Mental Parasitism -- Organization Man

The following is a record of my inaugural communique with our membership upon the demise of the old Institute of Mental Parasitism and the immediate arising of the new:

Demonstrating the reach and power of my blog -- the rallying point of our revolution -- the old Institute of Mental Parasitism has been destroyed. The word went forth and mental parasites the world around have responded. You canceled your membership, simultaneously receiving details on membership in the new Institute, under my aegis, and most who are qualified to join us have already done so.

The few stragglers who have not joined, who have not even submitted the first of their paperwork, we can only surmise, are lukewarm, or have waited to see which side would be victorious before committing themselves. Those people make me sick, and if they do not submit at least a note of inquiry, and I mean pronto, they will find themselves completely out, unacceptable to one and all.

The new Institute of Mental Parasitism, a dignified name that replaces what came before -- the old Institute of Mental Parasitism -- I promise will be an organization of complete integrity. It will be an organization of compassion, forever untainted by ambition, corruption, greed, and malevolence. Our goal -- our only goal -- will be to provide everything that you, our honored members, need so you may be all you can be in our common cause.

Once again, after many tiresome years of constant shenanigans by the scurvy monkeys who ran the old Institute, then eventually ran it into the ground, you have an Institute to be proud of. As far as we of the new Institute are concerned, the scoundrels who mismanaged the old Institute will never again be a part of our community. They have already been left behind, left fend for themselves, if they're able, and we can only hope that they shall be consumed in some way, enveloped, engulfed, and destroyed.

Not to belabor to the point of tedium their despicable stewardship of the organization, we can only say their mismanagement and exploitation of us and our resources was completely intentional. I personally tied President X to a chair and mentally consumed him for the space of an hour, nearly wasting his mentality down to its bare nubbins, before taking even one mental breath. And I can report my findings, that Mr. X had -- and for this reason we might perhaps honor his memory in a small way -- some small degree of regret for his perfidy.

In working through the data gleaned, it shakes out like this: The more Mr. X exploited the organization, the more he regretted it. The nature of his regret, however, was not positive. It was a case of seeking to destroy, out of self-loathing, that which he at one time loved. So Mr. X did the sad work of exploitation and regretted it, but then only doubled down on his destructive impulses. Recall, I took in his mentality, and was able to discern this much and more, so of course I'm not feeling 100% at this time.

I have also given an executive order to remove Mrs. X from all Auxiliary work, effective immediately. It is good to note that she has been completely innocent in this whole matter. And yet we suspect were she left to continue, she would foolishly seek to advocate for her husband. And with no one to give credence to anything she says, we fear she might initiate other terrible works of sabotage against us. Therefore Mrs. X has been banned from all Institute facilities and meetings. If at any time you see Mrs. X where she should not be (let the reader understand), please notify security immediately and they will deal with her.

Please let me express my personal regret that any of this has occurred, that it came to this. You didn't ask for this fight nor did I. We were guilty of nothing, unless it be trusting people too much, too readily. Warning signs were there, of course, but most of us were not in a position to recognize them as anything other than static on the wire. The investigation continues, however, to ferret out anyone who did know, or were in a position to know and did nothing.

I cannot comment to any real extent on the investigation, except to say that I hear there are potential suspects who must be dealt with. I have directed our team in the computer side of records to correlate the data in such a way to determine if any of the "lukewarm" ones, noted above, who have not completed their paperwork for admission to the new Institute, may be among them. If so, we will have a better handle on their hesitancy. If found complicit, naturally they will be excluded. It is to be seriously regretted that we shall not have the benefit of their dues, but the cost of integrity at times is high.

Friends, all around me I can see and hear the hustle and bustle of the new Institute's staff, eager beavers each one, and I am pleased. But I now ask your leave to be excused for a time, to rest and recharge. The simple fact of the matter is that I am not by nature an Organization Man. Those of you who have tasted my mentality -- in private session -- will attest to that. Even without mental parasitic activity trained on me, but only from the day to day grind we're dealing with, I feel myself nearly drained. And so I must -- I'll repeat that, I must -- leave our world headquarters for a time. Perhaps to sleep, more likely to sequester myself away in the dark corner of a university town coffee shop, to train my attention, to direct my focus, on the eyes, face, lips, hands, feet -- the entire body -- of vital, vibrant subjects just waiting, desirous and even begging (however unconscious they are of it) for a mental parasite to completely sap them. I shall become stronger as their depletion proceeds.

One day -- I hope soon -- I shall regain my strength, thanks to those unwilling subjects and thousands of others. Then you and I shall together do the day to day work of running this great organization -- the best little Institute of Mental Parasitism in the world, the new one, run by men of integrity (along with some minor help from the ladies Auxiliary), world without end.

The Old Days of Razor Blade Disposal

Wouldn't it be fun to see what goes on inside the razor blade disposal of an old medicine cabinet? I can only imagine, which is all I've been able to do, since I've never had the actual pleasure.

I know it must really be something, too, because I've known builders and home-wreckers who've seen it. But like in the battles of war, these veterans are suspiciously silent. In the case of war, they don't want to say what they had to do. With the blades, it must be something similar, too awful to describe.

Which is precisely why I'd like to see it. What kind of mess is it? You know it has to be bad. The old blades were immediately prone to rust. I used to see a blade set out too long on the shelf and it was rusty within hours. And it has to be just like rust on a car; it grows, it creeps, it starts attaching to things, and pretty soon the whole thing falls apart.

Just to imagine, then, what it's like in a well-used razor blade disposal, the blades are attached to one another, a big rusted assembly. Like modern art, maybe, just not as good. Rust is going up in a spiral, like in a cave. Every few days, more water drips in from a new blade entering and from the normal humidity of the bathroom or kitchen. (I have two such disposals, one in the "new" bathroom, made after the '70s, and one in the kitchen, the original one Grandpa shaved by.)

It'd do too much damage to the kitchen, I know, for me to start prying and tearing it out. So all these years, there it's set. Grandpa's been gone since 1977, so that's given the old blades a long time to settle. For all I know, they might be eating through the wall. If that ever happens, I'll take appropriate measures, fight them back as best I can. Use a fire extinguisher.

Grandpa didn't have any qualms about using the thing. For me, though, I look at it as a kind of small terrarium. It's an ecosystem for razor blades, but it's so finite, you don't want to put too much in it. But if you're not using it when you need it, why have it? That would be my original question? Why even have it? Of course it's for safety. When you need to throw away a razor blade, there's all sorts of dangers about putting them in the trash. Anyone could slice open their leg.

But they could've just as easily put in a detachable disposal system, like you see in the doctor's office, the sharps container, where you simply throw away the whole container when it gets up to about a pound. But no, for some reason, back in the old days, they thought, "We'll just hard-wire these things in the wall behind the medicine cabinet." Maybe make them eight inches deep, or better yet, let them go all the way to the floor. The razor blades then, even if you were in the house for 100 years, would never pile up enough to fill it.

Quite the idea, till you start imagining what's going on in there. Rust, doing all sorts of things. For all we know, it could be doing a DNA melt with your whiskers and skin cells, along with the moisture and mold, the house, and the souls of the people there. Pretty soon you've got a wall full of half metal, half spirit ghosts, or other beings come to life. Seriously, why else would builders be so quiet about what they've seen? Why else would builder be the only profession where they beg their sons to do anything but that?

The more I think of it, the more I'm willing just to let it go. I myself use disposable BIC razors. And they won't fit in the slot. The simply go in the garbage. And if there's any weird DNA/metal amalgamating to be done, it's happening somewhere else, not here at home. Still, I think I hear some tapping in the wall!

Brick By Brick -- Your Criminal Edifice

Now that I'm the new Mr. Big, with Tony's death, I've got a lot more free time, time that I'm using wisely to keep myself focused and centered. I'm looking at it, in part, as time for reflection, with the idea that reflection contributes to my overall success.

Being a criminal, friends, isn't the easiest job in the world, that is, if you do it right. The prisons are full of dumb ass schmucks who thought it'd be easy, but then, and there's no known exception to this, they got sloppy, which is another word for stupid. These days, of course, there's a lot of dumb asses who post their exploits on social media, blogs and the like, which anyone with three weeks experience online can trace in seconds. And so they go to prison. Stupid! The problem is not enough reflection.

I've been reflecting today that establishing and maintaining a good criminal life is kind of like building a building, like building and maintaining a house. There's lots of similarities, and you can almost get lost in the comparisons; it's uncanny how many points of congruence, or overlap, there are. Leading me to think, and it's just a theory, that the first house-builder must have been a very successful criminal. Even to this day, you hear of burglars targeting houses, or criminals apprehended at houses, like a crack house. So there's a real closeness.

Anyway, we reflect, we start thinking, we gather our thoughts, we grant our minds free rein and our thoughts the ability to roam. And they keep returning to this idea that a good criminal life and the building process are very, very -- extremely -- close.

The first thing to our house is the basement and foundation. The basement and foundation may not be the "sexiest" parts of the house. The "sexiest" parts would have to be the shower and bedroom. But the basement and foundation are extremely critical to the house's integrity. It is that which is "foundational" that will stand you in the best stead over the long term. When the winds blow and a tornado or mudslide come through, if the foundation isn't any good ... then good luck! In fact, when vicious storms come, where do we go? but to the basement! Likewise, in the criminal life, you don't start out as Mr. Big. You start out at ground level, but what you first establish there will continue to ground you later.

The house then goes up. You next see its structure, similar to a body's skeleton, 2 x 4s placed horizontally and vertically and nailed, with all the water pipes and electrical conduits where they need to be. Without a basic structure -- let's say you just propped up a bunch of unsupported walls on the foundation -- something less than a doctorate tells you it's going to collapse. Because everything has to be supported. Similarly, in a good criminal life, one in which you're not immediately in prison, you need a structure. This could be a good gang, a network of associates, or looking at it another way, your growth in intelligence and how you let your experience at the foundational base rise up as a supporting structure.

Next, they put in the walls. I've never yet been in a good house that didn't have walls. Walls and windows. I'm serious here, I like good walls. They're useful, like if you have a stoolie and you want to put your arm up against his neck and raise him off the floor. You can't get a guy's eyes bulging out if the wall isn't there for support. Or say you simply don't want your house open to the outside elements 24/7, you need walls. In the criminal life, as we follow our reflections on the good criminal life, the walls represent an enclosure or environment for yourself. In other words, you're not simply exposed. When you're exposed, you're in prison in no time, where they have very good walls.

What comes next? Of course it'd have to be the roof. What good is a roof? Let's think about it a minute. A roof protects the inside of the house from sun, rain, and bird poop. It tops off the house, and helps keep what's inside in good condition, so you can live there comfortably for years to come. In our good criminal life, the "roof" means you've worked yourself up from the ground level and denotes completeness. Also, just as an actual roof makes a great lookout point for cops on the horizon, from your "roof" you can see more clearly the vistas, the opportunities of your criminal future.

I probably should mention all the furnishings, paint, wallpaper, appliances, flooring, alcoves, linoleum, and the like, that make the inside of the house comfy and cozy. You wouldn't want a house that didn't have anything in it! Unless you were just holing up somewhere till the heat died down, or you were doing quick drug deals or something like that. In an actual house to live in, you want nice things, like maybe a fireplace to burn evidence in. Or a toilet with a strong industrial flush. Similarly, in your good criminal life, you're not stealing money and jewels, swindling and cheating just for the hell of it. That'd be pointless. You're doing it so you'll have nice things, bling and other cool things. Because that's what life's all about, enjoying what you have and hoping no one takes it from you.