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.

Incompetence or Complete Lack of Respect?

I just cannot decide.

I'm still growling about the hacked e-mail account (check a few of my previous posts - the list's beginning to be too long to add all the links).

I'm monitoring a forum where other victims are sending flares and SOS, and the common theme is that the provider doesn't know what the left foot's doing whilst the right hand is flailing madly... and you get help if you're lucky (there was one gal who got her account back within a day whilst others are still waiting after over a month - and her case was similar to others; she just got lucky!!).

As well, what I particularly love is the tech bipeds who take me for the village idiot when I point out that they have everything they need to know to whom the account belongs on file and it's idiotic to ask for a snail-mail letter to prove what they already have.

They can be patronizing. Some lie, as well (the last one I talked to yesterday afternoon spinned me a lie that I'm not planning to swallow peacefully: I'm phoning them again tomorrow, and I'll be the one serving them that lie to see what someone else will say about it).

Sometimes, they slip and they tell the truth: they were changing a server when hackers used a security gap to steal clients' passwords. Because they store their password without encryption, and because they were hacked, hundreds of customers have lost their primary accounts.

Since that provider only uses one password without any additional security, the hackers could plunder the accounts that are now blocked (or are they?). There's no warning either; the provider sees spam being sent, they block your account; contact the faithful, paying customers?? Nooooo!

Many accounts were created back when that company was starting, and when they expended, they forgot to ask the customers to change the status of these accounts. The provider's new website ignored all these accounts, so when the hacking happened, there was no way to try to get them back, but, hey! It's the customers' fault. They should all have a PhD in IT! Sheesh!!

In the meantime, the helpline bipeds are unhelpful, arrogant, unpleasant, and incompetent, and they lie (I'm not even sure their "Hello!" is sincere).

Yes, that provider is cheap, but when you have a tiny problem (or a big one), you can go frell yourself slowly.

Maybe they work with Big Pharma, and they want us to invest in some strong antidepressant.

What's for sure is that they recruited good lil' golems who obey their masters and who've got a black hole between the ears!

I'm not done with them.

I'm not planning to lose that war... but, fuck! These wankers are a bloody waste of time (and oxygen).

Gibbs-smackworthy

It's only been a day, and I'm not convinced about 2016...

I had to block a denialist on Twitter: it was trying to convince me that even the American soldiers knew that the Korean (and Japanese, as well) girls actually enslaved for sex (for whatever reasons) were just prostitutes. Well, in my book, when you're sold for money, you become a slave.

It's the second time that happens to me. What's frightening is that these illiterate, truth-denying trolls are quite young, and if you confront them with facts, they become aggressive. Swell.

As well, the e-mail saga goes on.

A gal on a forum was told that the provider was hacked (the stored passwords are not encrypted!), but they put the blame on the victims.

We're going to try to find a biped with more than three brain cells between the ears, coz they've got all our info on file, and someone with a brain - and not afraid of using it! - could solve this in two minutes. We got a message informing us that the account would be unblocked ("and please change your password as quickly as possible"), but they deleted that account from the main account page when they modified their website's layout so we can't access it!

Honestly, I want to ship someone in space without a suit.

Panem et... "musique"

The year, 2015.

First day of summer.

Beautiful weather.

And yet, I am going to growl (not because it's a Sunday, and it's usually the day I have time to do so).

Today's the Fête de la Musique, and some copper has AGAIN given permits to two bars to have both their live bands performing on the street, with sound systems, and as the day goes by, the bands are becoming louder.

I had a bit of hope earlier as Bar #2 installed their "stage" a bit late, and Bar #1 had first invited a band that wasn't too loud (the singer couldn't carry a tune to save his life, but that's a tradition with that bar's musical guests).

Now, I've got two bands competing for the attention of the sheeple.

I should probably take this as an opportunity to understand why the Romans were so fond of the circus, but my brain's melting through my ears because of the awful din that's being made outside (and I'd be more interested in a Voodoo dolls crash course right now).

I'm not the only one growling because their fun is making this day horrible and unpleasant, but since there are two bars making an awful lot of money selling food and beer to the sheeple, the ones who'd like to have some Mozart on their MP3 players will have to shut up and stand the noises whilst they last.

I'll have to stand it, but I'm going to call the coppers' headquarters first thing tomorrow in order to know why there were two permits. In Rome, at least, no one brought the circus to your flat if you wanted some quiet, and the first to tell me 'But it's just for a day and just a few hours.' gets to meet my rolling pin...

The Right Cuppa - In Praise of Tea

I'm going to use again a line that I used to talk about cheese with a vegan: 'Leave it alone!'

This time, I'm not going to defend my addiction to cheese whilst chatting with someone who tried to label it as animal abuse; it's all about tea.

I must admit that when I saw the title, I blinked. As I read the article, I kept blinking. And I kept thinking that someone was in need of a good cuppa, or he needed to admit to himself that he's a closet coffee-lover (and that it's not a sin).

I can drink the lowest kind of tea (I stop at Lipton, for personal reasons), and I can have milk, or not.

Usually, when I'm home, I don't have milk, so I drink my tea black (sometimes, I don't even add any sugar - for literary reasons that I shan't explain here).

A delightful Oxonian lady taught me to brew properly (she was on the "tea first" side; then again, if we're to believe that it all boils down to the quality of our china cups, she had outstanding pieces and was brought up in a very good family, who probably poured tea first since the 19th century).

I'm quite Zen in the kitchen, but there are a few things that I buy that are on the posh side. My Korean soups are cheap, but I love them. My rice is the best Thai quality. I make my bread and pasta from any kind of flours.

When I'm at home, I'm extremely picky with my teas. I buy exotic flavoured and scented blends from Mariage Frères. I have a "baby kettle", and a special spoon-filter for the lovely leaves that will brew in one of my favourite cups. I don't have to scratch my brain or turn into philosophical mood to know that my evening cuppa is a treat I love. Not because of tradition. Because I chose my blend wisely, and it happens that I do enjoy it.

If one was to pour Lipton down my throat, I'd probably growl and bite, but since I get to choose what I drink, there's no problem.

I see many issues in the article that brings me here today:

- unless you're offered a cup of tea in a blend that you loathe, what the heck is wrong with being offered a cup of tea when you visit friends or family. It's a ritual. It's friendship. It's being polite. It's taking time to stop the world and get to catch up on one another's lives, share things, and be nice (and it can make Nana or Cousin Charlotte happy).

- Mr Golby writes 'It’s a lukewarm mug of leaf water, presented as a cure-all for life’s ills'. What's coffee then? A lukewarm mug of crushed-bay water? Perhaps he prefers coffee or water or whatever, but now that several other options are easily available, I just can't picture so many people being such masochists and keeping drinking something they loathe out of tradition. I may be wrong, though, judging by the state of the world, but... I'll try to be optimistic.

- the "when to add the milk" issue is ridiculous. Add yours whenever you want, let me add mine whenever I want, and everything will be all right. We've got three sides: 'milk first', 'milk last', and 'I bloody don't care!!!'.

- the tea-making-at-work fantasy is irrelevant as it could be a nightmare scenario with any kind of beverage. It could be tea; it could be hot cocoa... but the nastiness of tea has to be spread everywhere. [I'm beginning to spot a pattern here]

- speaking of everywhere, tea becomes a symbol of colonialism, and then you know it's evil: if you drink tea, you must be missing being a slave owner (that's how far I read this, and I shook my head in disbelief - okay, my tea is French... which is a double offence, it seems!).

- when I read this: 'Once we examine tea, once we put that central tenet of British culture under the microscope, what else will we start to doubt? Gin? The royal family? Dancing dogs on TV talent shows? Black pudding? An inherent hatred of the French?', I growled loudly, because of the last item. 'An inherent hatred of the French?', but of course! Hello, Cliché! My father is British, and my mother is French; should I wonder if Father is nuts or if I should kill half of me for being such a despicable creature (a bit as if I were an Irish woman with Catholic and Protestant parents, you know)?

I think the colonialism and "French hatred" thingies got my Mrs Hyde a bit out. Then I Googled the writer's name, found his Twitter feed, realized what his line is, and... I went to brew a cup of "Mangue" by Mariage Frères in a lovely china cup.

Some of the comments on the article are worth your time, actually (so click the link, and scroll down to them right away).

Three Trolls Walk into a Bar...

It's not a joke. It's just other episodes in my life and cyber-life.

And since so many people have decided to follow #TwitterSilence today, I think it's a good day to talk about trolls, who are everywhere - and who are usually gutless.
I was tempted to do a bit of silence, as well, but:
a- I'm too angry for that
b- my Mediterranean side won't allow it
c- Twitter probably doesn't care much
d- the trolls may well be having a ball (and I shall try to spoil their fun)

As indicated in the title, I have three trolls (three and a half) to denounce.

In real life, I've got to work with a yappy little runt (it's a biped, but it's a bully).
I shall call that biped "it", because I can, and it's a bugging biped.
It's utterly sexist and when I asked it to not treat me as its maid, it retaliated by doing a tiny little something that was supposed to prevent me from working in normal conditions.
What happened when I suggested to contact the trade unions? I was told to forget about the incident, as it's not important and would do no good.
NEVER.
AGAIN.
I know I'll have to work with it again in the coming months, and if it keeps treating me like its maid, I'll complain officially - after confronting it for being a sexist troll.
I bet it won't have the guts to deny anything because that biped has enough courage to try to do things to bug me if I'm not present, but to my face... no courage whatsoever (like so many trolls and bullies: you confront them, they cave).

The Internet is trolls' playground because they can hide easily and avoid "facing" their victims.
Once, on a forum, I had to deal with someone who, on purpose, uses a kind of broken/pirate language to make itself look cute (and some people fall for that).
It once told me something that was so cryptic that I confronted it, and it instantly back-pedalled. It tried to pretend that I'd misread its words; I conceded that it was possible, but I pointed out that if it were using simple standard language, such things wouldn't happen. I was then subjected to the standard bully technique: it attacked, saying that it couldn't use normal language (which is a bloody lie, but I'm apparently supposed to have the memory of a goldfish and not remember the times when it used fairly normal words and sentence structures). I was turned into the bad guy, and - boy! - did it insist on the fact that I was uncaring, nasty, and basically an angry bitch.
I had to justify myself whilst it was the one who'd started it.
The chat ended up neutrally, but I bet it's proud to have managed to appear as the victim on that forum, but I'm keeping an eye on that bully because it's bound to try again. The next time it tries to play the "look at me playing the victim so that no one is going to dare to say anything negative for fear of being called a 'bully' instead of me" card, I'll go for the jugular.

Bullying trolls have a field day on forums, because we can type a lot. Things are different on Twitter.
I love Twitter. I makes the world smaller, and we can talk to our heroes and thank them or just say 'Hello!'.
And there are weird bunnies there, as well.
I've had the occasional porn tweet, spam tweet, barmy tweet on Twitter, but last month and yesterday, odd and slightly interesting things happened.
I had to deal with one Troll-Light - or two.
Case #1:
Last month, I retweeted an article about the Zimmerman case - specifically about the fact that he's going to get his gun back.
Now, two things, I'm European and live in Europe for the moment. Where I'm parked, only the coppers have guns (and the occasional thugs, but I've never seen one). That's our life here, and everyday citizens do not need guns to feel safe. And then, I do understand History, and I know that the Supreme Court of the United States of America decided to change the meaning of the Second Amendment in order to have it mean what the Average Joes and Janes thought it meant (because it was too darn difficult to put that into some historical perspective).
When I said, using sarcasm, "Of course!" to his being given his gun back, I got a tweet from a complete stranger who agreed with me, sans sarcasm(!), and who pointed out that the kid hadn't been properly educated by his parents.
Seriously? He was blaming the dead teen  - and his parents! I was fuming.
I composed several scathing tweets, but I didn't send those. I took a deep breath (or twelve), and I decided to keep being sarcastic, and so, I told that man that I didn't think that Zimmerman qualified as a "kid", and I hinted - okay, plainly stated - that he'd probably missed my sarcastic tone.
I didn't back down. There's no other way to say it, but I stood my ground on my Twitter.
Now, after deleting his account for a few days, that man is back (I just checked), but his tweets to me have been deleted (because he realized I was sarcastically making fun of him?). Never mind, I archived them.
I think he's a silly Troll-Light because he backed off quickly and didn't even try to call me names for being diametrically opposed to him and his beliefs.
Case #2:
Each time I catch an article about Comfort Women and their fight to get justice from Japan, I tweet it.
I love Japan, and most Japanese people.
Japanese politicos... that's another story: between the ones who slaughter whales and dolphins because that official sub-office of a Ministry is a niche for retired civil servants who don't want to stay home, the ones who praise Nazism, the ones who want to have an army again, and the ones who deny that women (Asians and Europeans) were forced to become sex slaves for the Imperial army... I growl a lot.
A Californian city has recently unveiled a statue to remember these women and girls who were enslaved. Japanese politicos protested.
In one tweet, I praised the city and said 'Shame on you' to the politico who protested and asked the city to not unveil the statue because he thinks that these women were volunteers. Yea... right. I'm the Empress of Mars, and I've got a bridge to sell you...
I got two tweets from another complete stranger - to YouTube videos that say that these women were volunteers.
I called that bloke a denialist.
Next... I honestly didn't know at the time if there was a language barrier (he's Japanese) or if he played dumb to wind me up. I spent a few minutes telling him to Google the topic (that's the teacher in me, I want people to do their research and learn and open up and upgrade their brains). I gave him tips and sent him off to the net to see the truth and avoid the lies.
No news from him... until this morning.
It turns out that he's a true denialist who tried his luck with me and who'll never change his mind because he's decided to ignore the facts. That block button is pretty useful (I told him what I thought of him before clicking, though).

What's important for me is that I always stated my truth and stood my ground (with more or less success, yes, indeed).
I also believe that, if one's not dealing with sociopaths, the Average Troll cannot stand being confronted with the truth, and if one stands up to "it", it doesn't have the guts to go on being a troll/bully.
Perhaps we should re-name the bipeds we call "trolls" on the Internet. They're just cyber-bullies of various shades.

Of course, our cyber-bullies are hiding behind keyboards and false names, but they've got mates who can tell the bullies' mums what their children are doing - and we've got coppers who can trace the nastiest cyber-bullies who think they can threaten people into silence.

As I've said before, my own mama is afraid when I speak my mind on the net, but I shan't be silenced. Ever.
I may cry and feel blue, but I shall keep on fighting.
Because I've got a voice.
Because I'm ready to fight.
Because I've got the right to speak my mind.
Because no one has the right to silence me.
Because I'm no one's property.
Because I'm not a slave.
Because I've got as many rights as the next biped.
Because no one died and made the bullies and cyber-bullies kings of the Earth.
Because that's not the kind of planet I want for the future generations.
Because I believe in equality for all.

Shades of Bullying

Preliminary note: if you have strong religious beliefs AND you cannot stand having them challenged, click back right now. The house will not accept any whingeing on the topic.

I'm having a weird Sunday, so you'll get to read about it. Lucky you.

1.

In fact, it started a few days ago when I read a list of suggestions for parents on how to help their bullied children. The My issue was that the tips were perfect for parents dealing with a toddler constantly making faces at their toddler - anything along the lines of 'the whole school is posting abuse and lies about your child on a webpage specially created to that effect' wouldn't have been covered by these tips, and I said so (and others agreed with me).

2.

Then, I saw a school staff encourage victims of bullying to disappear from the Internet and be discreet. To protect them? That's what they said, but I saw civil servants afraid of a potential court case (that didn't happen in the US, but the judicial poison seems to be spreading worldwide). What a lesson for young adults: roll over, show your belly and obey - don't fight!

3.

Ah...

We're getting personal now. Fasten your seat-belt.

I got a message from someone who basically scolded me for asking to not be ignored. *fake gasp* How dare I?!!! That person is allowed to ignore me, but I'm not allowed to say it hurts or to take measures in order to avoid being ignored. 

I wasn't caffeinated when I got that message, so I may have been (*cough* I have!) a tad sarcastic in my answer to that person. If I get an angry answer, I'll clearly point out that reading (and apparently enjoying) my works is not enough and that someone who reads several chapters without saying a single word isn't entitled to get the conclusion of the story - because, the 'but I would have sent a message once I'd read it all' is a lie I've heard a zillion times.

When you get a free sample of something, don't you say thank you? Apply to fictions. Ta. Otherwise you're not entitled to growl at me (especially before tea).

And cherry on that cake: that person came back for more, and tried to demonstrate that I was being unreasonable for keeping the stories' endings to myself whilst saying that they were "complete" (they are complete; all you have to do to get your greedy fingers on them is... to talk to me. *gasp* The horror! One cannot go on ignoring the author and just read and never comment positively - or negatively. That's too muuuuuuuuuuuuuuch!!!).

4.

That letter to the editor that I had a hard time managing to send (reminder there) was published, which is something that I discovered by chance.

I had to go hunt for that thing on the newspaper's website. Too bad I didn't copy my letter (that shall be a lesson!) before I hit 'Send', because I'm nearly sure that there's a bit missing.

Well, I was basically saying that I was disappointed with the newspaper for publishing the bigoted letter of a reader who was criticizing a columnist I adore for daring to say something unbecoming, according to that pious reader, about Jesus. 

I also added that too many Christians do play victims so that almost no one dares to confront them (they do tend to shout 'Bully!' first in order to use that as a shield).

Now, my browser is acting up a bit - and the newspaper's website has a search function that's not helping, so I got to read only two answers to my reaction - basically saying that I was way more bigoted than the first shocked reader. The two answers came from... Come on... Make a guess... Yes! Christians.

So, instead of telling me 'Whatever!' or even liberally paraphrasing Marty McFly: 'She's an asshole! I don't care what de Lanor says. And I don't care what anybody else says, either', I got called more bigoted than the bigot, and intolerant, and basically childish.

How would they have reacted if I'd written that historically, we've got no proof whatsoever that Jesus existed? That there's no reason to get their underwear in knots over someone who didn't exist and who's supposed to have a Fairy-in-the-sky genitor? 

They'd be howling at the moon (good timing, we've got the super moon tonight).

Honestly, all I read was patronising words with a 'Bully!' shouted in the background.

I've got exactly the same contempt for all religious people who shout that they're right and that their beliefs must be respected. Er... no.

You can believe anything that pleases you, but the minute you say 'You can't say anything about my religion, you nasty bully!', I'll be there, smirking, and saying, 'Keep dreaming.'

I was born in a Roman Catholic family. As a young adult, I converted to a variety of Protestantism. Two years ago, I apostatized.

I'm no longer afraid. I don't need to lie to myself that I'm going to go somewhere after death; there's nothing after we die, and there's no need to cling to lies and fairy tales.

As a trained historian, I see the facts.

As a teacher, I can spot bullies. I'm going to be lenient and say that most of the light-bullies don't even see what they're doing, but they are bullies - and I'll be damned (figure of speech!) if I let them go away with that.

Would these particular Christians defend other religions? Would they prevent someone for saying anything about Muhammad or Buddha? No.

So, I'm very sorry (by now, you know what I mean), but your variety of fairy tale is just as ridiculous as any other. Believe in whatever you want, but if you are offended by mere words and are ready to launch a crusade to defend your Faith, I'll point and I'll say 'Bully!'. And yes, vocal Christians are becoming truly annoying and giving a bad reputation to the ones who read the book and understood the message!

Walls of...

For the past few days, I've been wondering if it was such a good idea to 'name & shame' and 'name & praise', but right now, I've just read the official comment of a school that wants their bullied students to delete photos: "we will take steps to recommend students remove words or images that they place online that could compromise their safety or that of other students at the school." No. No, no, NO! You tell the bullies to wash their tongues with soap, locate their brains, grow up and act like human beings, not slave owners!

Earlier today, I had to write a comment on a forum to tell a charming bloke that being cute and patient isn't the way to confront a bully.

Since I started growling, I'll go on growling. And when someone makes me smile for having done something good and fair and just, I'll share, as well.

Ready?......................

Goodvert in the 21st Century (Redneck Comments Edition)

I'd vaguely heard something about a commercial that was being criticized for idiotic reasons, but I hadn't seen it (wrong side of the pond + I seldom watch commercials (I'm the Empress of screening at the speed of light) + I no longer eat cereals, so why would I pay attention to a commercial trying to promote a cereal brand?).

Now... I've seen it, and it perfectly fits my definition of 'goodvert', because it's funny and it's so incredibly cute that it works (as I said, I'm no longer eating cereals, but if I were... I'd be checking their boxes at my supermarket).

Am I mentioning that just for the sake of sharing it with you? Not only. It turns out that some bipeds commented on the video saying that, I paraphrase, it was a disgrace, a shame, a thing that should be deleted and hidden in a dark cave, twenty miles under a mountain - or something.

'Why?' you ask.

Simply because <insert fake, bored gasp here> it presents a family with a white mama, a black daddy and their mixed daughter. The horror! In 2013!

Well, here it is:

In my book, that's just... cute, and if we consider the amount of idiotic commercials out there, that one is refreshing.
Yet, bipeds complained about it because... 'Yuk! Interracial family! Yuk!'
These bipeds have brains firmly glued at the bottom of the dark cave of their tiny minds.
I could tell them that this is the 21st century, and it's time for them to stop thinking that they can bring Segregation back.
I could even tell them that interracial isn't a dirty word, and that children of mixed heritage are stronger, cute and the future of this sad rock.
I could...
I'll just add a lil' song, because being nice doesn't pay (& my allergy to stupidity is spiking up today):

Panem et... Rules

Confession time (sort of). On telly, I like documentaries and concerts and ballets and plays and series. I like things that have a schedule - not because they have a schedule and I'm a control freak; it's just that I'm like that.

Now... when it comes to sports, I like a few things: sumo and the Oxford-Cambridge boat race, which are (well, except if you add one idiot in the Thames) rather scheduled events.

I'm old enough to remember a time when all TV schedules were respected to the letter, even if a match or game of <insert any variety of sport here> wasn't finished. Today, let's face it, with the money sponsors are putting into televised sports events, channels do not stop broadcasting football, rugby, tennis or pillow-throwing (in case you're wondering, yes, I'm being sarcastic because I'm tired and angry) because there's just too much money in it for them.

The hordes of sheeple are just too happy because they need to see the results immediately. 

Couldn't channels schedule sport events differently and plan for a possible delay to the following programme? No, because it'd mean planning (and I'm not sure they're good enough to plan this far) and it'd mean a short programme to show if the match ended on time, and that'd mean spending money. So, basically, channels today all hope that all sports events are going to end on time, and if not... to hell with the (paying!!!) people who are waiting for the programme that's scheduled after the game.

I know that there's no 'One person’s freedom ends where another's begins' in this case because we're talking about channels that want to make money without too much work; quality and respect mean nothing to these bipeds, so their behaviour is not surprising at all.

What I find utterly annoying is that, if you dare to complain, let's say because the play you're planning to watch is delayed by some sport, you'll have some sheeple (and not necessarily sports fans, which is just a bit rich!) who will make fun of you... because 'you react like my nan when her favourite soap is late', because 'it's not important'.

Basically, you're treated like a childish pain in the neck because you dare to complain.

I say 'Hold it right there, mate!'. 

Yes, all right, it's not the end of the world, but why should it be wrong (when I pay for a service! Let's not forget that!) to expect my 9pm play to start at 9pm, not 9:15pm or even 9:35pm?

This is just entertainment (even if I pay for it), but I'm afraid it reveals a much deeper problem in some sheeple's attitudes. According to them, why bother with schedules? We've got TV schedules, but they're not carved in the rock.

Right.

This is exactly the kind of sheeple who will growl if imposed a deadline at work (Oh, the horror!).

But at the same time, this is exactly the kind of sheeple who will howl at the moon if their train or tube or plane is NOT on schedule.

Because, let's face it, if you want your train to be on time, I'm allowed to dream that my play is not going to be delayed by half an hour. Fair enough, no? Of course, our dear sheeple will growl that I'm being a pain in the neck, and that it's not the same.

Whatever.

I'm not advocating to always behave like sad dictators (a delay of a couple of minutes isn't too dreadful), but schedules and planning are made for a good reason. Not respecting them is an open door to... chaos? In the very long term - possibly. But it's immediately an open door to mediocrity and laziness.

Am I being harsh? Not in my book. Sorry (and as usual, when I say 'Sorry')...

I could blame this entry on my being feverish, but... No. I'm being myself, and I'm just saying, stating and typing what I think.

Besides, I've just caught someone barking at the world because of something minor - apparently, one is not allowed to express sadness if one feels sad, and that was a bit of a last straw.

I've got colourful names coming to my mind, but I'll refrain from typing them...

The Tale of the Warmongering Boy

Once upon a time, there was a boy who insinuated himself into a town guild. It wasn’t because he was interested in the activities of that particular group, but because he was planning to make himself look good and to profit from the prestige of the guild – and make fun of a few guildsmen as well.

The boy decided to pretend that he was terribly cute and charming; his strategy was to insist on those fake aspects of his personality.

For months, he worked diligently, and his act, combined with a fake exotic accent to ingratiate himself with the head of the guild, worked so well that he was soon welcome to all guild activities.

Yet, there was one member of the guild who’d always found the boy’s accent and behaviour to be suspicious.

One day, during a meeting, the member of the guild was disagreeing with the current politics of their trade, and he was pointing out that he didn’t think they were making the right choice, but he’d follow the decision of the guild.

That was when he heard the boy hiss that he should keep his words to himself because his point of view was useless.

He swirled towards the boy and growled, ‘What did you just say?’

‘Nuttin’, m’lord!’ the boy answered quickly, flustered.

‘How strange! I was under the impression that you wished me to remain silent on the topic,’ the guildsman pointed out.

The boy knew that he was trapped, and his only hope was to attack the man who could show the entire guild how petty and vain he was. He rushed to the side of the head of the guild and willed fake tears to his eyes as he mumbled, ‘Puhliz, m’lord! I was jus’ sayin’ tha’ the guildsman ough’ to tell us more on the topic. Tha’s all yar ‘ighness! I swear!’

The head of the guild looked at the guildsman and shrugged.

The guildsman turned to the boy and said, ‘All right, I’m willing to accept that you didn’t mean that. If you’ve got something to say, speak up and be clear.’

Then, the boy made a dire mistake; in his blind wish to turn the other guildsmen against the trader who was daring to call his shitehawk bluff, he went too far by using standard bullying technique: he tried to turn himself into the victim.

The boy started whimpering and pretended to cry as he wailed, ‘’Onest to Gawd, m’lord! Now it’s yous that’s picking on me because I’m so small, and I ‘asn’t ‘ad the good education that yous ‘ad. So yous’re picking on poor lil’ me. T’is unfair!’

By now, the guildsman had lost all respect for the boy, and he was ready to have him flayed for trying to make him look like a fool when all he’d done was defend himself.

‘And pray, boy! When did I pick on you?’ the guildsman inquired, his anger boiling dangerously up.

‘Right now! You said that I’m stupid!’ the boy shouted. ‘I never deserved tha’! Am a nic’ boy!’

Since all the other traders were silent, and not offering a word, for either side, the guildsman made a decision: he’d read the riot act to the boy.

‘Stop it!’ the guildsman yelled. ‘Even if I were to grant you that you did mean something different when I asked you to explain yourself, it would not change the fact that you’re trying to make me look bad, on purpose, in order to have the others say “Oh, that poor child! That adult is being so mean to him!”, but I can see through your sham. First, you should stop using that idiotic fake accent of yours! It’s childish; and sometimes, you stop using it, which shows that it’s not something natural to you. Then, I can tell a bully when I see one, and right now, you’re just playing the victim card. All bullies do that because most people are going to react to the last thing that was said, and they won’t look too far – or even stop to think!’

‘Bloody bastard! You’re a nuisance, and you should really shut your trap!’ the boy hissed.

The guildsman looked triumphantly at his fellows and said, ‘See! The boy is a bully. Now, it’s up to you all to make up your minds about him.’

The guildsman settled comfortably in his chair, whilst the boys looked daggers at him.

The moral of this story is that if you allow bullying boys to grow up into adults who still have the same mentality, they’ll end up being whingeing wankers of a variety that can start wars by twisting facts.

Think about it.

A Piece of Advice for XYs

I still have steam coming out of my ears, so I might be just a bit... erm... harsh, but bear with me.

Here's what happened, I wrote something vaguely like: 'boys who open their mouths to speak (or pass laws!) about ladies' biology must learn to shut their mouths because they're not equipped, can't understand, and those are twats'.

This is what I think. 

I'm not going to tell men how to play with their equipment, or how to wash it, or how to deal with it from a medical point of view. Not my frigging business, and honestly, I don't care (never have, never will).

But... when I see little boys (because they can be 65 or 72, in their heads, they're stuck in nursery school!) trying to tell me what I can or cannot do, that brings out the Italian matriarch in me - the one with a rolling pin glued to her hand and the '210 Ways to Break Bones with a Rolling Pin' manual encoded in her DNA.

Why am I growling now?

Is it because some new piece of news hit the Internet and made me blow a fuse?

Nope.

I just got a nice message from a bloke I don't know.

A bloke who nicely said that he agrees with me..............................................

*drop of the other shoe*

But...............................................

[Part to be read with a very annoying voice in your head...] He really wanted to tell me that "twat" was a poor choice of word, because I've got to understand that it's slang for, I quote, "vulva". [/stage direction]

No frelling way! I didn't know that! Well, of course, I could have not known it, but I do.

And what if I happen to think that those boys are twats - because it's a word, an insult, I happen to like? 

And what if I think that it's an appropriate word for boys who do sound as if:

          a- They've got an unhealthy fascination with ladies' equipments

          b- They sound a lot as if they wish they had one of their own to play with?

Dear XYs,

most of you are really nice, and I quite like you, but keep in mind a few things:

          1- I can say "twat" and "cunt" all I like, I'm equipped (and I can bloody say what I want!)

         2- Stop assuming that I don't know the etymology of words (I've got diplomas in English: Old English, Modern English, Etymology, translation - and don't get me started on my M.St. in Mediaeval Palaeography! I mean there are things I do not know, yes, but stop thinking you know more because you're a man. Ta! Muchly.).

         3- I'm going to be charitable and consider that the bloke in question might have meant well, but he should think a minute about what he's just done, put himself in my shoes, and hear how bloody patronizing he sounded! Basically, he corrected me for thinking I might have wanted to say something else. 

Sorry, Cupcake, I meant that those boys are twats, and for correcting me whilst I don't know you at all, you're a cunt.

       4- If you, boys, think that I'm not behaving/speaking/looking/whatever like a lady... Fuck off! This is the twenty-first century, and the girls in my family are born with a rolling pin.

Keep in mind to treat XXs the way you expect to be treated, and we'll keep the rolling pins in the kitchen.

Otherwise... 

Cheers!

Dru, really pissed off

Warranted Plonkers

Sorry 'bout that, guys, but I need to vent, and if I can't do it on my own blog, where could I do it?

So, beam out or Disapparate, but here comes a growl about trolls and similar wankers...

All this because I just got a message from Gmail warning me about some hacking attempt from the other side of the pond.

I had to re-set my password, and wasting time because of a troll isn't my idea of fun.

I see several possibilities:

1 - I was targeted by chance

2 - I was targeted because I've got a slightly unusual name that stands out

3 - I was targeted because of my position on the global war on women 

4 - I was targeted because of my allergy to a certain variety of blue shirts

I know that "2" makes me sound pompous (but I've seen weirder things), and "3" and "4" make me sound paranoid (but there are real twats out there). "1" is more likely, but it is not the only possibility.

I hope this was a one time thingy, otherwise I can turn any war into some dirty business [read: Nerve VII's driving me nuts, do not piss off the Italian gal! Ta. Muchly.].

'Spoilers and Spoils' Hic Sunt

I don’t mean to write only about those annoying bits of info that ruin a book, a film or a series. I’d like to include the variety of plonkers who spoil our fun with selfish acts (this includes spammers and hackers).

Sometimes, it’s very easy to spoil things for others, and it can even happen by accident. Sometimes, all it needs is us having seen, or read, something and chatting about it with friends, and then you’re overheard (or read online by chance) by someone who didn’t know and… spoilers. When that happens, it’s annoying, but it’s an accident.

Then, you’ve got the stupid twat who, because s/he’s seen or read something, believes that everybody’s on the same page. Again, that’s annoying, but when you end up dealing with such people, spoilers may happen (you may be tempted to slap the guilty one, but we all have to deal with weird bunnies from time to time).

Now, there are trolls who enjoy ruining the fun of others and who are working hard to spread spoilers as far and wide as they can.

I’ve been lucky up to now, and I had to deal with very few spoilers, and all were thrown at me by accident.

Now… malice isn’t the same thing.

We could see the rise of trolls when telephones no longer went through switchboard and the connection was direct, phone to phone; then some twats started phoning at odd hours just for the sake of annoying people and waking them up or such childish things.

The song changed when private computers and the Internet spread.

I don’t really know if spammers appeared first or if it was hackers, but they can be annoying. Granted, most spammers can now be blocked with efficient filters and appropriate programming, but there’s spamming on a bigger scale: spamming that can send so many messages to one recipient that it’s going to make the recipient’s servers crash. (Looks eastward) Yea… that’s common with some people/nations.

That particular variety of spam is more than annoying. It’s criminal; not less than that bloke writing from Africa, asking for your bank refs before he can send you millions of dollars or the Russian casinos selling drugs online, but those are more visible (and we’re not even aware of the size of the tip of the iceberg when it comes to massive spamming!).

That kind of spam is just as nasty as the people who invent computer viruses. A few years ago, I was working in some IT nest, and I knew there were virus-makers in the building; good thing for them (and me!) that I never located them because I’d have sorely been tempted to make one of my boots connect with a very specific part of their anatomies (yes, the one that could turn them into professional sopranos). I know that they were having fun creating viruses… Pardon me, but where’s the fun when you damage someone else’s work (or fun, or whatever)?

The species I really find despicable, too, is the hacker kind. Do we get to hear about Robin Hood hackers? No, mostly not… Some of the ones who work for the police are hackers who were caught red-handed doing something illegal and were offered one way out (points at IT nest mention: we had one caught that way).

What do we get today? Well, mostly things like the Leveson Inquiry, where people working for the media hacked famous people or families who had been victims of crimes.

That’s not a spoiler, but that’s a spoil.

I really don’t understand what some people get from spying on others and ruining their reputations, or… whatever. Just this week, I heard about someone who got hacked; then, the hacker proceeded to impersonate the hacked victim. What for? Some twisted fun? Some idiotic belief that the rest of the world would fall for it? I’m afraid, that just like the cases we get to discover in the current Leveson Inquiry, it’s just people who know how to do it, think they’re entitled to do it, do it, and see their victims squirm and enjoy the show.

In my book: that’s despicable and low, but, what’s worse, it potentially spoils (back to spoiling, in a rotten way) my fun, and just for that, I’m ready to get the aforementioned boots ready to annihilate some soft tissues if given the chance.

I’ve never been interested in fishwrappers (and I’ll never be now), but when some plonker’s targeting people I enjoy reading and is preventing me from getting into contact with them, I get the boots and the Voodoo dolls ready.

Just like when people plagiarize works and pretend some excellent creation is theirs, even though the world (all right, exaggerating a tad on that one) knows they’re lying, I’m angry on the victims’ behalf. While the thief who plagiarized some work is easy to find because s/he’s bragging, the common hacker is a rat in the shadows (my apologies to actual rat, who are useful).

You’ve got to be better than the hacker to catch him, or her, and in the meantime, the hacked victims are left in limbo.

I know that spoiler-trolls and hackers must have brains wired in a very specific way, but that won’t stop my brain from growling at the mere mention of people who were raised in barns (my apologies to barn, which are useful) and don’t understand that revealing plots is poor etiquette (or netiquette), or who hack nice people to steal bits of their lives because they’re jealous (or anything just as nasty).

I don’t want to know what’s going to happen in the crime novel I’m reading, or the film I’m going to see next week, or the series that’ll be back on telly next month. Somehow, it’s a very good thing that I’ve had to deal with mild spoiling only because I know the boot threat is not a threat. It’s an omen. Spoil my fun, and face my wrath if I catch you.

If most hackers are anything like the twats who were creating viruses where I used to work, they’ve got an ego the size of the sun, and they love playing gods. That’s when I’d like someone to hunt them down to give them a dose of their own medicines. I’m not sure they’d realize how wrong they are to play with other people’s lives, but perhaps the message would reach the brains of some of them (I’m being super optimistic here).

Now… I can’t use gaffer tape to shut the mouths (or stop the hands) of spoiler-trolls, and though I’m not too bad in IT, I can’t track hackers down.

I can’t.

But for spoiling my (or my friends’) fun when they do, I can wish them some very, very, very, very interesting karma! I’m not sure it works, but a gal can dream.

Spoiler-spreading and fun-spoiling plonkers should really get some potent message from the universe, be it from an Inquiry or from one of my boots come one day. This is one of the many forms of bullying, and it should be denounced as such.

[goes to polish boots, for when…]