All the little narcissists

I see my vile sister and the nasty individual from work have been on the site hoovering again.

If you wish to speak to me Shyam, it is not difficult. Staring at me isn’t getting you very far. Perhaps you could make up some bullshit to cover up the previous bullshit? You could also try following me on Twitter and see if Ina wants to talk to you.  I doubt it. I suggest you make it fast, because I’m not in the mood for waiting.

You, bitch, can get back to manipulating your tedious husband and anyone else you can get your claws into.  You won’t get any joy here. My mother deserved a daughter who cared about her.

Three companies are now interested in my services, including the one you’re still with, so neither of you are likely to get far with whatever you think you want from this. Go and lap up your poison elsewhere.



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Land of Disposable People

The quickest and fastest way, of course, of dealing with the Shyam problem is to move him to another part of the country, making sure he cannot hurt anybody that is still here.

Since his manager seems to fully support his activities, who knows whether this will happen?  If it doesn’t evidently further action will be required.  In the meantime, back to the land of the disposable people.

It is most interesting, how this is being regarded.  The idea now is to instantly forget negative things and push on to the next part of the conveyor belt.  Nobody cares what happens to you, nobody cares if you have any rights, nobody has any responsibility.

As a very old-school type that protects their staff, deals with their own problems, helps other people where they can, this never stops shocking me.  Everyone I met this morning at my breakfast meeting had a story.  The worst one was a legal financial services abuse story, about which none of the thousands of people who have to implement are likely to do anything.

Hence, even before the Conservatives erode things still further, nobody has any rights, nobody has any responsibility and nobody cares.  From a situation twenty years ago where I was barking at companies for failing to manage their data properly, we now have a situation where nobody knows what management means, as far as they are aware it is something to do with having power over other people and making the paperwork look correct.

It is exhausting and terrifying living in a world like this, where people like Shyam are free to express their insanity by taking it out on other people.  I am a very bottom line thinker, and my feeling was that if we cut to the bottom line and dealt with the health issue, other things would subside.  It was not until I was told that the stuff I had seen related to coercion that I became furious.

So, there is still action to be taken, because in the normal course of events, any flow of information is now likely to be impeded by normal means.  Nobody wants bad news, and nobody cares what happens to her.

At least part of the problem is better, but I imagine some things will be worse.

Anyway, it certainly seems as if I should entirely ignore the implications of being falsely accused of stuff that isn’t relevant.

Sending an email and giving people books has never been causes for accusations and professional detriment in my experience, and I frankly want to see this company hauled over the coals for it.  They detected vulnerability because of my grief, and they exploited it.

I had already dealt with the immediate problem when they decided to make things worse, and I was told, as if this was some gospel truth, that they ‘had to be seen to be doing their jobs.’  Their job is not to make people frightened or make sure they have no income.  Their job as managers is to make it possible for people to work without being terrified by a mentally ill, corrupt individual who feeds on terror.

Ironically I had had a t shirt made ten days ago, ‘because we matter’ being the slogan.  It arrived today.  I didn’t find it funny.




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Dear Shyam

Would you believe, this dude still thinks I’m supposed to do what I’m told. What are you going to do about it, you can’t stare at me, you already got me fired, and you aren’t even sorry? Is being watched bothering you? Does it make you nervous in case any of your other victims see it?

To remind you, you are the person that circulated my website, not me. My prospects with at least three companies have been destroyed because I tried to help you.  You are not a deserving or nice person, and you apparently like seeing people suffer. You need to stop that.

I’m not under anything resembling your control anymore, so I will use your name if I feel like it.

You are a disgusting, abusive individual.  You did not treat anybody else the way you treated me in that office, whilst making it abundantly clear that you were interested in me throughout via your usual method of deathstaring.

I am sorry that I do not find that attached men make great partners, so I had to avoid you after you played that hilarious gag.  I otherwise made every effort to avoid distracting you.

Don’t tell me you were applying established rules, because you certainly weren’t.  Nobody regards it as reasonable to have someone fired for trying to give you a book and for a very limited number of conversations in which you were totally disrespectful  of my status as a human, never mind colleague.

Your approach to managing me and a variety of other incidences imply that you are actually a sadist, so I can’t say you are guilty of false advertising, because I am sure you are delighted with your results.  I would list the things you have destroyed in my life, but my repellent family are waiting to attack me so I am unable to do so without putting myself at even more risk.

I am not sure if you are also a racist, but I cannot imagine why you thought any of this was OK to do to someone whose mother has recently been killed and who had every respect for you, to the point of recommending you on your first attempt at getting me fired.

You are a very sick puppy, and I think you should do something about it because it is not safe for anybody to work with you if this is how you behave.  No staff member of mine has ever been put through anything like this, nor would they ever be.  It is called having a character.  You might want to try one out and see what you think.

Your manager may be daft enough to support your particular deviance, but I am not. The fact that the managers are reading the posts is actually your own fault, because I did not disclose my website to anybody and their interest in it is intrusive and quite offensive, actually.

I am deeply hurt by what you have done, and I will refrain from putting any faith in anyone again as a result.  If that is what you set out to achieve, then congrats.

You ticked a lot of boxes, so that pissed me off briefly, but I can’t help you with a personality transplant and it was never in my interest to impose my wishes on anybody. I am sorry if my lack of jealousy or my refraining from getting annoyed when you wanted me to upset you.  It just isn’t in my nature and it wouldn’t have been particularly productive.



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There they are again, hoovering up some more attention.

Why not spend the time cleaning up your messes and trying to behave like normal humans instead of entitled little brats?

Did nobody teach you how to treat people with a basic level of respect?  Did you actually require classes for that? God forbid anything bad should ever happen to lovely people like you.

This is why people are stupid enough to vote Tory, isn’t it?

If you think your behaviour is in any way acceptable, you need help.  Seriously.


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Hurtcore and an ill wind

A play on the word “hardcore”. It is rape porn. It goes beyond S&M because it involves actual rape and abuse. Usually humiliation, pain, hurting, etc are involved. Although its something people ask for on message boards, very little of it exists, because most people do not enjoy seeing others harmed.

“I’m an arrogant little fucker who wants to see people raped and humiliated, can you get me some hurtcore to jerk off to.”

“You want to see hurtcore? I have a crow bar and a camera right here. Maybe you and I can make some for you.”

“Oh, uhhhh, uhh actually nevermind.”

Little creeps with big jobs and no need to know how to look after people properly like this sort of thing.  I do not.
A much bigger bank is now on the sniff to see if I want to work for them.
In the meantime, I am still considering what to do about your little management problem.  I think you need to solve it pretty fast before someone else does it for you.  Hurting me is one thing, letting me catch you hurting someone else is something else altogether, you nasty little freaks.

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I’m free

I am actually very lucky that I did not get suckered in when he was being nice, because I assume that if you did, things would get nastier and nastier given that he feeds on fear.

I might add an extra story to the new one to reflect this, but I don’t want Ina getting too dark really, so maybe not.

I think the worst week was the week he had the girl sitting next to him, both of them relentlessly staring.  Nothing said to me at all, just staring and staring.  I am not sure if this is how things are done elsewhere, but it is just really creepy here.

We’ve been trying to figure out how the manager backing this is justifying hurting people on the grounds of keeping his boy happy, and we think after two or three people have either left or been fired, you would probably retrain or fire the dude due to the cost of training in this situation.

It is unfortunate for his medical state, because CPTSD is not in the book of mental disorders, and this guy has a very extreme version due to the addition of actual sadism.  You can deal with it yourself if you are willing to put the work in, but as long as he is getting away with it, why should he bother? He probably tortures kittens in his spare time too.

I was joking with my friend that the appeal was the lily white skin.  Would take a nice welt, presumably.  It is interesting with different people, how you can sense their sexuality.  The last person that was interested in me was brutal too, but in a different and more careless way.  As I was saying to someone recently, some women would kill to have what I have at my age, but it isn’t very helpful when it comes to situations like this.

In any case, I picked up on the danger before I truly lost interest, so my version of scrutiny, which does not involve even looking at you, came in quite handy.  He will find it a lot harder to hide it now.

I did note early on that he spent a lot of time on his mobile, and he certainly remains obsessed with the website.  I am not sure if he is hoovering in a classically narcissistic sense, or whether I am providing him with an identity, but either way it is a symptom of illness.  Normal people do not need to hurt others.

Not feeling particularly great, not surprisingly.  Losing a lot of weight, however.  I guess now would be a good time to do a larger clearance.

Iain Duncan Smith is going slowly, but i think it will be OK.

May do some filming this week now that I am in charge of the cabling. (sigh)

Just so you know the difference – a dom wants to know what you want.  A sadist does not care what you want, so they don’t need to know.  They are basically just power-tripping rapists. Doesn’t matter how cute they are, you don’t want one.

I see you are missing me, how cute.  Feel free to call me if you think you are man enough LOL



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Seven weeks

It took seven weeks to the day for him to turn ‘your seriousness is astonishingly beautiful’ into ‘my prospects and life have been utterly destroyed.’ And that was with me ignoring most of the fight or flight responses and the attempts to get some semblance of what he thinks are normal feelings out of me.

Pretty low-grade stuff really, he expected me to get angry about bullshit and jealous.  Not a lot of point in that.  I am not so vain that I assume people should like me just because I like them, so it didn’t pan out well, and presumably annoyed him intensely after all that work he put in looking completely different than he did in the first place.  Ironically I liked the shy geek, I did not particularly like the rippling sex god. The rest was just bullshit chemistry, and thankfully I am too ancient to get that carried away.  Once you already met and lost the love of your life, these things don’t mean that much. (when am I going to stop crying every time Wolfe pops into my head?)

I am told (by the girl via my friend) that this is his idea of fun.  If this is the working culture that the company like to promote, you are better off avoiding it.  Kyle, who was utterly disgusted by the way the other manager treated us, to the point of leaving over it, is now incensed. (the first manager we had told me that invisible people in the office were saying nasty things about me – this is what passes for management with these people)

None of this helps now.  I have to spend today planning how on earth I am going to reframe the next two years as Plan A has failed thanks to SB and his puppet managers.

There is nothing laudable about what they did, and if I was a team leader or a business dealing with that company, I would terminate them immediately if I thought this was how they conducted themselves.

I laugh when I think of all the graduate programmes I would have killed to be on, that are populated with people who have no clue about management, and no clue how to run a business, never mind consult on someone else’s.

I will be making sure that no business I deal with in the future ever use this company, and I get around a lot.



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Notes on ‘The Professional’

Wolfe can testify to my love of small men, which is why I noticed all that. A large dude recently showed some interest, and I was utterly petrified.  I have had a complicated life.

At first I thought SB was feeling more confident, and I was quite happy, and then the other stuff became apparent.

Overall, his general aspect is one of fear and self hatred, which is a shame because he really is an incredibly beautiful man when he isn’t trying to belittle you to make himself feel better.

I am at fault, of course, because no matter what you do, you should never try to leave things better than you found them.

The management should be aware that I am quite well-connected, so this is not going to go under the radar.  Sorry about that. I cannot help any of you.  Here are the collected stories written for SB, with a lovely note for him.


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The Professional

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The Professional – Ina Disguise

The last story for SB.   I would not want to live like you.


What did you do last night?” the woman appeared to be smiling at him, but he increasingly found it difficult to tell what people really thought. They often appeared to be friendly, and then you would find they ignored you as they passed your desk, or some other indication of contempt.

Watched a film.” The professional’s life was isolated unless he was drinking. Drinking made him feel better for a while, and as he got drunk rather easily, he numbed up quite quickly as a rule.

He quite liked people who had just started in the job, as they were nervous and frightened. Since this gave him an obvious advantage, they weren’t a threat yet. Hence he would spend time being seen to be helpful, so that they would stupidly trust him later, when they might pose more of a potential obstacle.

People threaten you in various ways, he found. Sometimes it was by challenging you, being too correct. Sometimes it was by appearing to be friendly and becoming intrusive. Sometimes they just failed to meet targets, and this was a threat because it impacted his spreadsheets. The danger was everywhere. Having bitten and scratched to get his two hundred and fifty pounds a day, he was not likely to want to give it up.

In response, the professional had taken to exerting control over smaller and smaller things, to the point of ensuring that people filled in information that nobody cared about or checked and delegating tasks that did not take him particularly long. In this way, his time was freed up for writing reports and destroying any potential competition. He also devoted time to making sure his bosses knew he could be depended upon.

The professional’s entire posture had become affected by this paranoia, to the point that his shoulders crouched forward and he superficially appeared to be quite small. This meant that he found it easier to conceal the expressions of contempt that frequently crossed his face as he interacted with people. Only someone watching out for it would notice the mask slipping, the blank expression replaced with a psychotic rage for a second before he carefully concealed it.

Now and again, a woman would become interested, and then she had to be neutralised. The one exception to this was a married woman he had successfully blackmailed into sleeping with him, whom he controlled by a combination of looming over her desk, issuing his instructions for the day, or ignoring anything she said, which he frequently did as she frantically tried to communicate with him. Women were objects of contempt. He despised peoples ‘attempts to help.’ They were usually threats, covered by some crazy person’s idea of helpfulness.

He did not imagine himself to be pleasant to work with. He imagined himself to be a true professional, and made use of every contractual point he could find to isolate and attack his victims. People who had found him friendly and pleasant would suddenly find themselves at the end of a corporate gun as he decimated any potential problems. This was survival. He was the fittest.

The professional kept on in this way for years. The staff would whisper to each other about it. People came and went at his whim.

And then she came.

She was an artist, although this meant nothing to him. She was an author, which meant he had to carefully scrutinise and reject everything she had to say. She liked him, which meant he would have to get rid of her. He stared at her, for days at a time, sizing her up for the kill, one way or another. Maybe she would enjoy pain?

She was funny for a while, trying to avoid him she would skirt around the outside of the office because she was so frightened of being accused of anything. She had made some involuntary pass at him, which had been extremely funny because he knew the minute she did that, he had the weapon he needed to destroy her.

He quite enjoyed feeling attractive. He started going to the gym in between drinks, updated his wardrobe, changed his hair. His entire posture improved until he appeared twice the size. He was happy to be looked at. He took to screwing the little married woman a bit more often, although she did not like it. What else were women for, other than gaining advantage?

The artist emailed him. This was a threat, so he made a complaint leading to her being warned, although the warning was so gently put that she did not even know it was a warning.

When the artist spotted that he was, in fact, sleeping with the married woman she backed off and redoubled her efforts to avoid looking at him. He did not like that, the hatred really set in. Why did she not appear to want him anymore? Had he not become even more beautiful? She was now an irritant, even though she wasn’t even on his team. It was time to get rid of her.

The artist tried to communicate with him from a distance, so that she would not say anything wrong. She tried to redirect any conversation onto safer ground so that they could work together, he would respond with hostility and accusations. She tried to transfer onto another shift, so that she did not have to deal with him. They refused.

The last straw was when she tried to give him a book on dealing with stress. This was appalling. How dare she! He complained of harassment, on the basis of a total of five conversations in three months, three of which he had started himself. Now she would understand how big and powerful he really was.

The artist was then dragged into an office for a second time, told that her attempts to resolve any problems by means other than making accusations or hurting people were ‘unprofessional’ and fired by an inexperienced little South African oik who expected her to grovel to him.

The artist sighed and left Lilliput behind.

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Sick Freak

“Isn’t it funny this chick really likes me?”

“She doesn’t know you.”

“Yeah, the problem is I only like them when they’re really scared.  I’ll have to scare her, and she’s bigger than me.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Ummm, well, her mother is dead and she has bills to pay.  I think I’ll repeatedly make complaints about her until she’s terrified.”

“Great idea!  That’ll show her.”

“Maybe I should go to the gym, too.”

“Uh huh.”

“And, apart from that, I could make sure she understands by humiliating and degrading her at every opportunity.”


“Yeah, she won’t look so cheerful then, will she?”

“Nope, I guess not.”

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