Marvin thinks I’m a nasty little shit because I enjoy tormenting drones. He is entitled to his opinion and he’s actually right in many cases. I do enjoy tormenting the drones. The possibility of scaring one to death is still on my list of things to do. If I succeed, the world will not have lost another Einstein or, very likely, not even a till operator. The level of gullibility and stupidity required to let me succeed in this quest will mean we will, at most, have lost another politician. We have too many anyway.
Some people don’t think it’s possible. Some people think that kind of mind control with nothing more than conversation cannot be done. I have done a cold-reading over the internet with a guy in Australia in one of my other internet incarnations and I didn’t make full use of it. I revealed too soon how I did it. I have convinced people of utter absurdities, both online and offline. I have enjoyed it. I make no bones about it, it was bloody hilarious. Yes, some feelings were probably hurt but I did no physical damage and even if they damaged themselves, well, frankly, fuck it.
I have fed utterly nonsensical science to other scientists (I was pissed off about some work they stole so I let them steal something else, something totally shite – and they fell for it). The drones are not all in the uneducated camp. It’s not about what you know, it’s about what you think you know, and the latter is easily manipulated. Astonishingly easily.
When I have finished playing with a drone, I let it go. I have no interest in controlling anyone’s life – hell, I have enough to do trying to control mine – so when the game is over, I have two choices. I can say ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m just messing with your head’ or I can leave them to expand on the crap I’ve fed them until they go insane. It depends on how much I like or hate them.
For me it’s a game. A nasty and vindictive game sometimes but just a game. I’m the soft cat who plays with the mouse but keeps the claws in and ultimately lets them go. Maybe they’ll kill themselves later, but I won’t control what they do. Think of me as the stunt double for Bagpuss and you’ll get the idea.
So yes, I can be cruel. I can be merciless. The thing is, when you go away I will not come after you. When you leave the room I will forget you. The rest of your life is your problem, not mine. You sort it out. Accept or deny the things I said, I don’t care at all. I’ve probably forgotten them myself anyway.
There is a question of degree. If I took one step to the left I could easily be a Righteous. I have the skills they seek and the abilities they desire. Fortunately I also have the withered remnants of a conscience and no interest in other people’s lives so cannot become one of them. My lack of interest in money or power obviously helps here. It all means I see them only from the perspective of disinterested science. The Righteous are a curiosity, nothing more. It can be hard to understand why they want to push the game into total control of other people but iut is absolutely clear that that is what they want.
I’m also immune to insults. Call me bastard, call me vicious git, call me arsehole, call me little shit. I don’t mind. You can even call me Al, as at least two of Local Shop’s long term staff still do after nearly 18 months and neither is called Betty. Which is a shame. Both wenches are fearsome enhough to be effective bodyguards too. I don’t have that much worth guarding anyway.
But hey, if you want tio hear about nasty little shits, then the works of Charlotte Iserbyt will be of considerable interest to you. She has known those who make me look like a kitten on a program of cuteness steroids and by whatever Gods there may be, that is quite a feat.
Here is a sample.