Sunday, April 29, 2012

Poetry: Art with Words: Emotions and their lack of.

The Poetry Contributions: Pain and Pleasure.



This section of The NV-P Blog contains poetry from the many submissions I have been honored to receive over the last month and a half via emails. They span a wide range of emotions, and their lack of, from several perspectives. Unlike like stories and comments, these convey captured thoughts that undoubtedly mattered to their authors, and hopefully, will catch an audience by them that experience and gain knowledge through their  abstract nature.

I have one of my own placed here. Having written over three hundred poems since the twelfth grade, I felt obligated to throw mine into the mix. I will use an alias. I do not wish for credit in this regard.

I have written poetry since I took a creative writing class in high school: Lincoln West, Cleveland Ohio, grad of 1981. I thank a great man that inspired me as well constantly encouraged me to continue and hammer out thoughts onto paper. To put the mind onto black and white and let others sort it out. Art with Words, he called it.

Huge thanks to teacher/mentor, Mr. Merhaut. He opened a door in my life, and mind, that never closed.

If he is still alive, and reads this, I am sorry for the time I punched out and knocked the idiot headfirst into the blackboard for putting gum into my long hair. I only saw red. Then I made the dickhead see red when he came to. Looking back, it wasn’t called assault then, for that I am truly grateful.

Your comment? “write me either a short, highly detailed story or a vivid poem of what you saw versus what you did.”

I gave him both.

I served two detentions for laying that fucker out. Sure, he was much bigger than I, by about a 8 inches in height and 100 lbs in weight. It was his largeness that made a fool of him.

I also got about 4 dates as a result of girls offering to show me how to get gum out of hair without massive chops at it.

Mr. Norman Merhaut: I cannot thank you enough.


Into the breach we voyage, with either eagerness or loathing, let us go forth.


Wanting you:

So bold, so kind,

You took me to place

Of splendid pleasure as our bodies



Voices screaming

In divine ecstasy

Later shrieks of agony

As you burned my wings

And used me in a way

I so loved and hated losing

I gave you money

Trying to hold onto you like an addict needing

Never ending fixes

I took you into my body

Getting wet with the thought of you

Hours before we



Sweaty in writhing passion

You used me

And I miss you still,

Evelyn Masters-Perry

Rhode Island 2009





And you paid for the gas:


You took me for the fastest of rides

As I climbed into your car,

Trees passing by in a blur

Speeding through the parks

Of huge trees,

Flashing sunlight thru their breaks

Blinding me so completely

The brightest of greens

Radiant sunlight through new born leaves

Vibrant shades of contrasting colors

Miles clicking as minds get closer

You took me into your body

I took you into my soul

Heat so devastating

California brush fire

Wiping out all rational thoughts

You clamped yourself around me

Tighter and tighter you gripped me

Finger nails tearing into my flesh

Blood trickling down my flanks

Sensations so complete

We came in unison

Laying sweaty and smiling

I left you the next morning

To never called you back,

Keith Wakeman-Guiffria 1994

Lakewood Ohio




I, too, have teeth:

He trashed my gentle being

They thought he was good 4-me

Best friends wanting to make

My train wreck appear before them

To laugh and talk about it

Later over drinks

High-end Black Russians

White Russians

Baileys Irish Crème Coffees

Some friends they were

They knew what he was

Psychopath man about town

Sacrificing me to him

Just because he fed them drinks

Fed their addictions

As they indulged his

With me.

I have something waiting

These friends never to see

Things heading for their lives

I am now bitch

I too have teeth.

Gina White-****** 2012

East Helena Montana


Lost in your eyes, lies and your thighs:

You came on like the zephyr winds

Caught my sails

Blowing me somewhere

Taking me for a tonsil ride

Allowing me to do


And shoot

You swallowed

So lost in your eyes


And your thighs

I gave you everything

You asked,

I gave

You suggested

I gave

You asked me to fuck you like no other

I gave

Was trapped

Perversions of sex

Better than the best

Nocturnal emissions

With Hollywood stars

No comparison to you

Blank checks

Debit cards and pin

To keep you by my side

I blew off friends of decades

Family paled in no time

You kept sucking me

By mouth and cunt

Faking noises of fulfillment

Sucking me

And I



Craved more and more

Lost in your eyes, lies and your thighs

Building me up

Asking for help

Telling me I was your best

Gas bill is due

Huge cock via text

How you cannot wait

Car payment is late

Meet me at Bayshire Cemetary

Love amongst the dead


Mortgage is two months in arrears

I can help

And I did

So lost

In her eyes


And her thighs

She disappeared as fast as she came

As fast I had cum

I lost myself

Lost most of myself

Lost all who loved me

Counselor asked me

What would you do different

Not a damn thing

He said he could not help me

I left his office

Cold winter winds closed around me

So wanting one like her

So wishing to be sucked

Matthew Murphy 1998

FrankFort Kansas


I have a bullet with your name on it:

I fell for your bullshit

I fell for your lines

I fell

For you

So much talk

Flowers you gave

Sent them to me at work

You built your place

As coworkers were impressed

More blind than I

Cardboards friends I believed

I became so lost

Oceans beckoning my tiny boat

Further sunrises yet unseen

I’d follow your heading

To climax on distant shores

Took me to 5-stars

Made me a lady of desire

We’d coast

Rise rhythmically


Gasp desires fulfilled

Leaves changing color

Seasons pass

I am so asleep

Something grows within me

Test is positive

We’d talked of marriage

But you needed to right yourself


I helped you

When I told you of the dr’s visit

You left in 14 hours

I am about to have our child

You are gone

So coldly I look back

I should’ve known

I have a bullet with your name on it

Justification guides me

I gave you my savings

5 grand

Hopes of clearing you

Debts to be covered

So we could wed.

I bought a gun

One set of bullets

They carry your name

Annie Oakly 2011

Aleysk Russia


Welcome to the World:

I told you I would use you

I told you I could care less about your family and friends

I told you I’d suck you dry

Being drunk

You gave yourself to me

Because you could strut like

Animals on the Learning Channel

Sorry, dumbfuck

Just give me money

That’s what I want

Wear a strong rubber

I will take you

For everything you got

You so begged for more.

A blowjob

A latex barrier

Did you think that meant anything?

Thinking satisfied

Tossing spent cover out the window of brothers Camaro

Leaving drips on the glass

You went wet

I didn’t

But I sucked you

I used you as I said I would

A fool and his money

Sucked my clit honey

Took me into your mouth

A mouthful of my juices

My flavors

Moaning for more

You so took me into you

Never once thinking of tomorrows

Highest order of stiff cocked males

Dicks as brains that control you

Thinking of yourself first

Never thinking of yourself

In future stance


Your future is so limited now

time bomb growing within you

What part of rubber

You entered my pussy

Did you let your guard slip?

I gave you a present


When you took in my precious juices

Did you lose your mind?

I told you to put on a Trojan

You obliged so freely

But you went south

And sucked and licked me

I never asked you

I even said you shouldn’t

Welcome to the world of AIDS

Hope you got your bags packed…………….

Christina ******** 2008

Fiuggi Italy


AN: I believe these poems to be a good sample of what I have received thus far. They cover a vast range of human experience.

I will leave the critiques to you, the reader, to comment on them.

Those outside the USA, humble apologies, please use this as a guide/ help to make things easier on me.

-Mark William Darus 2012/04/29

Catherine: Shiny Blue Tool Box II: last try

Catherine’s Story: Last attempt at Emotions.

Part II: The Catherine Stories.



Titled by Catherine:

(this parts title comes from Catherine <author of Where’s My Fuckin’ Pliers> who

suggested listening to the Anthrax song: Only. Link not posted because it shrinks the font size for some reason>




Last time I thought I felt love for a man was quite a while ago. I remember it fondly. I also remember how it ended.

It was my last ditch attempt to feel, have some emotion for another and try to make myself like the fuckin’ norm in this sad society. I was trying to be a part of this 96% of this population Mark talks about. Yeah, I checked his stats and according to a psychologist named Hare, Cleckley and several others, proved true.
96% not psychopathic. And only the slightest fraction of us go on killing sprees. Like .1 of that percent. And to think we nonviolent make up over 12 million people here! Fuck!

We must be the only goddamned minority in this country that can’t get recognized or get foodstamps, federal aide or job preferences over everyone else.

We may be fantastic manipulators, serious ass intimidators, cunning and self sufficient, but what does that have to do with how the USA handles minorities? Tell me, are we getting a short dick to reach an orgasm with or what? For the testosterone filled, and sexually worthless males here, some frigid bitch, probably your wife, that can’t even utter: ‘oww, baby! Ah!’ during sex.

Save this for another shitty ass rant. Sorry, man. Tangent gone mad. My bad.

His name was Cliff. I met him at some mixer coworkers took me to. He seemed okay enough. Good job, nice hair and not overly extroverted. He gave me a crapload of bullshit lines I didn’t fall and called his ass on every word.

He so cratered when nailed.

Over a few weeks, we got close. Closer than I had ever got with any man.

I so hated my fuckin’ father. That shithead, pussybitch, cunt, deserved to die, My mother, what mother, fuck her! Glad she kicked too.

Cliff and I went to parks and strolled, watched sunsets, sunrises, had what I thought the nicest of lives together. I thought I might have even felt love for this cockwad, thoughts of marriage, school girl stupid fantasy.

Fuck him.

He was my knight in rusty armor.

I told him my past. Gave him my background and this shit I went through. Details, what happened, the pain I felt every cock-sucking day. He’d hug me, tell me it was in the past. We must get on and go forward. He’d be there for me.

He told me he loved me and I believed this. His eyes, brown and clear. His embrace, so surrounding and caring. His words so sincere.

Once I told him, if only he could see my past as I did. If only he could feel what I had felt then.

If only.


We made love. It was sweet, tender in its connection and rhythm. We joined, my heart climbed higher with this man than any before him. We drifted off to sleep. I fell into dreamland with a smile I had never known.

The next morning he told me he was married and didn’t want to hurt her. He felt so guilty. So bad and crushed by what he‘d done with me. This mother fucker even had the nerve to say, please don’t think bad of me.

He then asked the most miserable question any dumbass male could pass across cunt scented lips:

“what do you think of me?”

What did I think? Oh yeah, big question there.

Thoughts of my folks crashed on me.

I thought of my father.

I thought of my mother.

I then told him I’d make us breakfast.

I made eggs and bacon and sausage. Toast and coffee.

I treated him royal.

He came to eat when I told him it was done, his silly ass came to my breakfast nook naked. Limp dick just hanging out there, smile on his face.

“glad you’re so good about this, honey,” he said. Caught him by the corner of my eye. His smirk, so fuckin’ bold. He thought he pulled one over on me.

My shinny blue toolbox was on the counter.

Before his flapping dick knew what hit him, I slashed his cock as I gave him his plate of breakfast.

Yeah, bloody pork might not be good, but it is your blood, right dickhead?

He looked shocked. I often wondered why. I could not have been the first women to try something like this. How could I be so bold to try this? Didn’t the Bobbitt incident happen? Didn’t Hillary get fucked over by the President of the United States? Weren’t men excluded from the baseball Hall of Fame for womanizing decades later than what they did and after they put their names on the walls of the place?

As he looked at his free flowing cock, he yelled: “I’ll call the cops!!!”

Calmly, still holding the ten inch butchers knife by my side, I calmly said to him. “so, you wanna this public? Make your company know this? Make your ignorant wife know what you are? Go for it! Here’s my fuckin’ cell! Give it your best shot!”

Feeling my almost lost emotionless, psychopathic abilities flood back with a massive vengeance, I added coldly: “I want at least 750 a month, or I will talk.”

Dumbass says: ‘I’ll deny everything.”

I had his house number. I had his work number. I had him by his tiny, pulling upward balls, and he slowly, fucking stupidly, began to realize it.

“what are you gonna tell her? Some absurd zipper accident when leaving the gym gave you that cut? What are you gonna tell her? Huh?”

I pulled out my small Nikon point and shoot, snapped a pic of him in his morning sadness. My kitchen in background with my walls, coffee machine, my fuckin’ Whirlpool dishwasher. He had the ego to step towards me.

Leveling my knife at chest high, I asked him if he really wanted a different outcome than the Fatal Attraction kitchen incident. Sorry, my aim is much better than that of Glenn Close.

He backed off, grabbed his clothes and split.

Did he pay me?

You betcha! It did take me two calls to his job and three calls to his wife. Sure, I left messages with receptionists and his wife about refinance options on his house. It would only cost him seven-fifty a month.

I then got cash.

Every month. I still get payments.

Women of this land! Fuck love when they fuck you over. You gave them your thoughts, deepest feelings, your faith and emotions. And all they could do was attempt to blow you off? Stand up and take matters into your hands.

Sometimes it takes a knife and an ability to actually wheeled it. Some memory and an ability to remember numbers and the names of those closest to him. Never, and I fucking mean NEVER, be without some form of digital camera with at least 5 plxls to catch the moment and keep his faux ass in check.

Remember this, my sisters: If you kill this asshole, especially after he says shit about being married, you got him. Don’t fail to call the Date Rape card. If you did drugs together, claim Roofies!

<<<AN: The Date Rape drug aka Roofies>>>

The tests for this will show for both parties. Drugs in the systems. You will so have the sympathy of all but the bastards sad ignorant wife, maybe her family, though I doubt it. You will never be brought to trial. Why? You got pics, semen samples that only a President could get away with proving , and alcohol and/or drugs on a TOX screen.

I lost all thought of love and emotions once again. It hurt me. Seriously hurt me to some psychology type core. Fuck love, fuck men and most all of like my parents taught me. Fuck Emotions!


Mr. Mark William Darus, go fuck yourself with the largest of dildos! This blog of yours has hit points that cause me sleepless nights. Flashbacks of yesterdays my shrinks would revel in!, My writings, as your blog has made me compelled to contribute to. My emails give you permission to post, but damn you!

The Prey and Predator alike? Equal ground? You have done this, some peoples GODS can only know how you keep pulling if off.

This really is Psychopathy Another Life. Another Life is quite appropriate.

Did you know where this would lead us all? Did you know you’d hit over 1200 post in a month and a half? Love it here though. In the Spirit of Tron: No problems, No compromise, ONLY solutions…




AN: Thanks, Catherine. I know you made the ‘dildo’ remark as a term of endearment. LOL.

I had no idea this would take off like it did. If I had a sense of pride, I have little doubt I would feel it most strongly.

Only by Antrax, good choice.

Tron: Only Solutions. One of the best Journey songs ever.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Myths, Folktales and The Evil Closest Monster

               Myths, folktales and The Evil Closet Monster.

                 PART I:  Let the hunt begin! Tallyho!

It is most easy to spot a Nonviolent Psychopath (NV-P) in a crowd of people. Go to any crowded grocery story, hopefully with 100 people or more shopping. I say a hundred or more based on the statistic that 4% of the population of the USA are psychopaths, so it should be easier for you to spot one, perhaps two. It could also be at your local Hardware store, ( guys so fall to predators at hardware stores. Must have something to do with the word Hard, in hardware.)

PART I: Out of place dude at the grocery store.

You’ve seen them and maybe thought them odd. One thing is for sure: they stand out in the crowd.

The males are the ones with near empty grocery carts, staring blankly at frozen peas, looking over their shoulders periodically to see what hottie will fall into their web. They wait so patiently like a spider that the unsuspecting fly has no clue they are even thinking anything gross or disgusting.

“Are these good frozen peas?” they may say.

“My god! There’s too many to choose from???”

“What they Hell does Orgasmic Product of the US mean?”

This quite frequently gets the woman feeling sorry for this poor schlep of a man. They smile at his poor reading abilities, “I think that says ‘Organic’…”

“Uh, sorry…” he says faking an embarrassed look. “my sick mother asked me to pick her up some peas. Christ, I didn’t know there were this many.”

“Poor baby, lost in the woods, eh?” she says, feeling a tug at her heart as this man is so frustrated trying to help his mother.

“yeah, I’ve been that way since my died two years ago. She was, (sniff sniff) hit by a bus.” He smiles, with a small, though tooth showing, expression.

“ sorry to hear that, let me help you.” She’s getting closer and closer to the sticky web he’s cast. <Okay, fine, I know how Freudian that sounds. J I couldn’t resist.>

What this woman that happened on the frozen peas section of doom didn’t see were the simple telltale signs he displayed.

And after you read this section, you will know them and not end up like her.

PART II: The ACMECOYOTE Hardware MEGA Store! She has the non-sugar walls you need to avoid.


There is this women looking bewildered, though exceptionally gorgeous, standing in front of the circular saws. Every time a store employee asks if she needs assistance, she waves them off with a sultry voice stating she’s only looking.

Enter macho man. This guy is dressed like he walked out of high school shop class. A Harley Davidson T-shirt that reads: RIDE HARD! STAY HARD! that is way too small and too tight, showing off his manly arms and bulging chest. His slightly torn Levi’s, which also happen to be two sizes too small, advertising that he really is sporting a cucumber down there.

Macho dude strolls with a swagger. He walks up to this blond babe wearing flowing brightly colored skirt and oh so tight and pink jog bra. There is a cockiness to his walk, he truly must be a woman's man, no time for talk.

Her hot pink jog bra nailed him like the outside wall at Talladega repeatedly trashes Nascar drivers at 200 miles per hour.

Watching him, his eyes locked on her twin peaks, that the jog bra do not hide, he is clearly thinking one thing. “ooga-chocka! Ooga ooga ooga-chocka, oogo ooga_ I just get this feelin’. deep inside of me…”

He’s sporting a voice like Marvin Gaye with the look of Peewee Herman riding his face as he begins to speak.

“Say, fine lady, you look lost and I’ve got your road map.”

She smiles, mouth opening halfway. Green eyes shining like polished emeralds.

“ I just don’t know which drill to pick out for my father. He’s dying of cancer and I want to get him the best one ever! You see, he wants to make his own coffin as to not burden my brothers and I with the cost of a real one.” her voice falters, eyes dropping to floor.

“Darlin’, these are saws. But any sweet thing could make this mistake. Let me show you.”

He walks her to the power drill area.

She looks at the stock before her, than, looks at his ‘stock’ and says; “so BIG! I just don’t know which to choose.”

“uh, darlin, I can help you this. I know a lot about tools” he so manly states, reaching to scratch his groin like a pro baseball player.

She’s got him now, and damn well knows it!

Yet, how did this obvious man of the world lose control and slam into her wall? <damn, the Freudian lines just keep on coming… J >

We’ll get to the so to easy to read signs soon enough.



What did part one and part two have in common?

Well, besides the obvious stupidity in the places they chose to prey, we missed much.

The half-smiles.

Had they smiled fully, the victim would’ve surely run away when they saw the massive k-9s that only a true predator can possess. Sharp fangs, pointy pointy teeth, as Monty Python so gave warnings of such things that most fail to heed.

Eyes, that may contain colour, but hold pupils as black as the pits of hell.

Other tells: When encountering anyone (especially a man) with a shopping cart that contains the following: One pack of Jimmy Deans pure pork sausage (not pre-cooked), a loaf of cheap bread, (note this: no cold-cuts or peanut butter and jelly), a pack of corned beef, (again, refer to the bread. Not rye and no cheese to compliment this) NO MUSTARD! Two boxes of Captain Crunch cereal (and no Milk), a butchers knife, a box of latex gloves, six packs of JuicyFruit gum and a cheap-ass apron.

Oh yeah, you’re what’s for dinner?

When encountering the hardware chick.

You will buy her the drill and drill bits. You’ll even have her get, and you will pay for these, the largest damn bits there is. You’ll even suggest that she get the heaviest leather tool belt they offer that gives her the most protection.

These people will kill you without giving it a moments thought!

Look at it: Latex gloves? Pork Sausage? Biggest drill bits?

So easy to figure out.

Pork sausage indicates that they are not Jewish, and perhaps maybe Nazi in background. Coupled with the butchers knife, apron and JuicyFruit gum. Juicy fruit, to cleanse their pallet after they have Hannibal Leture’d your ass, apron to dispose of as they slash you to bits with the butchers knife.

Take the time and think about it for a moment.

As far as the Fever Nights guy at the hardware extravaganza.

Well, this is easy to describe. Ever seen the movie Driller Killer? N’uff said.

Predators have flaming eyes, usually burning red with hells fire. Female Predators have flowing hair and come-fuck-me smiles and always wear flowing skirts and too revealing tops. Male predators come off like Bundy’s, acting like a dork with an attachment, like Norman Bates, to their mothers.

They all wear clothes that are out of date, have bad breath and torn fingernails. They talk like no one you ever heard before and they know how to steal your heart, soul and thoughts in milliseconds with a mere sucking in of your air.

They drive good cars, fast crotch rockets, or have a plane waiting.

They are all in league with the devil.

Welcome to the myths , folktales and Closet Monster.

From sheer sight, you cannot spot a NV-P on sight. You cannot pick them out of a crowd as one might find a bad pear in a rack with squeezing it first.

They do not have massive fangs, stares like that of Manson or Lecture, and will not use a butchers knife on you.

Homicidal Psychopaths are easier to find, perhaps using the above guidelines.

Read about Andrei Chikatilo (USSR) and his methods for further understanding. The investigator on him had him nailed years before, but got blocked by USSR parties bullshit before the walls fell. At that point, he NAILED fucker after a nervous breakdown while working the case and being accused of both madness and distortion of evidence. Movie to watch: Citizen X. Starring Donald Sutherland, Stephen Rae, Max Von Sydow . Fantastic movie! Thanks to best brother Dave Rose for showing me this years ago!

The NV-P is a casual beast that walk amongst us. They look and act like you and your friends. Though there are tells mentioned in previous posts from others and myself on my BLOG, most go without further thought to the reader. They do not carry themselves as monsters and only give to others their true selves as they leave.

Well, how do you know who is a NV-P and how isn’t?

Well, do like the styles of olde. Throw some weight on their ankles and toss them in a river. If the sink, they must be evil as wood and ducks floats and evil doesn’t. Put them on a Polygraph. Surely NV-P’s cannot pass those. They are such loathsome and emotionless characters that they could not possibly pass questions regarding emotion and remorse. Keep in mind, most covert-ops have been trained, like most members of the military, can pass those and have given their tricks for doing these so freely to the point they can be found in both books and movies, as well as the Internet.

In conclusion: They are not so easy to spot. There are, however things/actions to look for as mentioned in previous posts to look for. These came from both sides of my BLOG, the that filled their mental/ego bellies and those that were gutted both emotionally and financially.

Thanks for reading. I truly enjoyed writing this installment.

The commercials were from my mind and mine alone. All rights reserved. Implied copyright: 03:30AM on 04/26/2012 EST.

God help us, but if we do go into a Soylent Green mentality, I can handle the advertising for it with no problem whatsoever. Maybe god help me? I laugh, but you, reader, decide that for yourself.

Yours in thought, word, and most of all, writing and bowling!

Mark William Darus.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Nonviolent Psychopathic bosses: Part one.

             The boss you need to avoid whenever possible.

Nonviolent Psychopaths (NV-P’s) can most definitely reach positions of management, upper levels, and can even rise to CEO’s. They can do this almost effortlessly to all that see it happen, sometimes wondering how and so quickly they made it occur.

Most management NV-Ps reach this level by their late thirties to early forties. They’ve learned from many trials and errors, feeling their way and finding what works roughly 90% of the time. They are fast learners, never forgetting past errors in their actions, wording or their blind onesided ambitions.

How do they learn to reach the levels they do?

Through their sheer power of manipulation, backstabbing those on equal levels and possessing a never-ending mental tape recorder that is constantly on full-blast, they will coerce, blackmail and charm their way to the top. This level of their actions, however, is just the tip of the iceberg.

God help those that work under them as they progress their rapid ascent to bigger, grander things.

They love to ask those under them their opinions, reactions to new corporate initiatives, or simply to ask for ideas based on brain-storming sessions. When given these thoughts from their subordinates, they’ll fake interest and quite possibly concern for the meager/weak issues of the team they control. In some cases, when a team member continually expresses job related issues that never seem to get resolved, thus creating more stress in their work environment, they’ll snap on the employee in an attempt to intimidate them into submission. They do this to lay down the law: basically telling this employee, not the mention the whole team: Bring this up again and I WILL make you wish you hadn’t.

Why do they do this?

They do it to lay down their law of the jungle, making the repeated questioner look bad, ignorant or a negative Nelly in front of the whole team. This having a certain effect, more often than not, making others say nothing at all for fear of reprisal or retribution, and possible consequences in the future.

When they sense a loss of control with subordinates, after manipulation fails, they will have no problem intimidating with a fierce mentality to crush and beat them down. They will say things like: What, do you not think I know what I am talking about? Do you have no faith in the company, its systems, and your job? If you’re so unhappy, why do you stay here? You have other options, perhaps you should explore them…

At that point, you need to start documenting everything you encounter with this boss. Take notes, what is said, dates and times. EVERYTHING. This may save your job, not to mention your sanity, over time as you simply wish to maintain your life.

Depending greatly on your personality, you will either wish to rub this bosses nose in shit or simply waste much time and energy being the scared rabbit this manager has created.

Be conscious of your inner signals if you fall into the latter. If you find yourself concerning yourself or entertaining the idea that you are wrong for your answers, suggestions and justified in being belittled in front of others, talk to friends and family members about this. If you feel you can trust coworkers about your concerns, do so cautiously, as they may backstab you to the boss. Consider going to HR when you have documented enough.

Those that are strong enough to consider giving your boss a scratch-and-sniff of fecal perfume, you probably already have compiled enough documented evidence and are already on your way to HR. Most HR departments of larger companies will pay attention to employees concerns and grievances. They are smart and know they can always ‘make’ another manager. They will take notice when enough employees step up and express similar concerns.

Yet instead of firing such managers, they oddly, against all logic, will sometimes promote them instead. Perhaps fearing legal issues, they will set them apart from their current team. Occasionally placing them on another team to see what happens, to take further action down the road, or simply put them on a team of corporate YES-People, ie, Specialty Teams. Many times, they will place them in a position that involves other areas of the companies big-picture structure in a behind the scenes capacity.

This is the time, that the corporations hierarchy , wishes to see what this person, the NV-P, has to offer and further make the company more profitable. Granted, this boss had a ton of HR accusations against them, yet still had a team with exceptional numbers and an excellence of performance that bears notice. This person did, when all is said and done, blow away most teams in the company.

Those that acknowledge such achievements, unknowingly, propel the predator to further heights. They think they can control this person they gave a better position to, and oh so willingly grant this person more power than they’d righteously earned. It is at this point that their egos made them the next target.

I will go to the next level of the Corporate Vampire that is this type of NV-P.

Let me list the signals to the workers of a boss that may be a NV-P.

1. They so willing with much enthusiasm ask your opinion. If you watch closely, you will see that their eyes never match their words. Facial expressions, smiles that bare teeth, like that of a wolf about to strike. Watch for hand movements that do not match the emphasis for the subjects they are talking about.

By this I mean: think of a used car salesman, attempting to sell you a piece of junk, throwing his arms wildly with much energy and expression, taking your attention away from the car you’re thinking about and the oil stained pavement underneath it. He/She so blatantly sells you on the 30 day, 1000 mile guarantee, that you either consider it, or outright purchase it. This man obviously stands by this car, after all, look at his enthusiasm. He must be honest as he stands by the warrantee they offer.

Maybe not the first time, but by the second time, the managerial NV-P will attempt to squash you like a fly to their swatter.

They will belittle you. Bash you and knock you down in their attempt to intimidate you so brazenly in front of others, cowing them into submission.

2. Watch keenly for the boss that suggests, though more often than not, answers your question and asks further questions that sound more like an accusation: Catch phrases most often used: Is it that you have no faith in the company? Do you doubt my knowledge/expertise on this matter? Do you suggest I did not run your question up the ladder to get you a resolve? < and at the next meeting, when you question that they have not, watch their eyes. They will contain daggers aimed straight you.>

3. When you encounter one-on-ones with this boss, watch for what they say, in the highest of confidences, about your fellow employees. They use such terms as negative Nellies, Gloomy Gus’s and so forth, drawing you in when they compliment you on not being that way. They will eventually get paranoid about this and slowly, over some time, point out your flaws and tell you that you need to work on these things. They are setting you up for eventual termination. You have not told them about further negative statements the Nellies have said. They may, at bolder points, point blankly ask you: You didn’t tell them what I said, did you? I trusted you and I hear you betrayed my trust ( even though you kept your mouth shut.)

4. HR or the media is your friend. Use these resources to their fullest.

The above is a compilation of both stories from contributors and life experiences over the decades.

Make of this what you will, but keep a watchful eye.

Your boss may be a NV-P.

Thank you! We did this TOGETHER! Stand proud!

Where I can begin to thank all of you that have taken the time out of your busy lives to send emails and comments? Where can I begin to say what gratitude I have for your efforts? At what point can I possibly say more about OUR BLOG, that you both the predator and prey have shared so much?

I started this on March 3rd of this year of Two Thousand one-two and the response has been overwhelming. I have been so blindsided by emails that without some form of help from somewhere, I am flooded and drowning. PLEASE, TAKE NO OFFENSE IF IT TAKES ME A WHILE TO TOUCH BACK WITH YOU. Bowing head, I ask your forgiveness as to how long it has taken me to touch solid ground with you all.

Where to begin to show appreciation?

We have hit lands so far away from me I cannot begin to know their cultures and lives so vastly different than my own. Sunrises and sunsets in lands so opposite my own that I wish to see the world as you do. To walk the places, see the sights and smell what you do everyday, each week, a year upon years. Envious am I as I walk my limited life on OUR blue planet. (I seriously need to win a lotto and travel) The Gods will and not my own will, may this great feat happen.)

We have hit the lands of my fathers people in the Ukraine. I so wish to go there someday. Visit the places my fathers parents walked. Seeing what they saw. To Visit Pripyat, Ukraine, to see the rumblings of man at the worst nuclear disaster in history.  The Chyrnoble accident.

    Since the counter: we have hit: the USA (505 hits,) Russia (212 hits) the Ukraine ( 196 hits) Germany (157) Spain (78) Finland (37) Norway (22) Afghanistan ( 9) Canada (3).

We have hit connections from Yahoo, Google, FaceBook, Pharmaceutical companies, Discount Medications, Hooda vitamin/weight loss affiliates, University Hospitals, and a myriad of others.

We did this: TOGETHER!

Yet I dodge the question. Where to give thanks.

I can only say this: I so, bowing head like that of an emperor penguin does its mate in the Antarctic after giving birth. The mother, after giving the father the egg for safe keeping, returns after a 100-200 mile trek to bring food. The father: holding the egg for months keeping it alive, bearing witness to its child shedding its tiny home in the coldest of worlds. To be protected in the comfy warmth of his fathers underbelly, feeding off what little his father has to give. Then its mother comes back and all is right with their world. Nature, instinct, doing the impossible and against all odds.

Thank you for making things right with my world and my pursuits. You have no idea what you have done for me and my return to reading, writing and clear thinking once again. My journey into such a dark place of humanity, yet one that answers a question I have asked for years now.

You have, and keep doing so, answered my greatest question of all:

What makes us human?

We move forward, and I cannot thank you enough.

-Mark William Darus. (son of Marion and Ted, Grandchild of Orlon and Jenny)

Saturday, April 21, 2012

I remember you, Mark! Nice to see you large and out there!

                            To Mark William Darus.

Your words, your thoughts, the theories you will prove in time as you reach the common people from several countries. Anyone that possesses such a passion to post over a month and a half now, keep it interesting to those of us without psychology degrees, has some ability to capture and thus educate us.

I found your site from a boss of mine. She said I should read it, as we’d had many talks over blown and utterly fucked up relationships. Lost lots of money lost, many emotional breakdowns, stressing family and friends alike. We are as sisters, so close that we could not be blood related as we have never fought. We have shared many tears, spontaneous hugs, eruptions of raw emotion.

Your blog is a roadmap to enlightenment. I think the Prey and Predator share similar areas that hit home to both the learning and the reamed.

Based on comments from both sides, and your thoughts so clearly stated:

A. to the prey: read how the predator will find your ass and use you blind, and make you smile all the way to your emotional and financial devastating wreck.

B. to the predator, and want-to-be-predator: So boldly written, adding details at every possible moment to hit a point as subtle as a 10 ton wrecking ball takes out a building that was so firmly made. Within their firmly planted egos, do they not tell us their methods? By their sheer unabashed writing, are they not sending warnings to your readers? It is like, in some base act of guilt or penance, to warn others anonymously of what they will do to those that fail to follow their instincts.

Based on your ‘vacation outside ourselves’ post, could it not be said this is how they can fill their unconscious desire to be exposed or simply dominated?

To the want-to-be’s. Your site, through reader comments, can also be used to teach them the tricks of their trade and hone their skills. Through the corporate world as well as the relationship area, they will read and learn things that have worked for others. If intelligent enough, they will go forward with this knowledge.

C. You have kept your integrity as a writer. I have no idea how you have done this on such a depressing subject. You maintain objectivity in regards to Nonviolent Psychopaths with your writing.

I know, when it comes to modern human nature, you sometimes go off on tangents. I understand this totally: How can you continue to write about these aspects, their sadness and desperation and keep your own sanity and not need to vent?

Amazingly, you hit major points with those tangents and do this quite well. They seem to fit with each one, seamlessly cascading over boulders towards the waterfalls, which is your blog. The Crashing waters, though adding oxygen to downward streams aiding life beyond that needs to breathe.

And you do this as a simple person who has read, experienced and learned. No degree, which is probably why you do write as you do without windy jargon and pretentious tones like so many in the field of psychological writing. You have some training, though I believe you when you said you started reading psych books at an early age. You have taken classes, but something tells me it was decades ago.

My boss and I have shared your site with others who now follow it. Like the WEB itself, it gets bigger and more spread out. Like the globe you are hitting, Mark.

We spend breaks tearing your writing amongst us, but none of us have found a site that shares so much with the general population that makes up our shrinking world. Both sides, in unison: the teachers and the taught. Through pain and elation, we learn.

We thank you!

Rhonda L Madsen.

And the *********** ********* Company.

Ps: we met, about 8 years ago in the MetroParks. We talked and you told me your name. I was sitting on a boulder in the Rocky River metro parks overlooking the river. I was crying and you asked me if I was okay. I said nothing, but you asked me to join you to pay homage to the Dunkleosaurus. I followed you, thinking you nuts and wishing to be dead after another failed relationship. I have often wondered about that event. I broke down and told you everything. You hugged me and said to learn from it. I have never forgotten that.

A Godsend!

My boss showed me your blog, and I remembered you after reading several entries. I looked up face book names. Zark, love that diversion. I remembered your fiery eyes, your wrinkled forehead, that didn’t match your energy and so obvious love of lie . The frantic way you told me about the sky, I think you called them ‘the gods canvas’. Everyday was a blessing and each sky pic embraced with our eyes makes a picture never to be recreated no matter how long we lived and should be cherished.

I have never forgotten your gentle words, Mark.

You kept me alive at one of the worst points of my life and made me believe in Angels once again.

I will contact you when I feel I can. I don’t look the way I did then. I am a somewhat vain woman.

As others have said: my gift to you.

You made, and I have no doubts with others, make a difference.



AN: I can find nothing to comment on this except thank you. Sorry for my lack of memory, though I think you were a redhead, slender , wearing a bluish-green tank and paled shorts, and missed match sneakers? I remember meeting a women at that place that had two different Converse sneaks, making me think: how fucked is this person and how can I help?

At that time, as I have most of my adult life, I am/was so self scarifying. I still am, albeit on a more selective course than before << survival plays a huge part to most of us, and seriously for me.>>>

Do you think I really care how you look? Your size and such means nothing to me. Honestly though, your hair length might. Sorry on that. I am such an asshole for long hair on women.

Mine to yours, Rhonda…



Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Defying Gravity


       This is the story of Nancy. Native of Boston Mass. You have to love the intrinsic power of music and how it works on the minds processes. I cannot find fault on her personal conclusion for herself at this point in time anymore than i could find fault in someone doing anything against their upbringing. You go with what works for you. We are all more based on what works for us than the greater good.
              Go, Nancy.

          Defying gravity: This is my story of how I learned to kill my emotions, thus becoming a psychopath. I excelled in life, and never looked back.

My name is Nancy. I live by what most would consider a normal life. I work, pay taxes, (sometimes) and con most into believing I am a nice caring person. I have a dog, two cats and a a few friends who far more often that not, help when all goes wrong. Granted, I help them move, pick them up when they are sad and desparate. Their relationships run bad, a sounding board, a shoulder to cry. I can be there for them.

They tell me of their pain and anguish. I hug them, tell them everything is gonna be alreight and so forth. Yet I cannot feel their grievances except through some trace-memory of decades past. I know how their faces look and how my face and body language should respond, but there is no feeling in me. I just do what I think I should do. I do this to aid them, friends and such.

Frankly, I am not sure why I help anyone that cannot make me advance.


For years, I tried to play by the rules my parents, schools and friends taught me.

I went to high school, did band and chess club and though I was top in those, I got no scholarship. Why is this? I asked myself many times….

Did great in college, scoring higher and making top 5% of my grad class. Rose to editor for school newspaper in my sophomore year. Kept up with band, chess and even did well in glee club. Turns out I had a voice that turned heads.

Did these things help?

Nope, not at all.

You must be thinking I am some total dog or horribly obese person. Well, I was not. I was 5’9” and weighed in at 121 lbs. Long red hair over albeit anemic white skin. High cheekbones, slender arms and shapely legs.

I just couldn’t seem to make that oh-so-vital first impression that made those in authority take notice of me.

I even did public service in homeless shelters to aid my resume. I cleaned piss and shit from whores and junkies coming off overdoses and addictions. I fed their kids while they were in detox. I did it all.

No notice, not even the slightest recognition. NOTHING.

When I graduated college: most of my friends who had much lower grades, no extracurricular activities or even any public service backgrounds reached higher on jobs than me, I realized I was doing something wrong.

They lied successfully and I didn’t. They manipulated things that made them look great.

I loved my parents, but my friends must have taught them something better.

Over the first few years after graduation, I worked meaningless jobs that had nothing to do with my degree. Had relationships that left me lifeless over time trying to please and fail.

Then, from a commercial, I heard about an off-Broadway musical.


I related to the lead character like non other.

And this song…




(spoken) Elphaba - why couldn't you have stayed calm for
once, instead of flying off the handle!
(sung) I hope you're happy!
I hope you're happy now
I hope you're happy how you
Hurt your cause forever
I hope you think you're clever!

I hope you're happy
I hope you're happy, too
I hope you're proud how you
Would grovel in submission
To feed your own ambition

So though I can't imagine how
I hope you're happy right now

(spoken) Elphie, listen to me. Just say you're sorry:
(sung) You can still be with the Wizard
What you've worked and waited for
You can have all you ever wanted:

(spoken) I know:
(sung) But I don't want it -
No - I can't want it

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes: and leap!

It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!

Can't I make you understand?
You're having delusions of grandeur:

I'm through accepting limits
'Cuz someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But till I try, I'll never know!
Too long I've been afraid of
Losing love I guess I've lost
Well, if that's love
It comes at much too high a cost!
I'd sooner buy
Defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye
I'm defying gravity
And you can't pull me down:
(spoken) Glinda - come with me. Think of what we could
do: together.

(sung) Unlimited
Together we're unlimited
Together we'll be the greatest team
There's ever been
Glinda -
Dreams, the way we planned 'em

If we work in tandem:

There's no fight we cannot win
Just you and I
Defying gravity
With you and I
Defying gravity

They'll never bring us down!
(spoken) Well? Are you coming?

I hope you're happy
Now that you're choosing this

(spoken) You too
(sung) I hope it brings you bliss

I really hope you get it
And you don't live to regret it
I hope you're happy in the end
I hope you're happy, my friend:

ELPHABASo if you care to find me
Look to the western sky!
As someone told me lately:
"Ev'ryone deserves the chance to fly!"
And if I'm flying solo
At least I'm flying free
To those who'd ground me
Take a message back from me
Tell them how I am
Defying gravity
I'm flying high
Defying gravity
And soon I'll match them in renown
And nobody in all of Oz
No Wizard that there is or was
Is ever gonna bring me down!

I hope you're happy!

Look at her, she's wicked!
Get her!

:Bring me down!

No one mourns the wicked
So we've got to bring her



And so, I became, as my shrink would call it, a psychopath. It took many years of friends and loved ones telling me to seek help. Got to love med benefits: they make many rich and seldom do any good.

I like myself this way. I cannot be hurt. I cannot be nailed by trying and failing. I seldom fail these days. I have learned to manipulate and lie convincingly.

I have risen trhough the ranks and currently make just over 500k a year.

I have defied gravity.

Those that would’ve held me down with such things as: just give it time, you’ll make it. Love lost is better than no love at all.

My family and past friends, though with good intentions, had such a little clue to my hearts pain no matter how vividly or intellectually I’d spill it out for them.

I killed my emotions. One by one. And over time, I had to do nothing…

I defied gravity and am so much happier for it.


Thank you Mark.

You gave me a place to speak my mind and set some thoughts to peace.

So many look at us as being monsters, but we like racist jokes, don’t all fit the profile. I wrote this from your cracker barrel post with the Less than Zero music playing. Great soundtrack there. Inspirational. Sorry to hear how much you have lost from this blog. Sisters not wanting to speak with you must have some impact on you.

Know this: you are reaching a world, and with that, there must be some downsides. I am behind you.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Cracker Barrel killings 04/12/2012

         Birthday Massacre: The killings in Brooklyn Ohio. April 12th 2012.

          Intro to thoughts most will not tolerate nor consider.

           Play this as you read:

Let me start by saying I am breaking my own rule of engagement with this post. I said I would not go into the realm of violence and killings that seem to permeate the United States unlike most countries that do such human trashing for religion, civil rights or other such acceptable causes. I say acceptable most loosely: We can so easily find justifiable reasons to kill each other on the mass scale and cheer as hundreds, thousands die for “our’ cause.

The killings and wasting of families in other countries is so okay with us, as Americans, we cope with this on an almost daily basis. We have so reduced human life to the least common denominator that collateral damage and the decimated lives in the wake mean less than zero to us.

To any of you with children: What would you do if your innocent kid had their body chopped in half while some country said: WE’VE GOT TO STOP THE EVIL DOERS!

Those wasted lives hadn’t even paid taxes to fund their own comrades in their fight.

We in United States cannot say this. Our taxes make the bombs, bullets and planes possible to make such things happen abroad. We are all guilty for such collateral damage. We are, or so many would like to say, are responsible human beings. We work, we pay our bills and support a welfare system; perhaps giving to charities with what little money is left to us after local, state, federal and county taxes cut us of our real monetary worth.

Bottom line: our funding of the American Military machine is far bellow what we think as a people of the Earth. We seem to be more interested in our IPODS, the latest cell phones, and our single minded greed to further ourselves on and individual basis: fucking all others to advance such things, finding innocent deaths justifiable. Yet many of us head to churches once, twice or maybe three times a week to feel at home with God, Buddha, Christ or the Sacred heart of the Royal Frisbee, to level things out and dispel

guilt unknowing to us, though tugging at our hearts making us feel uneasy from day to day existence knowing something is wrong within us.

Yet we fund the killings, with each dollar we pay.

And to think we left and revolted against taxation without representation.

With the exception of the American Civil war when counties voted, when has the People of the United States of America ever personally voted for a war?

Brooklyn Ohio: April 12th 2012.

Sitting in a sometimes loud, though happy place to talk, eat good food and share the events of our lives. We have great wait staff attend to my wife, friends and I as we go about our stories. Fire burning in the open hearth, whiffs of Yankee Candles joining us and happy children wanting to finish eating and play with the cool toys in the store. My wife and friends almost wanting like our children, to see the things you can’t get from other restaurants.

The waitress, I’ll call her Aimee-Lynn, brings the bread to us. The scents of muffins and cornbread take hold as we imagine the butter and jelly we’ll spread on them and how they will taste.

Content with all around us. Peace after this never ending week. What more could we ask for?

Our children, not so taken by this, ask for more IBC root beer, to which, Aimme says she will oblige them with a genuine smile, short brunette hair dancing on her shoulders, liking her shift.

Looking around at the wall items: The tree saw, old trombone, pictures of stoic men and women from a long age when glass negatives were the norm. The Triangular puzzles which vexed most.

The food arrives.

A family next to us is celebrating a child’s tenth birthday. Such a happy kid, beaming with the light that only the innocent can possess.

We begin to eat. Smiles all around.

The sounds of Dolly Parton shattered by gunfire.

The fantastic smell of fried apples goes horribly afoul when mixed with the smell of fresh gun powder.

Madness takes hold.

The plastic electronic bird in the store, with flapping wings, mimics the gun fire and the shrieks of those close.

A crazed man with eyes filled with desperate hatred and total anger keeps firing. A child, his child, becomes lifeless by his hand on her tenth birthday. His wife, who had said she was leaving him, gets blown away. They youngest child gets nailed, though still carries some air within her tiny lungs, isn’t dead.

Pandemonium sets in, my back toward the shooter. Fearing this nut will keep firing, rather to have myself take a bullet before those I love, I cover them as we head for the kitchen area. We get the to parking lot, hearing a train go by, seeing some bank building behind us, smelling Italian food and the wood fire of Cracker Barrel. We run and keep running.

More gun fire crushes this once gracious night, making my children shake and my loving wife look more pale. And there was nothing more I could do.

We hunker down until the Brooklyn Ohio police give us, and all those around, the All Clear. They have either captured this freak or killed him.

The looks of fright my children displayed, their wide, brimming eyes with tears yet to fall: the horror of my lovely wife’s expression, sweat beginning to descend, long blond hair mussed up as she hunkered over our children as a second barrier over my own body.

We arrive home after giving witness statements. We do this with some sense mixture of shock and relief as our physical lives weren’t connected by bullets that so freely filled our dinner.

My wife calls off her job the next day.

I do the same. We call the kids off from school and daycare.

We think of counselors, knowing full well our kids have seen a horror that so eclipses anything we have ever witnessed.

Where do we go from here? Where do we trust and teach our children to do the same?

We took our children there… There is guilt that goes with this….


>>>Authors note to the above: I was not there. I simply put myself into the restaurant that I have visited many times since it opened. I planted myself in the respects of a man that might save his family, as witness statements would concur.

In my minds eye, I can visualize almost anything. Those closest to me would attest to this. I can do this with a coldness totally devoid of emotion, giving verbal, olfactory or written images to what I see. This more often than not brings out an emotional response that I can see, yet not feel. Call it this: In my Minds Eye.

But I can write about it in a way that may touch others and make them see, think and hopefully do what I cannot: Feel.
My god has not forsaken me. My god and those chosen for me to seek out, got meds to level me out and be whole again.

I kicked the booze via Laurelwood. Got meds to control Manic Depression, as my family and others told me I needed years ago. My 49th year has seen the most medical and mental benefits I have ever used than in 30 years of having such things.

Yet, thinking clearly, writing clearly, so few of those I physically know, comment, and so often change the subject when I bring up this site I have created.

Clamping down roads to be later traveled.

Was the shooter a Psychopath?

I would have to say he wasn’t. Based on all known things; he did have one account of domestic violence some twelve years ago and a few histories of theft.

What he did was not some well planned out event. Unlike Manson, Bundy and Ramirez, who did what they did, calculating what would be gained: and most significantly, giving themselves up to law enforcement without being killed for the sole purpose of bragging rights and the eventual historical accounts for their deeds.

\ Ego plays such an enormous part with psychopaths, both the killing and the Non-violent alike, that running out into a parking, knowing cops were there to kill them, just does not fit.

This fucker acted out in a crime of passion. Nothing more, nothing less.

The children? His Children?

Collateral damage and little more.

And who really gives a shit about collateral damage in the United States of America?




     My humble thanks to those in the US, Germany, Russia, Italy, Ukriane and Canada and Spain. You knew i was close and asked to put thought into word. You shoved me: This is nice to see. Thanks!

Vacations outside themselves.

           Constants between normal people and the Nonviolent Pyschopaths: Trips outside themselves.

Alcohol can play such a huge factor in what makes one lose themselves for a while and open up to a world of utter mind-boggling possibilities for acceptance. We’ve all been there. Booze in the proper quantity can us open up, lose inhibitions and maybe dance on a table in an attempt to simply be noticed. This area does not stop at sheer heterosexual relationships but can, and will, go into the homosexual as well.

Wanting to be noticed is wanting to be noticed. They will try anything to pull someone toward them. The drunk at the bar will fish, throwing out the hook through an abuse of both alcohol and pent up sexual energy that they hope will snag someone, anyone, to perhaps bed them for a night or last much longer. The morning after is the telltale of things to come.

Wake up and they are still there can tell a few things. Either the prey was too drunk to leave, perhaps passed out, or just simply wanting to be with the fisher-person that captured their wanting soul. The one that so freely put themselves out there, to advertise enticements unabashed, a promise of dreams and desires fulfilled either do this because they desire a mate or simply feel hungry.

The hunger to suck someone in, be the vampire, and make this idiot their puppet. The other that can’t seem to get a partner any other way even for a short time and sell themselves like some cheap hand-me-down item at a thrift store.

This is the oddest parallel in the world of nonviolent Psychopathic relationships.

Booze or drugs live so keenly in both the regular and NV-Psychopathic world that is quite difficult to distinguish which is which. Alcohol and drugs play a huge factor in both realms. Alcohol is so accepted that both the predator and prey eclipse each other for the single want to be desired and conquered, to eat and be eaten.

Though many non- psychopaths get bombed to kill a bad week at work or sad lives in general, they advertise themselves out there with such complete and utter abandoned to be taken advantage of. Hey, look at me! I’m not with any partner. Come and get me!

To feel alive again after hours of being someone else’s subordinate. To cut loose, be free and not give a damn what any thinks or how they carry themselves.

The NV-Psychopaths get wasted for an attempt to feel emotions they had trashed years/decades ago. A glimpse at yesterdays gone by on their quest to feel nothing, no regrets and no remorse for their actions and perhaps, no hurt. To touch what they were, some bastard form of nostalgia as booze/drugs leave them bare and open to the ones they would have devoured yesterday. Looking, perhaps, to be used/abused in humiliating sexual activity or by sheer dominance.

What better arena than a bar, saloon or tavern for both to be relative equals?

This is where the lines get blurred .The predator and prey alike, have no clear clue to what their real motives truly are. And it is almost impossible to distinguish them apart from one another.

Until the next day when they arise. One with a screaming hangover, wondering what they did the night before. Hoping they didn’t offend a friend or hurt someone. The other awakens just fine, perky and ready to go. And very, very hungry. They got what they couldn’t ask their current food source for. Reckless uncontrolled desire for which they would not risk the one they are using, gaining money, or possessions from.

This is when, if having taken a fancy for the lamb, the NV-Psychopath will either stick around for greener pastures (bigger gains) or seek out other eating grounds seeking same.

Of course, they may do neither, and simply return to the current tasty steak they haven’t quite finished yet.

The flaunting exhibitionist the next day will feel totally different. They will not be surprised if the one they spent the night with looking for Mr. Goodbar, if you will, leaves and never calls them again. And damnit! Why do they always use my toothbrush?!? Oh, well, I got fucked real good and the guy/woman even let me piss on him. Wow, that was different!

That’s right. The NV-Psychopath will let such things happen.

Normal people will go on vacations. They’ll travel to places both near and far to experience different things, foods, environments and cultures. They will go to places that have a historical significance they are curious about. They’ll go on cruises to see far away places that contrast their normal surroundings. Perhaps a trip to wine countries in California, Pennsylvania or even Ohio to sample the source and locations of the wonderful beverages they have indulged in over the years. A jaunt to the battlefields of their ancestors; witnessing reenactments with their blasting cannons and muskets popping as men fall, nearby cattle jump and car alarms go off in the reality check as modern technology mocks the witnessed event of old.

They go somewhere with families, by themselves, or with friends, but the bottom line is: They go to someplace different to feel, learn, and explore.

In total contrast, the NV-Psychopath will stay in the general area, maybe venturing by going a city or two away for anonymity’s sake. These are the ones that are living off their prey and what they do the satisfy them.

Some of more affluent circles will even go on ‘work related’ trips to places like Vegas, New York City or even Amsterdam.

The affluent types con their wives/husbands/girlfriends by saying: I’ve got to do this, honey. Sorry, this one I can’t take you on. I need to maintain focus and you know I can’t do that with your sexy self around. This is too sudden to plan for and you know we can’t get a sitter on such short notice. No, hon, we’ve asked far too much of your family already. The company says no this time, sorry, stock holders are watching us for excesses.

These will have their ‘vacations’ planned long in advance. They have the ability to lie so clearly meshed with their spouse that no suspects anything.

Content with their marriages/relationships, these juggernauts of the corporate world seek brief rounds of being abused, controlled and dominated, like the average NV-Psychopath.

A common ground.

Both want the same single thing. To go beyond themselves in areas they have grown too familiar with. Not to learn so much as simply wanting to give up as their heavy workload of manipulation has worn them out. A trip outside themselves where their normal mind tricks of massive imaginations just cannot fulfill them.

They will allow themselves to be humiliated to the point of being beaten, burned, cut or even pissed or shit on to have their ‘vacation’ from the humdrum lives they live. This seems to be what recharges their batteries much like normal humans experience during their vacations.

Vacations, play a part in the relative normalcy of both regular people and NV-P’s.

A trip outside themselves.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Just call me Jonathon: Your worst relationship EVER

            Just call me Jonathon: Your worst relationship EVER.


Just call me Jonathon. I am a 42 yr old white male from ***** Florida. I was born and raised in Wisconsin. My family moved to Florida the summer I turned 14. I was an only child. We were considered upper class and I wanted for nothing. When I was in high school, my folks got me first Porsche 911. It was black and I hated black, so they had it painted cobalt blue with white racing stripes. They did this for my 16th birthday, they felt so sorry for me after uprooting me from my childhood friends. And yeah, I played that to the hilt. I laugh looking back considering how my grades sucked my first year in high school.

As I said, I wanted for nothing. I had the best clothes, best shoes, money, killer parties and everything I ever asked for. I had everything except some sense of love.

Mom was fairly busy doing the social things that aided dads job. The pool parties she threw had the finest wines, booze and appetizers you could imagine. She’d have the help dole out those gross Russian fish eggs that I seriously think most people hate but eat just not to offend the hostess. I’d always wait to watch as the maid would hand them out and watch the eaters faces when she turned her back, great fun seeing their faces twist. Mom was busy alright. I’d see her get royally shitfaced as she instructed the help to keep the guests glasses full and their stomachs well attended. Man, she’d even have the help aid women in getting on their bikinis when they got too wasted to do it for themselves. Drinking and swimming, not the coolest thing in the world, but hey, there were plenty of doctors around to fix them when they almost drown.

People would laugh when such events occurred, ‘guess ya can’t hold your lick-her, can-ja?’ they’d slur.

When mom wasn’t busy with the bi-weekly drink, eat and pool fests, she attened local fundraisers, lady’s groups and pissload of other things. She was even a major supporter for homeless shelters and AA events. She also spent a great deal of time with dads friends/partners wives watching their weight and a fierce diet regimen. They get together about 3-4 times a week to work on the Pablo Escobar diet of coke abuse. Who cares? That’s how they maintained their girlish figures just to keep their hubbys in check.

Dad, well, he was busy making the long-green. He was a major player in the world of ***********. He made friends everywhere he went. Doctors, lawyers, mayors, architects, fashion designers and their models, golfers, you name it. He’d hook them into deals by being a msooth talker. He’d hook them up with whatever they wanted. Be it drugs, hookers or financing for houses, buildings with unique designs, you name it, he’d get it for them with complete discretion and a guaranty that their wives would never know anything.

Mom and dad made the perfect pair. They’d keep both sides happy. So many times I would hear them say shit like, ‘if we ever decided to blackmail them, they could retire with the millions we could screw them for!”

Shit, man, Rome paled in comparison to the shit I witnessed growing up. Caligula might have even blushed.

Mom and dad had integrity, so they’d never do such a thing.

I had no such integrity. I knew there would come a time when millions could come in awfully handy to me, so I kept a journal with names, pictures and copies of the ‘other books’ that aren’t to seen by authorities.

I was so bored. I wanted better grades than I was getting, knowing college would depend on it, I decided to see how many women I could get in bed in the space of a year.

By 18, I had nailed and blackmailed 10 teachers, 2 assistant principals and the janitors girlfriend who was a major babe! Sure, I knew she couldn’t help me much with grades, but her husband did have the password to the schools computer system. I laugh at how cheap she worked. For the meager sum of 5000 bucks and a few good romps, she got me what I needed. Fuck it, I was simply helping her leave the drunk.

All it took was a few simple extortions when I discovered the teachers fuckbuddies, pics of them leaving motels together, not to mention how they nailed a minor for a few grand.

Yeah, okay, you probably think I could’ve gotten hookers for the sex stuff. I may not have a great deal of my folks integrity, but there is no thrill in screwing a hooker. I like to watch ordinary women twist to my will. I relish watching the looks on their weak, unsuspecting faces when I plant them at ground zero of Hiroshima. I get off on it.

I finished high school with close to a 4-point-oh! The suck-ups I called friends asked me how I did it, seeing me never turn in homework, finish a test or doing anything remotely considered an extracurricular activity. Sorry, fuckwads, I did plenty of extracurricular sex-ed jazz (or jizz, if you will) to get me through just fine. One of the nailed even got knocked up. May not have been mine though.

I even convinced some of them to get checked out by a doc as I seem to be having a discharge issue coming from my cock. I layed the blame on them, and they always caved in. Hey, I got what I wanted, so they could fuck their husbands for nothing or go fuck themselves. I didn’t care which. They got money and a few/many discrete lays with a well endowed, and oh so forbidden, teen. Sadly, they never saw the camcorders.

Fuck or be fucked, whichever you decided. Am I right or what?

At the college level, I decided to change my approach a bit. Being so bored with simple extortion tricks that worked without fail, I’d suck in big time sorority chicks. They’d see me with a Porsche, money and of great/wealthy family stock. (christ how their parents would tell them that crap. They have no idea how much that helped me fuck with their daughters,) I would take them to the best restaurants, best resorts, to further have them fall into my net. Mind you, I never paid for those things as my dad had huge influence.

Then I’d tell them of some tragedy which my family had just had fall on them. My family was hurting and needed help. If someone could just help, my parents would be so generous when things turned around. These girls would do my bidding and prime their parents. They, too, were of affluence and breeding that they would be glad to help. They would also never embarrass one of their own social status with a handout. They’d give to their daughters and their daughters would help me.

So easily, these girls fell for the illusion and take their parents with them.

Come the semesters end, I’d switch schools and go after another in pretty much the same way.

The ones I left behind and their parents never pursue me. They would not face the thought of being taken in as they knew it would make them look like the fools they were. These poor idiots just sucked it and wrote it off.

I did this for my 8 years of college. I took in about 800 large (grand). Not bad for a part time job, eh?

Having enough money to coast me til my parents kicked, I lived the great life. Simply making women think I loved them. I used them for sex like the teenager I never was. Damn, I had it better than a porn star. All it took me was my second Porsche, a 944 time around as a college graduation present, flash some cash at some fuckin highbrow coffee shop with never ending jazz and new age crap playing. Having a half-million buck house didn’t hurt. Ma and pa helped with this house. Dad made it happen, no sweat. He designed such a great home for me. Mom stood firm on one point though: you have one of your women help you decorate it and help you pick out furniture.

When asked, these women of low intelligence and materialistic visions for more then they deserve, would always go to my house and after fucking them would suggest going to pricey furniture stores to teach this ‘poor boy’ in the art of interior decorating. I took such delight in watching them suggest massive hand carved mahogany California king bed. ‘a man like you really needs this! Oh so comfy. Imagine what I could do with you on this…”

Occasionally, being totally bored after being laid by them, I’d split their faces in two with: DUH! I just got blown, had you ride me like some whore going for twenty versus the ten promised, and you took me in your ass. What more could you ‘imagine’ you could do for me?

The women that lasted the longest with me were the ones that suggested kitchen furniture, chests, dining room sets or patio furniture. I cannot say enough for those few that for the ones that aided in landscaping ideas and grills with fireplaces adjacent.

I took more time with the ones that weren’t so eager to bed me. The so few that took actual time to help me lay patio block that was important to them than laying me.

I am currently engaged to a fellow psychopath. There is no lying between us as we can read each other to perfection. Like me, she is very rich, both from dead parents and what gifts we received from others idiocy and their parents bullheaded sense in never admitting they were taken in.

Rebecca is my sun and moon as I am to her.

We happened upon each other at a Star Wars convention in 2010 in New York. I wanted a scotch and soda as she wanted a Jack on the rocks. Fucking sorry how convention halls have such a bad selection of TopShelf booze. “Chivas Regal? Is that a chardonnay or a merlot?” Cunt, what soup kitchen did they hire you from for less than minimum wage?

We, like the animals that we are, were stalking others to eat for a lite snack to pass the time when it happened. When our eyes locked to each other just a few stools apart, we knew our lives were forever changed. We smelled an ‘us’ through our eyes, sensing no fear, stomach full without eating, by a simple glance turned inferno. Being in heat, mating, joining and using, were the furthest things from our combined minds. Meeting one of equality, truly virgin ground that merited a depth of exploration.

We left our stools and slowly, carefully walking toward each other, both sizing the other up. As we met, her and I , appearing totally strange to those around us as they watched, inhaled deeply, taking in the others smell. Scents those in audience could no more smell than that of a tiger or ram smell in one another’s breed. Seeking a worthy mate and cautiously moving toward same. I thought she could devour me as she said she sensed the same from me. We faced each other, senses wide the fuck open and on overload. We talked without opening our mouths. We gently placed our heads on the others shoulder. Apprehensions of having our throats bitten to shreds fading quickly over minutes. Sniffing, feeling each others blood flow from veins within reach, taking in each other in without fear of the others teeth.

We left the convention and started our life together.

We have a loyalty that only instinct can have in the animal world. The lion to a lioness, both equal and utterly incomplete without one another after their joining. A joining of an identical breed before copulation occurs.

It’s been two glorious years with Rebecca. Content with each other and no longer wishing for more from the other breed we have consumed over time. Sure, we still get a kick out of making people in bars fall like dominos by setting a table that drunken fools wish to eat from. “Whoa, man, that chick is giving you the eye, you should go for her.” Soon the boyfriend that left for the john or somewhere pops up and the fun begins.

C’mon, some things cannot be denied those like her and I.

So, boys and girls, was I right in saying I was or could be your worst relationship ever? There are many like myself and Rebecca. Our species can eat you so easily that it gets boring after a time.

After two years, Rebecca and I have not copulated. We’re saving ourselves for each for something we never knew existed. We one of our kind.

-Just call me Jonathon. 04/01/2012


Mark, we will let you know when the wedding is. Most likely this summer. Not sure if we’re going Wiccan or something else. We both think it would be great if you could attend. Rebecca says she’ll email you her story in due time.

As you asked in an email response to me: I found your site from psychology today online.

I give you a ton of credit with this. You must have the only site about NVP’s out there.

We both would like to thank you.




AN: I’d love to attend! I’ve never been to Florida before and I’m sure you’d get me some great resort to crash in. Hell, I’ve never even been on a jet before. It could be great fun!

Thanks for your words/thoughts and your story.


Sunday, April 8, 2012

Taking your husband and you so gave him to me.

                                   Female predators eating their best friends.
                       Ever wonder how a woman can take her best friends husband?

                                               Mark William Darus

You and your husband have been happily married for years, perhaps decades. He buys you flowers, jewelry to show his appreciation. He is a most stable hunter, bringing in good money, tending to the kids so you could nap on weekends. Sometimes, when good weather sets, he’ll take the kids to playground so their noise don’t disturb your private time.

You don’t have much private time as your stay-at-home-mom chores keep you quite busy, wearing you out after the 24/7 duties you carry at least five days a week. All the vacuuming, cleaning, running the little ones to play dates, feeding them, washing clothes, not to mention making dinners and listening to your good man talk about his day-to-days with his job. Then you put the kids to bed, perhaps telling them a story that you repeat every week because it’s their favorite. 

               This Amy Grant song may fit you most well:
                Amy Grant: Hats

       You feel beat up after months, years of the same thing day in and day out. Seldom do you give your man the attention he wants and desires in you. You may think: what does he expect from me? Isn’t it enough that I take care of everything for him and his kids? I don’t even want sex anymore!

       You are lucky. You have friends you can confide in. They sometimes come over during the day to talk to you, what you may call a ‘sanity check’ to give you adult conversation, perhaps over a few glasses of wine or 'other' things/drugs. You tell these friends all you hearts secrets about your life, your man and where you think you are stuck for the rest of your life. Truth be known, you love your man with all your being and cherish each day with the kids.

         Your man knows your friends as you know his. Occasionally going out with them to a bar or bowling. You may have them over for dinner when without a babysitter. He tries to set up his friends with your friends and you do the same. Most of your combined friends are single that have no kids, no strings and no one to please or account but themselves. Sometimes, vastly tired, you are too tired to dance and place his energy with a trusted friend.

        Perhaps you fall into a mild depression over time as you feel you energy levels being constantly drained like a long used car battery refuses to recharge. No matter what you do, you just can’t seem to get back to where you once were. Your appearance slips, washing your hair less often, caring less about yourself then your family.

        You man notices this and responds by taking the kids more, either to playgrounds, Chuckie Cheese, a movie or maybe a jaunt to the mall. He does this with good intentions.

You confide more and more in your friends about what is going on with you and how you feel helpless more and more. You good friends advise to get help, seek a counselor or your minister to aide you. You blow this off as you have no time to do such things.

          Authors Note: Never disregard nor dismiss such advice. It will lead to Marriage-Death!

        Your best friend, however, says she’ll help your husband while you need time to gather yourself. She may even say things like: I can help him. I love your kids and would like more time with them. You need more rest.

This best friend may even be bold enough to add: Besides, I could be in worse company than your husband. He’s such a good one, you’re lucky to have him.

             In your exhaustion, you could easily say something casually amusing to most: Take him off my hands if he’s so good a catch, (chuckling all the while with trusted friend,)  I just want to some sleep. You say this with so little life in your eyes though a small smile crosses your lips.

            You trust this person unlike any other. She is nothing like the rest of your friends and isn’t shoving psychological help down your throat. This friend has been with you through thick and thin. You’ve shared life and her lost loves as she had searched and , at least to you, failed in every relationship she’s had. You’ve shared laughs at those lost loves and how she always seemed to get something of value from all those men she knew. A new car. Six months of house payments, credit card debt being wiped out, or having utility bills paid in advance, before these men failed and killed the relationship. You even share with your husband how he should never let his friends around her as she is a man-eater. You do, however, feel quite sad as she just can’t seem to find that ‘right man’ for her that love will win and be lasting.

You don’t notice how your best friend meets up with your husband at playgrounds on a regular basis, to give him a ‘sanity-break’ with adult conversation. Granted, she told you she would do so. She may have even said she’d guard him against ‘those dreadful women that prey on a man wearing a wedding ring’. She’d protect him and thus protect her, maybe even acting as a jealous wife.

      He would go along with this ruse and why not. It is just an act, after all. They may share intense glances as they play this part your best friend created. Why not? It’s all in good fun, right?

         The playgrounds turn to Chuckie Cheese or the mall when the weather causes retreats to better climates. This entire time, he shares with her his thoughts, feelings and dreams. He also shares his concern for you, but will tell her not to say anything for fear you might take such thoughts as doubts in your abilities, making you feel far worse than you already do. She confides to him with her thoughts about you, maybe suggesting counseling to him, knowing full well that you have told him about your other friends that force feed you these things. He’ll look down at the ground and say he cannot do this as he already knows how you feel and it is totally out of the question.

           Your best friend takes his hands into hers; Then this will be our little secret then. Mums the word. She may give him a hug if all senses seem right to her. If he embraces her back, she knows it’s just a matter of time and proper working on her part.

Time marches on.

You can’t remember when the last time you had his friends and your friends over for dinner. You have no recall of the last time your friends and his friends went to a movie or bowling.

Over a period of time, with the energy she gives him with the kids, perhaps the housecleaning as she aids your downward spiral, enabling you to rest more and more. To become weaker still.

‘If he loves you, he will understand your lack of drive to please him,’

All the while, they get closer, their hugs grow longer and longer in length.

You feel grateful for having such a great friend. So helpful in taking care of your family while you can’t seem to do so. One who is not preachy and totally understanding of you.

Telling the things you wish to hear. Not telling what you need to hear as your now gone good friends had advised you to do. The friends you no longer have time for because you do not want to hear their words: I am too busy, kids have the flu, I am just too tired…

And she is plotting your downfall the entire time.

In the space of several months, he leaves you for her. He may even take the kids with him and join her. This leaves you upset, angry and most depressed.

He files for divorce on the grounds of emotional abandonment. You refused to get help with your problems and the kids were neglected in the process.

Didn’t your best friend have to clean the house, tend the kids and help your husband after he had worked all day because you just couldn’t cope so well?

He has grounds, and far worse, witnesses to prove this, ie, your friends who gave you advice you would not heed. He has your best friend that was so helpful in trying to keep your family on safe ground while you were ‘out of it’.

How could your best friend do this to you?

Chances are, he was yet another conquest for her. Perhaps due to her keen sense of recording events most take for granted. He, by long term proof, has proven himself to be a great hunter/provider. He has proven that he is loyal and trustworthy as he never broke the promise they had made months before. He has shown that he is understanding. He loves his kids as he would love her, the predator, with equal cadence. She has stayed at his side, through thick and thin. She has shown him her worth. She did this by doing very little on her part. Vacuuming, kid watching, keeping hubby from other women at the playground. Small morsels of spent energy by her standards, though displaying huge amounts to emotional thinking people.

She supports him during the divorce, though staying close to her. She tells her she is better of without him. Stupidly, this woman who cannot prove infidelity on his part, still listens to her.

She has just lost. This is only the beginning though and things get far worse for her as her children say: I miss *******, she was fun. YOU JUST SLEEP, MOMMY….

The cunning predator played both sides against the middle in her game to attain this man. To her, this was a win/win situation. If her friends husband does not take her for his, she has successfully broken them up for good as she has played him from the moment his wife allowed it. Encouraged it to be. If he does appreciate this kind and gentle woman for her efforts, takes her as his own, she still wins.

She played the game like the master manipulator she is. She sucked up to the tired wife and boldly said the complete opposite to what her other friends had said. She was so willing to aid her by helping the family. She was so kind to the bewildered husband and laughed and played with the kids. This is how she won confidence and favor from all sides of this.

She built he ego, told him of his great parenting and all the while, so subtly convincing him he deserved better.

As their hugs grew longer in duration, so did his desire for this woman. He would not admit this until the judge clapped the gabble, killing this marriage and having the predator suggest lunch as he ‘needs to keep his strength up for the kids.”

Men can be stupid this way.

There is a 78% chance he will marry the women that ‘Amtrak’d’ his marriage. This woman that fed his ego, filled him with understanding and concern about his ex-wife and did this all by mimicking normal human emotion and reaction to gain this conquest.

She is the heart of the worst of the Nonviolent Psychopathic female there is. One that displays to another how she gains from relationships that fail. She flaunts this to a best friend she has manipulated from day one. This best friend doesn’t get that this could cause her own failure.

Is it trust, exhaustion, or gullibility on the wife’s part this occurs? Is it the fault of the husband and his actions responding to both his wife’s wishes and wanting help in dealing with her? Truthfully, it is difficult to say one way or another.

In this scenario, both the wife and husband met this predator more than halfway.

AUTHORS NOTE: I heard about nine stories quite similar to this in my 1.5 years in Parents Without Partners over 19 years ago. PWOP was a great source of stories that I logged into memory as people so willingly spilled their hearts out to me. In the last 5 years, I’ve been told about eight such tales regarding this subject matter.

Why did I log such things? I studied psychology for decades at that point. Information is everything in regards to the human condition. What makes one think, act, respond to their situations? Call me a cold hearted bastard, but I had a sense of objectivity in remembering everything any person shared with me. I did not look at them as weak minded, stupid or naïve. They were a chance to learn, further my knowledge and growth in a field I loved so much. This must make me look like a monster. So be it then. Everything to me is a study in something and has some meaning. My Blog is an example of this: Hopefully some learn and protect themselves whilst others learn to manipulate and strength their skills.


PWOP Women told me, over many Chivas and soda‘s, their stories of best friends taking their man, and in some cases, their kids, from them. Men told me about their being fooled by some evil harlot, on in the vein of Southpark, were taken in by a evil ‘Succubus’, that caused them to go astray.

I was thirty years old on the playing field of the forty plus set. I had a long, full head of hair at that time and totally stood out from the normal. Somehow my mind recorded all the conversations at the bar of the PWOP dances at the Quality Inn on Brookpark rd. I remember the shy, mouth to ear whispered stories during slow dances that these seriously bombed women would tell me.

Wildly, more often than not, their stories went way beyond the length of the slow dance song. The Electric Slide or Def Leopards Photograph would blare and I’d smell either whiffs of cheap bourbon or really nasty wine as they still clutched me, filling me with their thoughts of both sadness and how they had hoped to butt fuck this man in court. Their lawyers always, AND I DO MEAN ALWAYS, according to them, had blown the case making them lose in front of a judge.

They told me their stories, asked me to go to someplace ‘a bit more private’. Sometimes I would, more often than not, I’d decline citing a leg cramp or some other lie depending on my instincts at the time regarding the story teller.

I always trusted my instincts regarding the face to face tellers of such stories when inebriation played a part. Sure, such close slow dances with what are now considered MILF’s , had no such meaning 19 years ago. These were great ego boost for a guy having just had a marriage dissolve a few months previous.

I still cannot forget the final event in this part of my life at that time.

I was thirty years old and necking, as well as great many other things, in a parking lot facing Brookpark road. I did such things in high school. It was acceptable when you are 16-18 years old. NOT THIRTY!

Sorry to dispel the belief that a stiff dick has no conscience. Mine did, I asked her to stop what she was doing and lift her head up. This was the last PWOP dance I went to. I do thank them for the stories though regarding this part of my Nonviolent Psychopath BLOG. There are others they told me about matters that do fit my BLOG, but not in the capacity of this installment.

Do you know anyone that fell to this scenario? If this happened to you, please answer anonymously or email me to share your stories.

Mark William Darus