie and Bert is about getting along with people, even "when they are very different to you", this shows that the journalist is one silly bunny because she's just proved that the bakery was bigoted and did discriminate people who are "different". That is ironic and sad... and the bullies don't want to look in the mirror and see how heartless they are because they feel entitled to behave the way they do, and to treat the sinners (according to them) like lepers. Veeeeeeeery tolerant, enlightened, modern - and yes, that's me being sarcastic.

Business as Usual

Sarcastic title again, my sweets, because of this piece of "writing".

I do understand that the situation is different in Northern Ireland*, but... the arguments in this piece are just too angering (and so, I get to growl here, because a tweet wouldn't be enough to make me feel better).

So many things are being mixed up and misrepresented in this paper that it's annoying.

First, either people are in business or they're in religion, but since there are sooooooooooo many varieties of superstitions religions, no one's allowed to say "Mine is the true one. The only one!". Of course, people say that, and believe it, but it's wrong - and Zeus will want to have a word with you if you disagree that it's wrong.
[Checks to see that the Sarc font is on.
It is.
Firmly.]

I'll blame my reaction on my education (that was extremely open-minded and tolerant) and on my addictions to science fiction (where there can be a better, more tolerant and loving world in the future).

If your job is to make cakes... you make cakes. I'm not even going to attempt to dive into the local laws around the globe and what they say in each "village" or even on each "street".

If you make a living selling cakes, you take an order, you make the cake, you get the money, and you give your customer the cake with a smile. You can rant and growl in the kitchen, at the pub, at home, on Fakebook (sic), Twatbook (sic, coz I haven't recovered from the Twitter profile fiasco) or any Yahellgroup or whatever, but you do your job. Full stop.

Being religious doesn't give anyone the right to get some special treatment - all the more if the exception you want for yourself is causing another human being to be treated differently.

It's not about a business and its right to be religious at work. It's all about bigots wanting to get a free pass to tell another human being "Sorry, Cupcake, you're not like us. You're inferior. You're barely human according to my book, and I feel that I have the right to treat you like a second class citizen. If people don't look too closely, I'll even try to treat you like shit because you're not like me.".

The person who wrote that paper uses the example of feminists being forced to make a cake for anti-choice people. Fine.

I'm a feminist. I would cuff the first anti-choice wanker who'd tell me how to live my life. However... if I were a baker and anti-choice patrons came to my shop, I'd take care of them just like any customers..............

Well, okay... almost. I can well picture myself telling them that their "theme" isn't something that I've ever made (and that would be true!), and I'd propose to charge them a bit more - let's say 10% (truly, without any hidden agenda on my part, I feel that if you make something that's not on your usual list of activities, but you agree to give it a try, you deserve a bonus).

If they agreed to the extra and I agreed to the order, I'd make them any kind of cake (no funny trick or anything - just doing my job).

I'll go a step farther, if the anti-choice people gave me a slice of their cake, I'd eat it. The same goes for neo-Nazis (and Merlin knows they make me sick).

Incidentally, I mention Nazis because some NI politicos have been comparing the people who wanted the "gay" cake and the ones who support them as Nazis or the PC Gestapo [We need to make these plonkers understand that the first to mention the Nazis loses the right to add anything to the debate and is kindly invited to go take roots on the Naughty Step].

It's not about politics, equality or being in 2014 in a country that's NOT a theocracy.

It's always about bullying.

The bullies want a free pass to be nasty, but they don't want anyone to tell them that they're being mediaeval, intolerant, bigoted, petty, mean and cruel. If you do point the finger to show the world that they're bullies, they'll point back at you and yell that you're being intolerant (that's still Bullying 101).

The last paragraph of the paper shows it well: 'Seeking to compel others to conform to approved cultural values is a totalitarian impulse. And it derives from a smug, corpulent complacency that assumes the right to have your cake, whatever the chosen topping, and eat it.'

"Totalitarian"? What about the people who refused WORK? How open-minded are they? 

"Smug"? Bloody hell, we're talking about a cake with Sesame Street characters on top: how is that a problem? Oh, yes! There's the idea that these (imaginary!) characters stand for a non-heterosexual couple. And there's the text "Support Gay Marriage"... Why shouldn't a marriage be gay? Oh! You mean that adjective not as "joyful", but as "non-heterosexual" again... Oh, yes, love is such an awful thing! Perhaps we should go back to things as they were when parents decided who their children would marry. Or even better, decide who can get married and that exclusively in an heterosexual relationship (if we push that a tad farther, people who can't have children aren't needed in the gene pool and should be disposed of, as they've got no slaves nothing to give to the Church [Winning denomination to be announced after a Crusade - or to be just the highest bidder]. Oddly, that solution reminds me of something... about seventy years ago, I think. Not giving any name. Nope.

Human rights aren't privileges to be given to a chosen few. It's a right for all.

No baker has the right to tell a patron 'You're not human in my book, off you fuck.'.

What's next? A chemist telling a woman he doesn't want to sell her a box of Plan B? Oops. My bad!

*: I do understand that things are different in Northern Ireland, but from outside, it looks as if they're sometimes trying to outdo their brothers in the south in the Bigotry Department. I must say that I was shocked that the local politicos didn't vote to allow equal marriage. This really reeks of Rome somehow.