<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788</id><updated>2012-02-12T06:28:24.233-08:00</updated><category term='Cut -off'/><title type='text'>Evil People I Know</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>17</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-1863694913564749861</id><published>2011-08-19T00:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-26T23:54:02.159-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ta-Dah! My New Book -- "How to Leave Your Family of Origin."</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;&lt;table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4QYsKWtFiXM/Tk4OSN5dNwI/AAAAAAAAACQ/vQo3h2UW2yk/s200/LeaveFOOCoverFinal.jpg" width="142" /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"&gt;How to Leave Your Family of Origin.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;As promised, under (self-imposed) deadline.&amp;nbsp; 200 + pages, lots of large print, graphics and flow charts. (You'll see why if you buy it -- apparently I "think" in PowerPoint.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"&gt;Please post your stories (and replies) on a new site:&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://evilpeopleiknow.com/"&gt;http://evilpeopleiknow.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #cc0000;"&gt;Read the home page, then click, "Message Board" in the upper left corner, and post any message.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Chapter headings:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Chapter 1: &lt;i&gt;Who&lt;/i&gt; to cut off.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Chapter 2: &lt;i&gt;Why&lt;/i&gt; would you cut them off?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Chapter 3: &lt;i&gt;How&lt;/i&gt; to cut them off.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Chapter 4: &lt;i&gt;What&lt;/i&gt; to expect after cut-off.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Chapter 5: &lt;i&gt;Where&lt;/i&gt; will everybody end up?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Chapter 6: &lt;i&gt;When&lt;/i&gt; they die.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;I apologize beforehand for the (breathtakingly) high price.&amp;nbsp; It costs $27.80 on Amazon.com for a paperback.&amp;nbsp; They (CreatSpace -- Amazon's self-publishing site) &lt;i&gt;tell&lt;/i&gt; you that you can adjust the price.&amp;nbsp; What they don't tell you (until after you published) is that their base price will be very high for graphs and colors. (Sigh.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;I am working to put out an e-version, but the transfer of graphs (and colors) is complicated.&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Please let me know what you think!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-1863694913564749861?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/1863694913564749861/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=1863694913564749861' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/1863694913564749861'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/1863694913564749861'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2011/08/ta-dah-my-new-book-how-to-leave-your.html' title='Ta-Dah! My New Book -- &quot;How to Leave Your Family of Origin.&quot;'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4QYsKWtFiXM/Tk4OSN5dNwI/AAAAAAAAACQ/vQo3h2UW2yk/s72-c/LeaveFOOCoverFinal.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-5961489716917513366</id><published>2010-08-31T02:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-14T01:13:52.238-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cut -off'/><title type='text'>What I'm Doing Lately...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/THzMXBGdmrI/AAAAAAAAABs/wdQChZy4O1s/s1600/FRONT+COVER+FOR+BLOG+copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/THzMXBGdmrI/AAAAAAAAABs/wdQChZy4O1s/s320/FRONT+COVER+FOR+BLOG+copy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511504739799243442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Hi, Everyone!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have not lost interest in this blog; rather, I'm on fire writing a new book about cutting family ties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It takes me about a year to organize, illustrate and publish, so I have a tentative publish date for summer of 2011.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pain on these pages was enough to move me to write a &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" &gt;How -to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;manual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for your patience...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And here are some words of wisdom to get you through the Holidays:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);font-size:130%;" &gt;Stop eating their sh!! and asking for seconds!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just...effing...stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-5961489716917513366?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/5961489716917513366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=5961489716917513366' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/5961489716917513366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/5961489716917513366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2010/08/what-im-doing-lately.html' title='What I&apos;m Doing Lately...'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/THzMXBGdmrI/AAAAAAAAABs/wdQChZy4O1s/s72-c/FRONT+COVER+FOR+BLOG+copy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-4129401707267886230</id><published>2009-12-17T22:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-17T22:27:05.035-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family: georgia;"&gt;1 (800) 442-HOPE (4673)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A "warm-line," (as opposed to a hot-line,) for people who are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; suicidal, but want someone to talk to....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-4129401707267886230?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/4129401707267886230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=4129401707267886230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/4129401707267886230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/4129401707267886230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/12/1-800-442-hope-4673-warm-line-as.html' title=''/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-7575159684205301631</id><published>2009-12-09T20:48:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T20:59:41.567-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;But…I’m a nice person!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evil preys more easily upon a person’s virtues than his vices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Think about it: I absolutely loathe the saying,  “You can’t cheat an honest man.”  Of course you can.  Crooks (for the most part) can’t cheat other crooks.  Crooked people are paranoid, and therefore almost always on the lookout for anyone taking advantage of them.  Why wouldn’t they be on the alert?  They (the crooks) are always on the take, so they assume everyone else is.  “Everyone else is out to get a piece of the action.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But good people aren’t.  We are good, so our default mode is always to think the best of someone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they screw us over, we think it was an accident.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we work up the courage to confront them about it, we believe their lies (too numerous to list here.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we finally come to the realization that they screwed us over on purpose, we forgive, because...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;• We don’t want to believe the worst.&lt;br /&gt;• We don’t want to be “like them.”&lt;br /&gt;• We hope our forgiveness causes them to change.&lt;br /&gt;• We are morally lazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let’s address these points, one by one:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;We don’t want to believe the worst.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Believe it.  You know how Disney spends an enormous amount of time, effort and money trying to get us to believe in magic, princesses, fairy dust…you name it?  Life would be so much better if I could get good people to believe Evil is real.  It exists.  That is the first step in eradicating it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;We don’t want to be “like them.”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you kidding me?  On some level, you have to be kidding.  How in the world is calling someone on their evil behavior -- getting right up in their grill and saying, “You WILL NOT treat me that way, anymore!”-- being like them?&lt;br /&gt;Look: they treated you badly when you were innocent of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;anything&lt;/span&gt;.  They did it just because they felt like it.  You didn’t provoke them: they blamed you after you confronted them. A post hoc rationalization that doesn’t fit the facts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;We hope our forgiveness causes them to change.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Magical thinking.  It just lets them know what a sucker you are, and eggs them on.  Red flag to a bull.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;We are morally lazy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It takes effort to finally -- after weighing all the facts -- decide that someone is “Evil.” They are not old, or tired, or senile, or forgetful, or mentally ill or high, or just don’t know any better. The act (or usually, “acts”) is willful, premeditated, and vengeful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that’s just the first step.  After deciding they are Evil, well…now you have to act on it!  You have to confront them (a waste of time) or leave them, (the best of all possible worlds.)&lt;br /&gt;Remember: the enemy knows you have a tendency to forgive: they’re counting on that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-7575159684205301631?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/7575159684205301631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=7575159684205301631' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/7575159684205301631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/7575159684205301631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/12/butim-nice-person-evil-preys-more.html' title=''/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-748464721830429095</id><published>2009-08-23T01:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T17:20:26.684-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A difference between a narcissist, and an Evil Person (#2)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;"A Narcissist has a hostile reaction to attention and credit given others."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;My Evil Family of Origin (FOO) is utterly indifferent to the achievements of others. It wasn't a feigned indifference: you can't fake that. It always looks a little forced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Real indifference is unmistakable.  Rather, they simply had no stake whatsoever in the accomplishments, skills, or goals of others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think this is what caused so many of their friends to fade away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My FOO is attractive and well-educated.  People are drawn to them.  But the situation for their friends was such that, after years of getting just a little attention for getting married, having kids or getting that job promotion -- things that get a normal, positive reaction from others, but not from my relatives -- their friends just drift away.  And the FOO makes no attempt to follow up, write, or visit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their lives were utterly circumscribed by their needs, and the need to control anyone they see as a patsy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-748464721830429095?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/748464721830429095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=748464721830429095' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/748464721830429095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/748464721830429095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/08/difference-between-narcissist-and-evil_23.html' title='A difference between a narcissist, and an Evil Person (#2)'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-8228653006187939121</id><published>2009-08-23T01:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T17:23:04.195-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A difference between a narcissist, and an Evil Person (#1)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"&gt;"Narcissists can't stand to live alone."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://narcissists-suck.blogspot.com/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know.  All I know is Evil people can't stand to live with someone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evil Parents separate and get divorced.  They &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; remarry. My siblings had roommates for awhile, and they just couldn't get along, so they all moved out on their own, even though the expense really stretched their wallets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heck; I didn't like roommates either, but I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;got along.&lt;/span&gt;   You have to: it's a part of life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that they are all successful in their careers (and can afford not to have roommates,) they could get married. Yet are all unmarried.  All &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;four&lt;/span&gt; of my siblings.  Not married; never were.  No kids either (thank God!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-8228653006187939121?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/8228653006187939121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=8228653006187939121' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/8228653006187939121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/8228653006187939121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/08/difference-between-narcissist-and-evil.html' title='A difference between a narcissist, and an Evil Person (#1)'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-4225165940109608718</id><published>2009-08-11T12:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T14:54:20.359-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Ode to Life"... by me.</title><content type='html'>Dial 1(800) SUICIDE, any time of the day or night, if you feel the need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;"&gt;Ode to Life!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I absolve myself for hurting those who seek to harm me,&lt;br /&gt;for offending those who give offense,&lt;br /&gt;for pushing those who shove,&lt;br /&gt;for moving away from those who are unable to get close.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-4225165940109608718?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/4225165940109608718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=4225165940109608718' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/4225165940109608718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/4225165940109608718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/08/ode-to-life-by-me.html' title='&quot;Ode to Life&quot;... by me.'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-8615794345211458277</id><published>2009-08-05T00:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T13:07:56.046-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Evil Trait Number 4:  Any loss of control is seen as a complete loss of control, or: Never give an inch...</title><content type='html'>After spending &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;every single Christmas&lt;/span&gt; with the freakazoids -- well into adulthood -- I wanted one Christmas with my family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ask&lt;/span&gt; them -- I'm not a supplicant.  I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;told&lt;/span&gt; them.  I could hear the frosty reception, but I couldn't even guess at what came next.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My OS (older sister) called, and said our brother was going out of town for Christmas...could I come for a "going away" party?  It was on December 15...I said sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my spouse and I got there, we placed our gifts for the freak family on the floor, in an open space, and I noticed that their gifts to us were shoved behind a chair.  So much for grabbing them and stuffing them in the car for a hasty getaway.  We didn't want the gifts; we wanted &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;the hasty getaway.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried to make small talk with OS, and she gave me a look that froze me to my bones: it was the most slanted-eye, pinched-lip, Evil Face I have ever seen.  It took my breath away.  It took me years to figure it out, and here it is: she hated me for forcing her to move Christmas to the 15th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yup, you guessed it (I sure didn't): they"had" to move Christmas to the 15th because I had "forced" them to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't fu**ing "force" anything: I didn't want Christmas with them.  I was sick of the pretense of being a loving family.  I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;had&lt;/span&gt; a loving family.  They had nothing except each other and their hate.  But that didn't jibe with the image of a loving family, so &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;they moved Christmas to the 15th!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After being very confused by my sister's Evil Face (confusion is a normal reaction around the Perfectly Evil -- M. Scott Peck) I made small talk.  Our mother was late -- very late.  I was actually worried about her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hah!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she did arrive it was almost comical.  She had on a long black coat -- almost a cape -- and she roared into the room in an absolute towering rage. She spun around in the room -- enraged -- and I asked, "Why were you late?  You kept everyone waiting."  Meaning: How rude of you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"None of your Goddamn business!"  Oh, really?  I wasn't scared; I was furious.   I wanted to spend as little time as possible in the stink of my Evil siblings, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;she&lt;/span&gt; just dragged it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah: that was it.  It took my several days to work it out, but she had dragged it out on purpose.  She wanted her adult, all-grown-up-children to spend as much time as possible with each other.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Bonding.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, while I was sitting on the couch next to my spouse, wondering,  "Have I put in enough time so that I can go now?" my Evil older sister pulled out some gifts from behind the chair and started hading them out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I froze.  It was a set-up, after all.  She handed some to me and my husband, and we just set them on the floor.  The other jerks started opening theirs and oohing and ahhing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know how you're in the crazy house, so you do just enough to appease the crazies?  We smiled, but we (by silent mutual consent) refused to open our gifts.  This accidentaly turned out to be the right thing to do.  They grew more and more embarrassed at their faux Christmas, and when we finally said, "Well, it's time to go,"  they sighed with relief.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We gathered up the gifts and left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're wondering why we didn't pitch a fit and walk out without any presents: I knew (in my heart) I was going to go No Contact with them, and that this was a trail run on how they would handle me not spending a Christmas with them.  Since I was never going to speak to them again, there was no point in grandstanding.  We get up on a box and shout only when we want someone to listen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew they would never listen.  Ever.  They would never &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hear&lt;/span&gt; me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was also breathless at the Evil Face I saw on my sister.  It's one thing to say, "Well, she's just Evil!"  and stomp your little foot.  It's quite another to say it, stomp your foot, and the devil appears.   It was absolutely shocking.  It was the flip-side equivalent to saying, "Oh, my God!" ...and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;God &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;appears!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In summation: They don't want me to spend Christmas with them because they &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;loooove&lt;/span&gt; me: they &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hate&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They want me to spend Christmas with them because it controls where I am on &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this&lt;/span&gt; day.  They would control all my days if they could.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this one Christmas was spun out in their minds as: Well, if we give her this one, she might want another one, and then she'll &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;get ideas&lt;/span&gt;.  She'll get a taste of freedom, and that's not acceptable &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;at all!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So forget trying to compromise with the Evil Relatives: the Truly Evil are incapable of compromise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"&gt;Any loss of control is seen as complete loss of control.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-8615794345211458277?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/8615794345211458277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=8615794345211458277' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/8615794345211458277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/8615794345211458277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/08/evil-trait-number-4-any-loss-of-control.html' title='Evil Trait Number 4:  Any loss of control is seen as a complete loss of control, or: Never give an inch...'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-1252802872887600953</id><published>2009-08-01T23:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T17:29:23.882-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Evil Trait Number 3: Parents reward the child most like themselves (and punish those that aren't.)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/Snfd7yJ-SAI/AAAAAAAAAA8/9kkVEADtgHY/s1600-h/FRONT+COVER+FOR+BLOG.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/Snfd7yJ-SAI/AAAAAAAAAA8/9kkVEADtgHY/s320/FRONT+COVER+FOR+BLOG.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366001500180858882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;1(800) SUICIDE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or:&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; Two birds with one stone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anonymous (July 29,2009) said, "I've spent my life believing that you can never call someone evil... I know better now... Specifically I would like to hear more about specific traits or common behaviors that identify someone as evil... I think there are identifiable traits..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes: There are.  I will do my best to list list them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But -- as always -- I want feedback.  If you have traits you believe identify Evil People, by all means, let me know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The difference between narcissists and Evil People is that narcissists seem to be unaware of the basic humanity -- the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;differences&lt;/span&gt; -- between themselves and their children.  This results in the narcissist trampling all over the child's own likes and dislikes, belief systems, etc. An example might be when the child picks out a room color, say, to which the Evil Parent replies, "Oh, you don't want that color.  This is much better."  And when the child has to see his parent's favorite room color &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;every single day&lt;/span&gt;,  he cries, and dies, just a little bit more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm assuming (I don't really know) that the narcissistic child with an equally narcissistic parent  is simply simpatico, and goes along with the color choice.  This extends well into adulthood, when the mother/daughter team, say, enjoy the same Christmas gifts.  Maybe one doesn't know where one begins and the other ends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a crime of &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;omission&lt;/span&gt;: an unawareness of otherness, and so that otherness gets ignored, set-aside, or walked upon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evil is a crime of &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;commission&lt;/span&gt;: the Evil Parent is acutely aware of the difference of the good child, and they hate it like fire.  So they set about punishing the good child (or children), and rewarding the bad children, until they have either destroyed those children, or molded them to their own image.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The two birds with one stone&lt;/span&gt; origin:  my younger sister was the rotten kid.  She would ruin games, pick fights, destroy my property, and later, feign innocence.  I would complain to my mother, who would say,  "Oh well, you're bigger; I expect more of you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;At the time&lt;/span&gt;, (when I was nine, ten or eleven,) I assumed this was moral laziness on her part.  She knew this daughter was a brat, but didn't want to take the time to straighten her own child out, even though most mothers would welcome a chance to guide their child.   I know I need to hear when one of my children has done something bad; that way I can nip it in the bud while it is still fresh in the child's mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reinforcing the "moral laziness" belief was that she &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;knew&lt;/span&gt; I was the reasonable one. This would also cause her to know that:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a) the wrongdoing probably &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;was&lt;/span&gt; my sister's fault and,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;b) she could more easily tell &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt; to back off, than my sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was a great theory, even for a ten year old. Heck, it was a great theory for a thirty year old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got older though, and saw the give and take between these two, I realized my mother was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;much more aware than I thought&lt;/span&gt;:  She punished the good child (me) by letting the bad child destroy me, bit by bit, day by day, and rewarded the bad child for being much like herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This elegant, simple solution &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;killed two birds&lt;/span&gt; (accomplished two goals) with &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;one stone (one act.)&lt;/span&gt;  Actually it accomplished three: my mother was able to &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; bad, while &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;looking&lt;/span&gt; good. (Evil Trait number two.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My larger point is: my mother was acutely aware, from my earliest memory, that I was good, and therefore "different."  I also felt that -- within normal limits -- I was good as well.  I also felt that my mother had a kind of smiling&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; condescension&lt;/span&gt; towards this goodness.  I was an &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;outsider.&lt;/span&gt;  There was always -- and I mean always -- a divide between us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was hard for me to write, so I would like to give other, simpler, examples, taken from motherinlawstories.com:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A husband leaves his wife at home to run impossible errands for his own mother, because she calls and complains.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She treats &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;him&lt;/span&gt; like dirt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet she "rewards" the son who lives in the garage, the one who sponges off her and steals her money and "borrows" her car and crashes it.  She rewards &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;him&lt;/span&gt; with compliments (and money, and a car) even though the loss of these items damages her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Evil people don't register loss the way you and I do&lt;/span&gt;.  To her, she won, because she destroyed the stay-at-home son, who is surely socially damaged.  The stolen money and car are nothing compared to destroying a child. That's her real goal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conversely, she "lost" the control game because she lost control of the son who moved away, got married, and started his own life.  This kind of loss galls her every, single day.  It eats away at her like acid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's all about control: if she loses control of others, she's lost everything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-1252802872887600953?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/1252802872887600953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=1252802872887600953' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/1252802872887600953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/1252802872887600953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/07/evil-trait-number-1-parents-reward.html' title='Evil Trait Number 3: Parents reward the child most like themselves (and punish those that aren&apos;t.)'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/Snfd7yJ-SAI/AAAAAAAAAA8/9kkVEADtgHY/s72-c/FRONT+COVER+FOR+BLOG.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-7085846717292922356</id><published>2009-07-30T00:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T23:39:37.536-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Evil Trait Number 2:  Like Marries Like...</title><content type='html'>Now on to the mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Folks: here's the dirty little secret about the mother:&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; she's exactly he same way.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Her goal is to destroy the children, while looking good doing it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The difference is she's female. She's smaller, less physically imposing, not as strong. Yet in any relationship, she's the capo -- the mob boss --  and he's the hit man. She runs the show; he's the lump who breaks knuckles. She's the stronger one in the partnership because&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; he's out of control!&lt;/span&gt;  She's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;exquisitely &lt;/span&gt;in control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's her &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;passive-aggressive&lt;/span&gt; way of getting it done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she is beaten by him, how often does it happen in front of the children?  Women have &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;run into a room&lt;/span&gt; where children are when a man is ready to beat them, so that they (the children) could witness it! (Later she would tell the police, "I didn't think he would do it in front of the children!" Hey, Lady: it's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never&lt;/span&gt; a good idea to use children as a shield.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The real reason was to take a hit (or several) herself, so she could destroy the little ones by having them witness it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the husband has spent years pounding the kids into whimpering shells with his explosive behavior, she divorces him -- or has him go to prison -- and then she has them all to herself. He is, after all, the weaker half of this Evil duo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As they get older and the father's influence gets weaker, she gets stronger. She starts sabotaging any relationships they have that might cause them to grow up and move away (the dreaded Mother-in-law from Hell).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's pleads poverty when they want to go to college or trade school, yet seems to have plenty of money for herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She insists the adult children don't move too far away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She insists that they come back for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;every single holiday&lt;/span&gt;, ruining anyone's plans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She fakes illnesses, eliciting sympathy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In short, after the husband has destroyed the children's &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;past&lt;/span&gt;, she picks up the baton and destroys their &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;future&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's an Evil dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erin Pizzey wrote a marvelous article on this Evil Dance in the following article.  The words that spoke to me are:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They (cruel statements spoken by mothers) were vicious words that I have heard repeated over and over by mothers everywhere. Indeed, when I later opened my refuge for battered women, &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;62 of the first 100 to come through the door were as abusive as the men they had left.&lt;/span&gt;"&lt;div id="TixyyLink" style="border: medium none ; overflow: hidden; color: rgb(0, 0, 0); background-color: transparent; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read more: &lt;a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1215464/Why-I-loathe-feminism---believe-ultimately-destroy-family.html#ixzz0SPryrmSv"&gt;http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1215464/Why-I-loathe-feminism---believe-ultimately-destroy-family.html#ixzz0SPryrmSv&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;h1 style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1215464/Why-I-loathe-feminism---believe-ultimately-destroy-family.html"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:50;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Why I loathe feminism... and believe it will ultimately destroy the family&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/h1&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-7085846717292922356?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/7085846717292922356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=7085846717292922356' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/7085846717292922356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/7085846717292922356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/08/evil-trait-number-2-like-marries-like.html' title='Evil Trait Number 2:  Like Marries Like...'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-8004442745086919547</id><published>2009-07-29T22:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T15:54:14.569-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Evil Trait Number 1:  Doing bad while looking good...</title><content type='html'>Like marries like, so two parents who look --and act -- different on the surface are actually co-conspirators in an conjoined effort to destroy the children.  It's a dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men are more aggressive than women, so the father is aggressive-aggressive, while the mother is passive-aggressive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My father beat us, used the "Now I'm angry/Now I'm not posture," and threw things at us.  He beat and choked my mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought she was the innocent one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually she threw him out of the house, but he still insisted on visitation rights so he could maintain a menacing presence.  All the while, he got us library cards, went to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;every&lt;/span&gt; PTA meeting, and played "catch" with us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If this sounds not so bad, you have to hear some of the other details.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember: when someone tells you a story that's too rosy or too grim, always ask yourself: What are they leaving out?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As well as the stories above, he &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;also&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Absolutely refused to buy us new clothes or food.  My mother was on food stamps (God bless food stamps) until she could get herself on her feet.  (I will explain &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;exactly&lt;/span&gt; why he did this later in the post,  but see now if you can guess.)  We wore extremely worn clothes.&lt;br /&gt;2)  Gave us birthday presents, and made us open them...&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;at a restaurant!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Called us stupid and cuffed us when no one was looking.&lt;br /&gt;4) Presented us with savings bonds for our birthday, made out to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;his name&lt;/span&gt; and ours.  After showing it to us (whoopee!) he took them back ("For safe-keeping,") and we never saw them again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you figured it out yet?&lt;br /&gt;1) PTA meetings: He looked like Father of the Year.  The teachers were in awe of him.&lt;br /&gt;2) Library cards: Looked good, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;to the librarian.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Opening the gifts in a restaurant: He wanted &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;total strangers&lt;/span&gt; to adore him for what a great father he was.&lt;br /&gt;4)Ditto "playing catch": it's out in public.&lt;br /&gt;5) He "presented" us with a "gift" that was impossible to spend, and we never even got &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hitting, name calling, food insecurity (look it up), skinnyness and worn (but clean) clothes were covered up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wanted to do bad, while looking good.  His entire world was divided into those two acts because he's Evil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;His goal is to destroy the children, while looking good doing it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because he's male, his acts of aggression are violent and out-of-control.  He is usually outed -- in public, in a divorce court -- as someone who is bad for the children.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-8004442745086919547?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/8004442745086919547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=8004442745086919547' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/8004442745086919547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/8004442745086919547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/08/evil-trait-number-2-doing-bad-while.html' title='Evil Trait Number 1:  Doing bad while looking good...'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-4981836384029076695</id><published>2009-07-28T10:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-02-25T02:34:59.418-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Five Stages after going No Contact</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;1(800) SUICIDE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went No Contact approximately ten years ago.  Your experience may not be like mine, so I would like to hear how it went for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The five stages of grief following the pronouncement of impending death are: Denial, rage, bargaining, depression, and -- finally -- acceptance.&amp;nbsp; You may go through these very stages following cut-off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Denial&lt;/b&gt;: I'm their child: their flesh and blood.&amp;nbsp; They can't possibly be treating me that badly...can they?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Rage&lt;/b&gt;: &lt;i&gt;Why the fuck are they treating me so badly?&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp; I don't deserve that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Bargaining&lt;/b&gt;:&amp;nbsp; If I give you what you say you want -- one more holiday, or choose &lt;i&gt;this&lt;/i&gt; career path over &lt;i&gt;that&lt;/i&gt; one, or show you that my marriage doesn't mean I am abandoning you -- you'll lighten up...right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Depression&lt;/b&gt;: You're never going to accept me and my decisions, are you?&lt;br /&gt;I really have to cut you &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;completely out of my life&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; in order to save myself, don't I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;Acceptance&lt;/b&gt;: self-explanatory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The five stages following No - Contact (NC) for me are: Rage, Second-guessing, Peace, Sadness for others, Transcendence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Rage&lt;/span&gt;:  Self-explanatory.  I went through every possible phase of yelling at people who aren't there, bending my husband's ear with, "Don't they know how much time they are wasting?"  cursing, taking it out on loved ones; you name it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Second Guessing:&lt;/span&gt;  "If I had just said it &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this&lt;/span&gt; way, it might have gotten through,"&lt;br /&gt;"If I had said &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this&lt;/span&gt;, at this time -- right after the incident -- it might have worked,"&lt;br /&gt;"If this..."&lt;br /&gt;"If that..."&lt;br /&gt;Never once did I question going No Contact; everything had reached an impasse.  I questioned letting things get that far gone.  That was clearly my fault, since I was the only thinking human being in the room, right?  If I could climb into my way-back machine and correct their bad behavior immediately instead of rewarding it by smiling and putting up with it &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;one more time&lt;/span&gt;,  could I have nipped it in the bud?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Peace:&lt;/span&gt;  Through all the second-guessing, time passes.  And with the passage of time, knowing that I don't have to spend &lt;i&gt;one more Christmas&lt;/i&gt; with them, wherein they insult my gifts,  or one more holiday, where I am sick to my stomach two weeks ahead of the event, or...well, everything.  A type of peace settles over the household.&lt;br /&gt;In between devising ways to screen email and phone calls, and saying "heads up" at places &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;they&lt;/span&gt; might gather, there is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;peace.&lt;/span&gt;  There are longer and longer stretches of time where there are no demons riding along in my head.  One heals in those stretches of time.  Much like not picking a scab, it finally heals and falls off, leaving the scar.  The peace quells all the second-guessing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sadness for others:&lt;/span&gt;   Once I got over feeling sorry for myself and all the time that was lost, I could finally begin to see -- with mounting horror -- that time is still being lost for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;them&lt;/span&gt;.  Buckets-full, barrel-loads of precious time are thrown away by them as they wait, plot and plan to get me back into the fold.  They didn't move on with their lives, as I did.  They are frozen in time, getting older, but not &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;feeling&lt;/span&gt; it, because they think they have forever.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;And I realized they will go to their graves that way.&lt;br /&gt;Their house falls into disrepair, their marriages fail, their children move away, they don't make out any wills or trusts -- not the least being the ones saying where they would like to be buried, or have their ashes scattered.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;Sadness -- and horror -- settles in when I realized how pathetic they are.&lt;br /&gt;I have peace and they have...pettiness.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;It is this realization that brings great sadness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Transcendence:&lt;/span&gt;  This is the stage I resented the most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cutting them off not only saved my sanity and my soul, it suited my deep-seated need for revenge.  Who cares if they suffer and decay? I was their victim, and &lt;i&gt;I&lt;/i&gt; suffered.  Eye for an eye.&lt;br /&gt;Then I started to realize that abuse is generational.&amp;nbsp; I know &lt;i&gt;for a fact&lt;/i&gt; that my grandparents were abusive to my parents, and I can only assume that the abuse echoed down through the generations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For whatever reason, I was the firewall.&amp;nbsp; The abuse stopped with me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But once you see the ripples within ripples, and if we &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;know &lt;/span&gt;an Evil Parent can take an innocent little child,  and destroy his sense of normalcy, all the while looking like a pillar of society -- giving that child no where to turn --  don't you think the child is going to be very, very angry, indeed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This realization didn't cause me to forgive them -- taking it out on me was unforgivable.&amp;nbsp; That's why I never go through the "acceptance" stage: I'll &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;never&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; "accept" what they did to me.&lt;br /&gt;But this bit of insight helped me to turn my back on them without so much rage inside. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-4981836384029076695?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/4981836384029076695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=4981836384029076695' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/4981836384029076695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/4981836384029076695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/07/five-phases-after-going-no-contact.html' title='Five Stages after going No Contact'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-5583272294855353088</id><published>2009-07-27T23:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T19:33:05.330-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How do you mourn when they're not dead?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span&gt;After going No Contact&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;, One Angry Daughter&lt;/span&gt; said, "I had to mourn the *idea* of family and come to terms that my FOO would never fit that ideal."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is so true.  I found that it is NO LESS THAN mourning a death, except they are still walking around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They are are a bit like zombies.  We want No Contact, and we fear running into them at the shopping center or grocery store, because they will tear off chunks of our still living flesh and feed off of it, as they have done so many times before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to come to terms that my FOO would never "fit the ideal." Ever.  It's been ten years since I went No Contact, and just when I think my hide has hardened, something -- sometimes the strangest thing -- will make me cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know the movie &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dan in Real Life&lt;/span&gt;, with Steve Carell?  I loved that movie on the surface: it was beautifully filmed, it had pitch-perfect casting, and we were supposed to weep when we saw him sleeping single in a double bed because his wife had died, leaving him with three growing daughters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never shed a tear over that.  And I recognized the standard Rom-Com of falling for your brother's girlfriend.  I walked out of the theater having enjoyed it, but I was stiff with grief over something unnamed.  I didn't cry until much later, when I was all alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was grieving over the three-generation hierarchy I saw in one lovely old house.  The grandparents were wise, loving and funny.  They weren't stupid, as so many old people are portrayed in movies.  The middle-agers were struggling with marriage, loss, jobs and careers.  Also realistic. The kids were just happy to be there, as children should be: care-&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;free&lt;/span&gt;.  Everyone was different, but they all got along.  They were all happy to share what precious time there was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched that knowing that I will &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never&lt;/span&gt; experience it.  It will never be mine.  Something that I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;covet&lt;/span&gt; will be out of my fingertips' reach, through no fault of my own. But rather merely...circumstance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was unlucky enough to be born amid a den of freaks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My grandparents were dead before, or shortly after, I was born.  So that generation is lost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents are freaks, so that generation is "lost."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My four siblings are awful, so that generation is not an option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you see where I'm heading?  I could never be the child in the three-generation family: it's gone forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't be the middle-agers, because although my children are delightful, my parents and siblings are horrible.  This scenario is slipping away with the passing of time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah.  But there is a slender hope:  I can be the grandparent, along with my delightful husband.  If we play our cards right, and assuming (and they are free to do as they wish) my children want children themselves, we can maybe -- just maybe -- be the loving, wise, and funny grandparents in &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dan in Real Life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I treat my children with respect (and much love), so that they will want to come visit me at my house after they are independent and on their own.  I treat my husband with respect (and much love) so that we may remain vibrant in our old age.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And maybe -- just maybe -- I can have the three loving, caring generations under one roof that I so covet, and cried over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-5583272294855353088?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/5583272294855353088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=5583272294855353088' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/5583272294855353088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/5583272294855353088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/07/how-do-you-mourn-when-theyre-not-dead.html' title='How do you mourn when they&apos;re not dead?'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-5449114617348661688</id><published>2009-07-22T22:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T16:03:23.749-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Evil will always work against their own best interest.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/Smf6gOdnvMI/AAAAAAAAAA0/9kZtZnYHqXU/s1600-h/FRONT+COVER+FOR+BLOG.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/Smf6gOdnvMI/AAAAAAAAAA0/9kZtZnYHqXU/s320/FRONT+COVER+FOR+BLOG.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361529312952958146" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If we make Hitler "The Patron Saint of Evil," think about how he ended up.  Shooting himself and his mistress in the bunker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They killed Mussolini, buried him, dug him up, hung him by his boot-heels and shot his corpse full of holes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hirohito lived to a ripe old age, but he lived long enough to know that his people were told, "He is not a God.  He's a man."  What do you think that did to his overripe ego?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look: Here's my analogy; what follows is real life.  I love cats.  I've lived around them all my life.  They are tough, but weighing only 10 or so pounds, they learn to be cautious.  However, I've seen this particular odd behavior more than once: upon entering a room full of people sitting in chairs, some who love cats and some who despise them, the cat will walk over and try and sit on the lap of the one person who hates cats!  It's some sort of bizarre instinct.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother did that.  With five children, four of whom worship her and one who despises her (me), guess who she fixated on to take care of her in her old age?  Yup: me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My siblings are Evil, or control-freaks, or just plain seriously f**ked up, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;she's&lt;/span&gt; Evil -- and they have to get together &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;every freakin' holiday up to and including Groundhog Day&lt;/span&gt; so that they can vibrate to the same Evil emanations -- so you'd &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;think&lt;/span&gt; she'd want to spend her rotten old age with one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But nooo!  She wants me to take care of her!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: someone who can't stand to be around her, who tried to escape her Crap-taculars so I could lead a normal life, someone who went &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;no contact&lt;/span&gt; just to get away from the ghasty holidays where I had to force a smile on my face and pretend I liked their stink, and felt dirty afterwards, like I'd f**ked a corpse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the very last conversations I had with her, I said, in these exact words:  "I wouldn't spend one hour of my precious time, or one dime of my hard-earned money, taking care of your worthless carcass."  Stop reading now, close your eyes, and imagine what she said.  Honestly: do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eyes open?  Do you think she got mad?  Yelled at me?  Took me on, in any way, shape or form?  No...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She blinked.  That was it.  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;File not found.&lt;/span&gt;  She searched in her memory banks and said to herself, "No: I am lovable.  It is inconceivable that someone wouldn't love me.  Therefore I will erase the tape of what I just heard."  And just like that, she did.  (Think also of Hitler, Hirohito, et al, right here.  They also believed the masses adored them.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She waited until the conversation went back to "normal," and then proceeded as if nothing happened; which, in a sense, it did.  If she decided nothing happened, then, by God, nothing happened!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the many reasons I went No Contact with her was so that she would make other plans for her old age. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I&lt;/span&gt; am Plan A.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is no Plan B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, ten years on, with No Contact whatsoever, I still get the feeling she is waiting for me to "come around."  It sends shivers down my spine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She saves no money, she treats her other children like dirt, thinking it will draw them closer (which it does), and she makes no plans for her eventual decline.  She is seventy-five, and can't see past the end of her own nose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Evil always work against their own best interest.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-5449114617348661688?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/5449114617348661688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=5449114617348661688' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/5449114617348661688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/5449114617348661688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/07/evil-will-always-work-against-their-own.html' title='The Evil will always work against their own best interest.'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/Smf6gOdnvMI/AAAAAAAAAA0/9kZtZnYHqXU/s72-c/FRONT+COVER+FOR+BLOG.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-2337467197810778925</id><published>2009-06-09T16:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T00:24:57.714-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Most Important Parable.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/Si7t7qdzRWI/AAAAAAAAAAs/7I4D5PLiZSE/s1600-h/Front+cover+for+blog.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/Si7t7qdzRWI/AAAAAAAAAAs/7I4D5PLiZSE/s320/Front+cover+for+blog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345471417002706274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;1(800) SUICIDE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The most important parable you could ever memorize for -- not understanding -- but &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;dealing with&lt;/span&gt; -- evil people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A young woman was walking down the street, pulling her jacket tighter about herself as protection against the snow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly she saw a snake.  She was so startled she stopped.  He looked weak, and half frozen.  He spoke to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you give me a lift in your coat, it will get me much warmer, and I won't perish out here in the snow."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman pulled her coat about herself even tighter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But if I do that, you will bite me, and I will die."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why would I do that?" asked the snake.  "If I bit you, and you died, then we would both die, because I cannot take the cold."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman was repulsed, but she felt she couldn't argue with the logic.  And besides, she felt sorry for the snake.  So she lifted him up and placed him underneath her jacket, next to her throat, and continued on her way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After she had walked a city block, she felt a sharp pain in her throat, and reached up to feel blood there.  She slid to the ground and fell over, feeling her life slip away.  Through blurry eyes, she saw the snake uncoil and crawl into the snow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But now we will both die!" said the woman.  "Why did you do that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I couldn't help it," said the snake, "it is my nature."  And he slithered off to die in the snow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Evil will always work against their own best interests.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know you don't believe this, but it's true.  It's a movie affectation that the Evil are greedy, money-grubbing, want the best houses, the prettiest, most-handsome spouses, and all that life has to offer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Evil value controlling others.  They will take you down &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;at all costs&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;All&lt;/span&gt; costs.  This consumes them so much that they don't pursue other, normal, interests.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;They are a Narcissist&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;Narcissist&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt; Narcissist &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;Narcissist&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt; Narcissist &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;Narcissist &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;Narcissist&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;Narcissist&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt; Narcissist &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;Narcissist&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt; Narcissist &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;Narcissist&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-2337467197810778925?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/2337467197810778925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=2337467197810778925' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/2337467197810778925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/2337467197810778925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/06/most-important-parable.html' title='Most Important Parable.'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/Si7t7qdzRWI/AAAAAAAAAAs/7I4D5PLiZSE/s72-c/Front+cover+for+blog.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-4201370896159875209</id><published>2009-01-30T23:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T23:31:37.209-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Book.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/SYP9cg1o1II/AAAAAAAAAAU/AyEHH11hGck/s1600-h/Front+cver+with+text.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"A Primer on Evil"&lt;/span&gt;  by me:  T!  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/SYP9cg1o1II/AAAAAAAAAAU/AyEHH11hGck/s1600-h/Front+cver+with+text.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;I am so far underground, my FOO will never find me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/SYP9cg1o1II/AAAAAAAAAAU/AyEHH11hGck/s1600-h/Front+cver+with+text.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;  Available on Amazon.com and other online retailers.  ISBN: 1436353572. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/SYP9cg1o1II/AAAAAAAAAAU/AyEHH11hGck/s1600-h/Front+cver+with+text.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt; A brief, smoking-hot 72 pages -- because Evil People are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; deep!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/SYP9cg1o1II/AAAAAAAAAAU/AyEHH11hGck/s320/Front+cver+with+text.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297356253010908290" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-4201370896159875209?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/4201370896159875209/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=4201370896159875209' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/4201370896159875209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/4201370896159875209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/01/blog-post.html' title='My Book.'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FFC1XZy9Ed4/SYP9cg1o1II/AAAAAAAAAAU/AyEHH11hGck/s72-c/Front+cver+with+text.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6801158145693043788.post-1281669923703967047</id><published>2009-01-30T17:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T22:03:48.666-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Father: an Introduction.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a i="" created="" this="" website="" to="" talk="" about="" everyday="" it="" is=""&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"A Primer on Evil,"  by &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt;: T!  ISBN: 1436353572.  Available through Amazon.com and other online retailers.  72 pages, because Evil People are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; deep!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi Everyone!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I created this site to give everyone a place to talk about  Evil .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;This is&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; not&lt;/span&gt; the place to talk about the Great Dictators or the Criminal Masterminds.  When was the last time any of these affected you?&lt;br /&gt;No, this is the place to write about all the Evil People you personally know.  I wrote my book (A Primer on Evil) and created this website to:&lt;br /&gt;a) List all those traits Evil People (EP) have in common.&lt;br /&gt;b) Help you catagorize and label them, and&lt;br /&gt;c) Help you name Evil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;a i="" created="" this="" website="" to="" talk="" about="" everyday="" it="" is=""&gt;To &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;a i="" created="" this="" website="" to="" talk="" about="" everyday="" it="" is=""&gt;name&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;a i="" created="" this="" website="" to="" talk="" about="" everyday="" it="" is=""&gt; something is to gain power over it!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a i="" created="" this="" website="" to="" talk="" about="" everyday="" it="" is=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a i="" created="" this="" website="" to="" talk="" about="" everyday="" it="" is=""&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rules for posting:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When posting your own experience, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;blunt it!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some examples:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;@ss-wipe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;butt-f**k&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);"&gt;d**k-hole&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You get the idea.  Be artful.  By nature, I like that which is both beautiful and functional.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Many people, suffering the unacceptable behavior of those around them, are searching on the internet and gravitating to those terms that resonate with them.&lt;br /&gt;That's fine.  On my website, I parse it this way:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Narcissist&lt;/span&gt;: A character disorder, possibly brought on by an unfortunate childhood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sociopath&lt;/span&gt;: Believe it or not, many educated and intelligent people are looking for a &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;genetic&lt;/span&gt; link.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Evil&lt;/span&gt;:  A &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;choice&lt;/span&gt;.  Period.  Full stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) The EP has clearly made a choice to violate you.&lt;br /&gt;2) The EP is fully aware of his actions, and goes to great lengths to hide it (from others).&lt;br /&gt;3)  Unlike the narcissist, who seems to be unaware of the fundamental humanity of his victim, and therefore crosses normal boundaries accidentally as often as not, the EP is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;fully&lt;/span&gt; aware of it, and hates it with every fiber of his being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I fear that many people have both a natural revulsion -- and great sadness -- to naming those to whom they are closely related as Evil.  So let's get right down to it:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;What is Evil, anyway?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The essence of Evil is the deep-seated need to control others.&lt;br /&gt;The Evil abdicate their responsibility to think, to feel, to care about anyone but themselves.  All discipline is thrown out the window, and they no longer reign themselves in.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt; *&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;They do this for one simple elegant reason: to get their own way.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;What are their traits?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The two dominant traits of the Truly Evil are self-righteousness, and self-pity.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;All their actions are justified, and they -- the Evil -- are the true victims.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;a i="" created="" this="" website="" to="" talk="" about="" everyday="" it="" is=""&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;a i="" created="" this="" website="" to="" talk="" about="" everyday="" it="" is=""&gt;Evil&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);font-size:78%;" &gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;a i="" created="" this="" website="" to="" talk="" about="" everyday="" it="" is=""&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;In my case, my father was the greater Evil amongst the people&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" &gt; I was born into,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; (I don't call them my family, as I am happily married now, and my spouse and children are &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" &gt;my family&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like marries like, so my mother was also evil, and as their children were all raised by two control-freaks, they grew up jostling for control, amongst themselves and over others (one sister became a manager so she could destroy the lives of those under her).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My father expressed (to me) almost all the traits of an abusive husband towards his wife:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1)  He didn't care whether I was up" or "down" so long as he put me there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the thing I will &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;never&lt;/span&gt; forgive home for:  When I was a child, I was naturaly enthusiastic. I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;loved&lt;/span&gt; life!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So one day I was happy and he said to me, "Get off your high horse," or some such.  Since he was violently abusive, and I didn't want to get him angry, I thought (child that I was) he will be calmer if I bring myself down a notch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, on another day, I was "up" and happy, and forced to see him (my parents were divorced) so I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;rearranged&lt;/span&gt; my mood, my posture etc. (I was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;nine years old!&lt;/span&gt; I shouldn't have to do this!) It was all an attempt to get him to not explode with some violent outburst.  I was scared and tired of his outbursts.  I thought it would work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said, upon seeing my mood, "Hey, buck up!  It's not so bad!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the f**k!  How did &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;he&lt;/span&gt; know?  He never asked me what was going on in my life.  He didn't care enough.  And the "it" of which he spoke, was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;him&lt;/span&gt;!  "It" is bad, because the "it" is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;you&lt;/span&gt;, you f**king freak!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6801158145693043788-1281669923703967047?l=evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/feeds/1281669923703967047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6801158145693043788&amp;postID=1281669923703967047' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/1281669923703967047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6801158145693043788/posts/default/1281669923703967047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://evilpeopleiknow.blogspot.com/2009/01/evil-people-i-know.html' title='My Father: an Introduction.'/><author><name>T.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12957272943036295749</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry></feed>
