New Opportunities Available with Good Morning Bedtime Story

Hello Ladies and Gentlemen. I hope your New Years Celebrations were great. Sorry that I have been incognito for the past few weeks. On that note, I thought I would kick the New Year off by discussing opportunities with an online company I am associated with.

Good Morning Bedtime Story, an international online organization dedicated to building an awareness of mental health through writing, poetry, art and music has a number of new prospects that are coming alive in 2014.

The first is the announcement of a forum, where people will be able to discuss issues they are having whilst dealing with their mental illness, talk about their survival stories and offer advice to others who are suffering. We hope it will become an area of the internet where those suffering depression, bipolar, schizophrenia or any other form of mental illness will be able to congregate and safely discuss their lives, challenges and feelings.

Additionally on the forum, emerging artists will be able to showcase aspects of their artistic creations and acquire feedback in order to help become published. This will assist artists with becoming creative contributors in Good Morning Bedtime Story (GMBS) anthologies.

To help manage the forum, GMBS will require moderators to look at the conversations taking place to ensure that none begin to show racism, hatred, derogatory comments or excessive violence.

Moreover, GMBS still has a number of openings available for volunteers. Jobs will include updating social media pages; posting calls for submissions to anthologies; marketing any new ventures the organization is undertaking, and creating ideas to advantageously benefit the organizational cause.

GMBS is always open for online submissions, which will be posted on the website. Volunteers too are able to contribute with submissions, and those who volunteer their services have the opportunity to receive a recommendation for their resume.

If anyone is interested in becoming involved with GMBS, you can e-mail them at: gmbssubmissions@gmail.com

In the e-mail, explain why mental health matters to you, what ideas you have to help further promote the organization, and also outline whether you are interested in working as a forum moderator. Only successful applicants will be contacted.

If you ever want to submit work to GMBS, you may submit poetry, writing (both fictional and memoir), music and images relating to mental health to: gmbssubmissions@gmail.com

You are able to post under a pseudonym if you wish, and all published work remains copyright of the original creators. Be sure to include the word ‘submission’ in the title of the e-mail.

Thank you for reading and I hope you consider submitting work and contributing to the organization.

Have a great day. I wish all of you health and happiness in 2014. Cheers!

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What do you think?

 

I mentioned in my Christmas post that I received a new phone as a gift; a GT-C3520 Clam Shell.

After inserting my old SIM card into my new device, I found that all of the information stored on there; the numbers of my friends, family and acquaintances; the history of texts and calls that I had sent and received, along with my photos and recordings were all unavailable.

My old phone was an LG Clam Shell, and my new one is a Samsung, and with that said; only the number is the functional part of my old phone that was successfully integrated with my new device.

So, I therefore had to go and place my SIM card back into my old phone because I didn’t know most of the numbers of my friends and family off by heart and had to make backups of any files that I felt were important, which I transferred onto a USB. The numbers however I had to physically write down and later transfer into my new phone.

Some, I admit, did not make it onto the new phone, and this cleansing cycle made me wonder; why did I still have half of the numbers on there anyway when the last time I had communicated with such people, the human race was running around in leopard skins whacking each other over the heads with sticks as a way to communicate with other tribes.

I did come across one number in particular that I am undecided upon, and wish to ask the general public their thoughts on this matter.

The number belongs to a certain young woman that I used to fancy, and still have feelings for. We never did date, and even though there might have been a spark once, we left things on a rather negative note when we last spoke.

On top of this, I most likely have a greater chance of flying to Jupiter than I do of ever either seeing her again, or going out to dinner with her.

However, even with that said, should I keep her number somewhere in my phone – perhaps in one of those ‘groups’ sections? An opportunity may one day present itself I do suppose, although this is unbelievably slim. Another theory could be that having her number will prevent me from successfully moving forward with my life.

I am at a loss of what to do right now, and any thoughts and/or opinions on this matter will be greatly appreciated.

Thanks!

The rat bastard playing loud music down the road from me must be silenced!

 

If I can hear the sound of the bass, the drums, the guitar, the lyrics and everything else several houses down, what is it like for the occupants of the residence where the music is playing?

I for one have never truly understood where playing music as loud as friggin’ possible ever managed to be described as ‘enjoyable’.

Having your eardrums blown in by music that is been performed by a band playing some brute European deranged rock song is not my idea of a good time, but who am I to judge the deluded, deranged lunatics down the road from me who get off on it? Whatever rocks your boat I say, I would just rather prefer not to hear it over where I am.

The second issue, apart from the noise, which is bad enough, is the time. The music starts at approximately 9:30 at night, and then proceeds to continue until 2 in the damn morning.

Now, calling the cops about this is like calling the man who runs the ice cream van and telling him the exact same thing; some arsehole’s idea of a good time is playing music louder than any sound that has ever been recorded. On top of this, calling the local council about this is as productive as calling the cops, which already illustrated, is pretty friggin’ useless.

Of course, you could always try communicating with the guy playing the music, who takes your attempt to calmly deescalate the situation as an act of war because not only is he a few tiles short of a roof, but he can’t even speak a word of English so you might as well go beat your head up against a wall cuz if you stand there any longer your head will certainly look just about as terrible.

Of course, this leads me back to the title of this post; the rat bastard must be silenced. First off, why rat bastard? Well, because he is a rat. No, he didn’t inform on anyone to the cops – remember, he’s no good with speaking the Eng, so he’s informing skills will be about as useful as his ability to play music at regular room volume. By rat, I mean, he really is a rat. He has tiny black rat eyes, a little nose with whiskers protruding out from the sides, has a pink tail sticking out from the arse end of his body and is additionally covered in a gargantuan layer of hair. Okay, maybe it ain’t such an in-depth comparison, but there certainly is a similarity.

Now, let’s access that word ‘silenced’. I’m not saying that something untoward needs to happen to him – I’m saying that something untoward absolutely must happen to his sound system – it has to be silenced; muted; permanently.

The question would ultimately be how to successfully do so – hypothetically speaking of course.

As previously mentioned, any legal means would ultimately be unsuccessful, which would perhaps leave the illegal, or as some may call it, the desperate means. Basically, I would need to gain entry to the residence, temporarily gain access to the sound system – then grab hold of it and run out of there faster that Road Runner been pursued by Coyote.

I guess it would come down to how many people were at the ‘event’ in question, and, on top of that, how many people were inclined to have the music system there.  Surrounded by a bunch of angry, drunken music loving freaks who came for the songs would be somewhat unimpressed in my view by a certain handsome, intelligent, amazing, quick witted, humorous, fun loving individual stealing their reason for been there.

I could additionally take a sledge hammer to the sound system – that would put both it and me out of our misery, for I cannot imagine that it enjoys having terrible music pumping out from its mouth. The question would be how to get there – a person walking about a party scene with a weapon of mass construction would stand out like legs on a rattlesnake at an event of this proportion – unless there a builder theme to the occasion – then nobody will question me.

Or I could take a pair of scissors and chop the cable – but this issue can be easily amended to some extent or another – unless the cable is fed into the sound system rather than been an attachment which can be connected to the arse end of the device.

Decisions, decisions. Oh, maybe it’s all too hard. How many parties can these people have in a week? Quite a few it would seem. This would make me wonder what the hell they are celebrating? The fact that they are alive? Come on! What happened to the days when a party was just that – an occasion to celebrate the birthday of an individual. Now…well, wish me luck, in any event. Desperation makes people do crazy things and I fear I may be on the verge of doing something really out there. Now, where did I put that sledgehammer?

A Predictable Failure?

For anyone who has frequented certain previous posts of mine, you would know that I have on (frequent) occasion mentioned my infatuation with a certain young lady named ‘Elisha’. Well, my ingenious plan was to tell this ominous young woman how I felt about her. I had written a few soporific pieces in regards to my feelings of infatuated love for her, and if you have endured the hardship of reading these deranged cries of love and heartache, then I feel it is my duty to fill you in with the conclusion to this reoccurring love story.

Think of this as your gift for reading all of the previous romanticised drivel that I have thrust upon the pages of this site. Every story is deserving of an ending, even one as tired and boring as the one I have generated on this blog, so allow me to give you the end; in great, verbose detail.

If you have not read my previous posts, then here is quick and very brief recap (of course, my definition of ‘brief’ usually spans around two thousand words).

Two years ago, a young woman named Elisha from Darwin, the capital city of the Northern Territory, made her way to Melbourne and began to attend the same university as I, appearing in a number of my classes. I immediately became attracted to the commitment she applied to her work, in which she endeavored to accomplish everything she began with all of her capability. I found this personal drive of hers to be very attractive, and the fact that she was incredibly beautiful was just an added bonus. Smart, easy to communicate with and with a great personality to boot, she was gorgeous, and often dressed in rather short attire (so short that at times if it had been any shorter her vagina may have made an entrance); to me she was the bees knees.

I came to the conclusion that my telling her how I felt might adversely affect her time in Melbourne if it all went belly up, and so left it to the final semester of our final year together to tell her how I felt.

Well, now with that recap over, I can officially announce that Saturday past was the day that I told her how I felt – via e-mail. Yes; daggy, pathetic, and absolutely without dignity.

‘Why?’ you might ask me, stunned by this sudden admittance. ‘Why use e-mail. Why not confess it to her face?’

Well, you see, I think I’m too much of a gentleman (meaning I’m too much of an emotionally weak bastard) to admit anything to Elisha’s face, although I had every intention of doing so. I asked her at the beginning of Friday if I could borrow some of her time to discuss with her something that was weighing on me. She agreed to do so at the end of the day.

So, I waited, and waited, and waited, and after I had done waiting all that time I then began to get started on waiting some more.

Finally, by the day’s conclusion at approximately 3:46, Elisha and I had our moment to talk; all six seconds of it. The conversation went something like this:

Elisha: ‘Did you want to talk to me?’

The idiot (me): ‘Yes, but if you’re busy we can reschedule to talk next week.’

Elisha: ‘E-mail it to me, okay?’ (Quickly hurries for the door and is already half way across the room)

The idiot: ‘Okeay doakey’ (is this spelt right?)

Okeay Doakey? As I said it, the words did not even seem to be coming from my mouth. You know that moment, when it is like you are watching something from afar rather than actually participating in the occurrence? I personally had never had this happen to me and doubted it could happen – but believe me, if you have not yet experienced it, allow me to tell you – this kind of crap is real – and I warn you, it can, and will happen – if you let it.

Let my experience be a warning to you – now please, go out and live damn it, live!

Anyway – judging by Elisha’s power walk to the door that very action should perhaps have alerted me to the fact that Elisha’s want to talk to me was about as potent as my want to be eaten by a Great White Shark – which I do not want to have happen. My point? I think I should have realised Elisha did not really want to talk. Of course, been a Friday night she probably had a couple parties to get to.

So, on Saturday morning I managed to get up bright and early at around 4 a.m. to write my feelings down. She had told me to write to her, so I felt that I was doing her justice by following her wishes. In the end, I wrote five whole pages worth of me feelings, followed by a love poem.

I have no intention of producing either the confession or love, or the poem. No need to thank me, okay – please, thank me! Yes, yes, I appreciate your warm gratitude. Now, now, don’t get carried away! Please, hold the applause! Okay, let it go! Applaud me baby! YAY!

I will tell you that I confessed to being in love with Elisha. I outlined what I liked about her, and why I had these feelings for her, and then I explained why it had taken me all this time to confess my feelings as I outlined in the ‘brief’ recap. I then asked if she felt a romanticised, legitimate, long term relationship could happen between the two of us, and if she could provide to me an answer to my face, rather than with a tweet, e-mail, voice mail, txt or other like service in case there was a misunderstanding brought on by anything that did not involve direct verbal commentary.

Elisha however decided that the last point I had made in the e-mail was laughable – because she did exactly the opposite and at 11:05 Sunday morning sent her response by e-mail. Now, this I will provide to you:

Naughty (this part (my name) has been changed, obviously. If I actually went around being called ‘Naughty’, who do you think would have been blamed for the past twenty two years every time a cookie disappeared from the cookie jar?)

I just read your e-mail, and although I am flattered by your affection for me, I do not feel the same way.

I hope you can understand where I am coming from and that we can keep things at a professional relationship.

Sincerely

Elisha

P.s (I always thought the ‘s’ in ‘P.S’ was meant to be capitalised. Go figure?) I know you would have preferred me to tell you this in person, but I think my response is clear enough that there shall be no issues with its interpretation.

So, after all this time blogging about this woman of my dreams (not in every post but in at least a good quarter of them) everything officially went belly up.

For anyone who has not read my blog before, you may take one look at what I just wrote and think ‘Jeeze, does this guy e-mail every woman he fancies? He must have never hit a home run!’

However, let me assure you I have had a girlfriend before, bearing in mind it was two years ago, back when people went around clubbing each other over the head with wooden sticks and wore the skin of animals over their private parts. When I did confess me feelings to that particular young woman, it was flawless, and happened a lot easier than this occasion. I told Elizabeth (my then soon to be girlfriend), (I must have an ‘E’ complex, first Elizabeth, now Elisha) that I wanted to be more than friends. Of course, I said this after I pushed her up against a wall in my home and kissed her lips for a good few minutes, before we later went to bed and had lots and lots and lots and lots of…………..food. Yes, hot, steamy, exhausting, passionate, sweaty food. Okay, that’s enough innuendo for one day!

So, now you know how that ended. My Elisha, who is in fact not my Elisha, is to be never more.

Unfortunately, I have found that trying to get over her is a very difficult thing to do, and it would seem that I am completely and utterly in love with her. If I didn’t know this before, then the fact that I am borderline heartbroken due to the fact that I can’t be with her now should indicate that quite clearly to me in vivid heart wrenching detail.

Of course, I do feel that I screwed up, and that on the Friday I should have been a little more persuasive. This is all heading towards a question that I would like to put to my audience. That is if you survived this long…

…should I attempt anything over the next week or so to win Elisha over and gain her affection? This would include anything from kissing her, talking to her, etc, because I honestly am at a loss and would appreciate some much needed guidance. I haven’t had a girlfriend in two years as I pointed out previously, and I don’t know if it shows, but it would seem that I’m a little rusty; like a knight’s armour that was left out in the cold rain for forty five years.

Any answers would be much appreciated!

Thank you for reading people!

Sincerely and with kind regards

Naughty Nefarious

Talk is Cheap, but Silence is Golden

 

Why must we talk at breakfast, lunch and dinner with our families?

Who stated this had to happen?

Where did it all start?

Who can we blame?

Well, no offence, but this is the American’s doing. Yep, Americans and their drama serials, soaps and sitcoms, where the happy, stereotypical American family is portrayed as sitting around the dinner table and communicating to one another about their day.

Now, before you start sending in your hate mail allow me to state that the Americans have done a lot for us over the years. However, I do not think sitting around the table and talking to your family about your day and incorporating this ideology into a TV show and basically telling the entire world ‘you are not a good family if you don’t do this’ would be one of the many good things they have done for the world. No, not at all. In my view, it is a very, very bad thing.

Now, I will admit that at the moment not having a partner to share my life with can perhaps be a bit lonely. I wake up alone. I go to bed alone. I go to work alone. I go to university alone. I have breakfast for one, lunch for one, dinner for one and wine for seven.

I’m joking about that last part…or am I?

But at the end of the day the benefit (if you could call this a benefit) is that I don’t need to talk to anyone and I can enjoy a blissful silence with myself and my food. The day my food starts talking to me is not only a day I can officially wait for, but the day I send myself to a nice little place with rubber rooms and men in white suits.

When I ever eat with my family, it’s a completely different story. All three meals of the day if I happen to be present for them go something like this. ‘Chew, bla, bla, bla, chew, bla, bla, bla, chew, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla, chew’, and it just gradually gets worse from there.

As you can probably tell by now, I’m not exactly known for my socialising skills, especially when they happen to involve a dinner table. The issue I have, and I don’t know if anyone else has this problem, is that I like to taste my food. I like to enjoy my food. I like to be satisfied with my food. And I cannot eat, nor enjoy, nor be satisfied with my food when I am engaged in a conversation.

Maybe I’m a few tiles short of a roof, but I can’t seem to concentrate on doing two things at once when I am engaged in filling my body with the necessary requirements to keep me self alive for an extra few hours.

I guess anyone reading this might be looking for a point or a punch line to this whole post…I just don’t see the point why we as a species have been taught that we simply must fill our eating experiences with dialogue.

In documentary’s, I am yet to see one where two lions are gorging down the carcass of a zebra and one lion turns the other and says ‘so honey, how was your day?’ Of course, to the human ears it might sound a bit more like ‘roar, grrr, arr, roar, roar, meow’, but still, they don’t do that either.

Now, I am not saying that everyone should just shut up and eat. I can allow for some minor conversation. But I don’t see why the beginning, the middle and the end of the dinner and everything in-between must be flooded with continued conversation.

Can we not allow for a bit of silence? A bit like what Uma Thurman insinuated to John Travolta in Pulp Fiction – you know when you have found the perfect person to spend your life with when you can simply sit back and enjoy an uncomfortable silence with them.

So why that ideology cannot be spread by American television rather than this talk at the table every morning, noon and night garbage is beyond me.

If anyone reads this wishes to make a comment and say whether they like conversing a lot at dinner or believe that a little bit of silence every once in a while is golden, I would be quite appreciative to know what the people of the world think.

Thank you for reading,

Naughty Nefarious, signing off!

What? Are you completely dog gone? You’re not going to kiss me with that mouth, are you?

 

THIS PIECE CONTAINS FREQUENT INAPPROPRIATE SEXUAL REFERENCES AND SOME INFREQUENT MILD COARSE LANGUAGE. READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 14 SHOULD USE READER DISCRETION

Recently, Australia’s favorite journalist, Joe Hildebrand, developed an article discussing the sexuality of his pooch.

If you want to do pee pee in your pants, I suggest you read this:

http://blogs.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/joehildebrand/index.php/
dailytelegraph/comments/exclusive_dog_bites_man_becomes_a_news_
story/

Anyway, after reading the article, I really began to think about my own dog. I thought about it that night. I thought about it a bit the next day. And I thought about it today, and even now as I am writing this I am still thinking about it. True, my beloved dog, Sheena the Collie Bitch Goddess has not been with us for a great many years now, but her behaviour back in the day could very well have been reminiscent of her sexual nature.

This ignorant imbecile for one had never considered that any other animal besides a human being could indeed be homosexual. But hey, you learn something new each day!

According to the science, of which I know very little about, FYI, in every person’s brain is a specific section that is reserved for attraction and governs the laws of sexual lust and desire which causes men to like women, and vice versa. For homosexuals, this particular part of the brain is said to be operating differently. However, in my view it would be better to have a part of your brain operating differently than to have no brain at all, which unfortunately for me describes half the people I associate my life with.

Of course, if people can be gay, then why not other species too?

Of course, my discovery of this ain’t all that amazing. Bearing in mind this is coming from the guy who up until last year thought that to ‘poke’ someone meant you took your index and your middle finger and stuck them up a particular orifice of someone you adored. Who would have known it could ever be as boring as simply clicking a button on a social media page? I personally fear the day when other things, like sex, are relegated to such a thing in the terrifyingly possible future, where you visit someone’s site and click the ‘have intercourse’ button, before choosing whether it be verbal, physical or a good ol’ roll in the hay.

Moving on however, the thing is that dogs are quite unlike people. People need to see someone to get aroused. Dogs can simply sniff ‘em out. Now yes, we did eventually remove Sheena of her womanhood to keep from having any little Sheena’s running around in the near future, but that still does not put an end to a dog’s primordial instinct which is to sniff its way through life, something that all dogs have been doing since Christ was a boy.

One thing I have never quite managed to get a handle on is a dog’s introduction to another dog. I mean, what kind of message are dog’s receiving when they shove their nose up another dog’s rectal crack? I doubt they’re gonna take a whiff and go ‘mmm, smells like my favorite perfume – vanilla extract! Have you been eatin’ the ice cream again?’

I can only be so glad that a long time ago a human decided that a hand shake would be a more appropriate introductive method for the human race, else during job interviews I’d have to walk behind my future boss’s desk, get down low and sniff away at the rear end of their trousers. Might not be so bad actually if my boss was a saucy minx of a woman with the body of an hour glass and a shit load of tattoos – I mean, I would probably be fantasising about being in that very position – and several others mind you over the course of my contract with the company.

Besides, I think we already have enough figurative arse licking (especially in regards to politicians), arse sucking (especially in regards to politicians), arse kissing (especially in regards to politicians) and arse sniffing (especially in regards to politicians) in this society of ours without adding any more to it. I mean, if everyone else begins to do so, I can assure you that one, all of those politicians who lick, suck, kiss and sniff their way through politics won’t look so antagonistic, and two, that whole 60s idea of no sex until at least the second date will completely go right out the window, for if you have already shoved your face right up someone’s crack at the beginning of the first date, imagine what you would have done by the end? You would have basically experienced the beginning, middle and end of the relationship all in one evening!

However, Sheena’s behaviour with the guys, before and after her ability to reproduce was systematically removed, was never exactly what one could consider ‘normal’. Whenever a male dog would come within her proximity, she would roll over onto her back and stick her legs into the air. She would keep this pose for as long as the male dog was around, and she would do her absolute best not to move a single muscle. The posture she was able to keep would make those models who go nude in those art classes look bad. 

Yes, she would play dead.

Of course, I don’t think Sheena was smart enough to realise that her death would probably look a little different than that. I know when I die I won’t be on by back with my legs and arms in the air. Unless I was performing some seriously naughty, sexually explicit ‘X’ rated promiscuously raunchy fantasy and happened to be tied up at the time whilst been spanked by the hands of little Australian hookers. 

The male dogs would take one look at her when she struck this pose, tilt their head to the side and make the ‘mmm?’ dog noise, whilst looking utterly perplexed at the sight before them. You know the look I mean, when a person looks as though there is nothing happening behind the eyes? Whilst I write this I am sitting beneath a tree, enjoying the city air as a chubby bloke walks by who seems to have the exact same expression I’m talking about permanently etched upon his face. I can assure you, if a single thought went through his mind it would go by so fast it would not only be the fastest thing in all of Melbourne, it would make light speed look like slow motion.

However, Sheena’s behaviour was quite the opposite whenever a female dog happened to walk by. Then, she would hurry over with impeccable speed and shove her face into the smelly snatch of her fellow canine and have herself some analingus, cunnilingus, and any other kind of ‘ingus one could possibly imagine.

I can’t imagine what kind of conversation they might have had. May have gone something like this actually…

Sheena: (eyes female dog walking by with owner) (thinks) ‘Wow, that husky is a fox!’ (runs over and sniffs husky’s buttocks)

Sheena: ‘Su’p dawg?’

Siberian husky: ‘Nothing much. What’s your name?’

Sheena: ‘I’m Sheena the Collie Bi-arch’

Siberian husky: ‘I’m Leila, the Siberian husky’

Sheena: ‘Wow, who could have known, two purebreds like us meeting. It must have been fated to happen. Tell me, what is a dog like you doing in a place like this?’

Siberian husky: ‘I’m going walkies!’

Sheena: ‘Really?’

Siberian husky: ‘Really, really! My owner takes me out so I can piss and shit all over the neighbor’s yards. Friggin’ beautiful!’

Sheena: ‘Yeah?’

Siberian husky: ‘Yeah, plus, my owner is sick and tired of me wiping my smelly arse along the carpet from one end of the house to the other. I tried to tell her, ‘if you let me have some of that pink toilet paper you wipe your arse with bitch then this shit wouldn’t happen!’ but as always, she didn’t listen.’

Sheena: ‘I know the feeling. Tell me, who’s the stiff?’

‘Siberian husky: ‘That’s my owner silly.’

Sheena: ‘Would she mind if you and I skipped this place and made out?’

Siberian husky: ‘She sure might.’

Sheena: ‘Well, what if I asked you to come inside and have a bite of my sweet, moist bone?’

Siberian husky: ‘Oh, I would love to bite down on your bone! However, my owner might have a problem with that. And if it was more than just eating the bone that you wanted to me do, I may have a problem with that too! You see, I’m real religious – I don’t believe in having rudey nudey’s until after marriage.’

Sheena: ‘Damn girl, what is with you?’

Siberian husky: ‘I know right! So if you wanted to get down on me, right here, right now, you are barking up the wrong tree sweetie.’

Sheena: ‘Yeah, and to think, I was captivated by your beauty and your grace from the moment you walked by, and from the moment you started to talk, you had me eating out of your paw.’

Of course, been unaffiliated with the language of canine, the husky’s owner and I would only have heard:

Sheena: ‘sniff, sniff’

Siberian husky: ‘woof, woof, woof, woof’

Sheena: ‘woof, woof, bark, woof’

Siberian husky: ‘woof, woof, woof, arf!’

Sheena: ‘Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, bark, bark, bark, woof, woof, woof, awwwwoooll!’

Siberian husky: ‘Woof, woof’

Sheena: ‘Bark’

Siberian husky: ‘Bark, bark, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof’

Sheena: ‘Woof, woof, woof, arf’

Siberian husky: ‘Woof, bark, bark’

Sheena: ‘Woof’

Siberian husky: ‘woof, woof, woof, woof, bark, bark, arf, bark, woof, woof, woof, bark, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, arf, arf, woof, woof, woof, woof, arf, arf, woof, woof, woof, woof’

Sheena: ‘Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof’

Siberian husky: ‘Woof, woof, bark, bark, woof, bark, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, arf, woof, woof’

Sheena: ‘Woo, woof, arf’

Siberian husky: ‘woof, woof’

Sheena: ‘Arf, arf, bark, bark, bark, woof’

Siberian husky: ‘woof, woof, woof, woof, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, woof, woof, woof, woof, arf, arf, bark, woof, woof, woof, woof, bark, bark, awwwwwoolll! Awwwwoolll! Woof, woof, woof, woof, bark, bark, woof’

Sheena: ‘woof, woof, woof, woof, bark, bark, bark, arf, arf, woof, woof, woof, woof, bark, bark, woof’

However, I’m not attempting to emphasise that Sheena was in any way a sex crazed lesbian love fiend, nor am I attempting to postulate the generalisation that she was a filthy animal. No, my Sheena, she was all class ladies and gentleman. For one, she would poop wherever she wanted. Often it was easy to find, I mean, little brown rocks often stand out on green grass. Especially if the little brown rocks weren’t all that little. It was the sneaky ones she would do around the side of the house that you had to look out for.

Secondly, sometimes when she would take a dump, she would take one look at her excreted bodily products and think to herself ‘you know that looks really quite delectable’ and have a good ol’ munch on it. It was especially nice when she would come running up to you later and lick your face with her shit stained teeth.

Thirdly, the girl could really pack it away! I never knew a woman of any species could eat so damn much. Maybe that’s why she ate her shit sometimes – she felt food deprived. She at times ate her own vomit too. Sometimes she would then vomit it back up and eat it all over again. Good times.

Fourthly, she had the intellect of a dodge ball.

Fifthly, like all girls, she loved to have fun!

In conclusion though, I am uncertain that I will ever be able to successfully fathom the sexual orientation of my pooch. Even if she were still alive, it is not as though I could ask her. But even if she had been a lesbian, I would have loved the smelly, hairy, disgusting, beautiful, gorgeous, loveable animal that she was. I miss you Sheena the Collie Bitch Goddess, and wherever you may be; Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, floating in a void of nothingness or just gone completely, just know, I still love you.

Dedicated to the memory of Sheena: 1985-1998

 

Thank you for reading

 

This is Naughty Nefarious, signing off once more

Favorite Words: At least 1 for each letter of the alphabet

A: Antagonistic/Archipelago

B: Behemoth/Beverage

C: Cunnilingus

D: Desolation/Doppelganger

E: Enigma/Exponentially

F: Fathom/Foray/Fruition/Fruitless

G: Gargantuan/Gregarious

H: Heretic/Hubris

I: Infatuation/Initiate/Instigate

J: Jabberwocky

K: Kinetic

L: Lineage/Love

M: Marauder/Menagerie

N: Narcissus/Necromancer

O: Obsidian/Odyssey/Orchestrate

P: Paramour/Paramount/ Postulate/ Preposterous/ Promulgate

Q: Quintessential

R: Renegade/Ricochet

S: Serendipitous/Synchronicity/Soiree

T: Tempest/Tyrannical

U: Ubiquitous/Uncanny/Undulate/Unfathomable

V: Vagrancy/Vanguard/Vying

W: Warlock/Wyvern

X: Xebec

Y: Yawp/Ytterbium

Z: Zealot

Broken, Done or Dying? Actually, just Dead!

 

Contains sexual references and coarse language.

Weird title? Not really – it basically describes how I will inevitably feel if everything goes belly up in regards to the current girl of my dreams; Elisha. Yes, back on this topic, and I decided I would dedicate an entire post to this subject matter, so if you do not want to be bored to tears by the soporific ideas of some love depraved love struck anti-hero – I suggest you flee immediately!

Now, some themes and ideas I have brought up in previous posts may come up during this topic, but that is just because they are directly tied in with this subject matter.

Now, I have mentioned before and I will say it again; I suck at deciphering the codes that women use. I have found that women emphasise less with vocabulary, and more with physicality; basically, they say more with their faces than with their mouths. I however could not interpret an ‘I love you’ from a ‘go screw yourself’. Hence I don’t ever act on anything in that regard. A woman could give me the ‘I fancy you’ look, and I would be able to interpret that as easily as I could fly to the moon using nothing more than a jet propelled pack constructed from tissue paper. A woman could give me the ‘I think you’re a douche’ look, and I would probably interpret that to mean the exact opposite, but still not act on my ideas from fear that I am wrong. Yes, fear, it can be a very powerful ally. It is also the one bitch that prevents you from getting anywhere in this world.

What I personally would like, is for women to go up to guys and say what is on their mind, rather than giving them a look from a distance. I can’t translate what intense and frequent gander’s means, or what raised eyebrows or smiles are meant to signify, or what bared teeth and a tongue sticking out is supposed to represent. What is so difficult with just walking up to a bloke and saying what is going through their mind? I of course mean all this in regards to relationships. I don’t mean, go up to a guy if you’re thirsty and say ‘I like diet soft drink and I’m gonna go get me self some’. No, I mean go up to a bloke and say ‘hey, I think you’re as hot as magma’ rather than staring at a guy from across the room.

I read once on the Facebook page of a Miami psychologist that apparently 92% of all men would rather women make the first move in instigating a relationship. 92%? That is a big friggin’ percentage! With my views, I probably make up 65% of that entire statistic.

That would be the benefit of women making the first move – there would be no more looks. They would do the talking rather than ogling blokes from a distance, and I would be in a finer position for it. I would for one, not be in the fine mess I am now, for if Elisha liked me – she would have said something. Or has she? That is the problem, for when women are not looking at blokes, they are insinuating ideals in their dialogue and behaviour. God, if women wrote a dictionary on their codes and their looks and such, I would be so much happier for it. Then I could look in the little book (it would probably be a huge friggin’ book) when a woman pokes her tongue out at me and say ‘oh, that means she either wants to lick me genitals – or she hates my rotten guts. Oh, she’s winking at me, and giving me the finger- yeah, she totally hates me.’

On top of interpretation of codes and hidden messages and the like is, of course, the competition. The problem is that men pursue women, not the other way around, which would be another benefit of women making the first move. So all women have to do is sit back and watch the potential lovers come up to ‘em. Men need to actually be the potential lovers, which is somewhat more complex. I believe that women often do not notice many blokes until they make contact and ask them out. Until that moment, a woman may know a bloke exists, but will see him in a neutral fashion because women are better at being friends with blokes than blokes are at being friends with women.

At high school, the only real competition are other high school students, and it is very easy to prove yourself better than the rest. Actually, it’s not, but if you can’t win on that battlefield, then you are gonna die alone, afraid, and a virgin when the real fighting starts. How come? Out in the real world, and by ‘real world’ I mean post high school, which is as real in the dating game as it is ever going to get, all of the women are now like free range hens, pardon the comparison. All of them are now on the market for all the men. Most men in their early to mid twenties are attracted to women in the same age group – women in their early to mid twenties. The problem? Men in their thirties, forties and fifties are attracted to women in the exact same age group! Hell, I’ve seen my father who is breaching sixty checking out friggin’ teenagers! He’s married BTW, and I dunno if that makes it better or worse.

Women are, and always have been attracted to older blokes. So, those guys in their thirties and so on have a much higher chance of gaining one of those young ladies than a bloke in his twenties does. How so? Older men are better equipped economically, professionally and sexually (as in experience), and are better equipped with transport and accommodation too. Would a woman be more interested in that? Or in a bloke in his mid twenties who still lives with mummy, has a job that pays about fifty bucks per day rather than five grand, has a wooden car with a wooden engine that when started up wooden go, and whose sexual experience ranges somewhere between nil and not much. Yeah, real attractive – my arse! (I was not describing myself just then, FYI).

Of course, the next issue after communication and competition are standards. Every single woman has the image of the perfect man in their minds eye, and if you do not fit that criterion, then you have already failed before the relationship has officially begun. Now, this is one section that I do know about. You see, the woman of my dreams has a blog. I ain’t gonna provide the link because I don’t want other blokes going over there, thinking she’s a fox and stealing her right out from under me! I’m already having enough trouble right now without adding any more to my list!

How so? Well, apart from issues with communication, there was my intro…the first day we met was at university during a Media Management in Public Relations class. Yes, the girl of my dreams wants to be a PR consultant of sorts. Well, PR consultant or no PR consultant, an intro is still an intro, no matter which woman you are attempting to woo. So, as for my intro – I get out of my chair, take two steps forward, trip over a chair that some bastard has left out, and nearly break my neck and flatten the girl of my dreams in the exact same moment. Yeah, real smooth. Lucky for me I grabbed hold of the table, and lucky for me it did support my weight, else that would have been the end. No, I ain’t fat, but those tables at university…you barely have to look at ‘em and they wobble. Falling on ‘em – hell, I would not recommend it in the future.

Moving on…So, I am going to provide a couple quotes from her blog to explain what she is after. Elisha’s dream man needs to be a chef, an electrician, a mechanic and a carpenter. He needs to be capable of changing a light bulb and the water in the car, and additionally needs to be skilled in child care.

Of these areas, I have potential in cooking, in changing the light globe, child care and…awwwwwwww fuck! A mechanic? I don’t even own a car! An electrician? A carpenter? Fuck me! No, she won’t be doing that any time soon! Not with the pathetic resume that I have to offer.

But wait, what is Elisha’s opinion on the subject matter. Here is a quote from her blog; ‘So wherever my future husband is, I know he will have these skills and if he doesn’t, I know that he will learn these new skills so we can build a life together.’

Okay, so perhaps things aren’t completely over yet. I do however have to learn the skills and prove myself competent in them to ensure a successful relationship. But a carpenter? I don’t want a carpet! I would rather have wooden floors! (I realise carpenters do not work with carpet – this is my sick idea of an ironic joke).

Additionally, Elisha had this to say; ‘I don’t have any preferences on how my future husband has to look. But I do have an impressive checklist of what qualifications he must hold before even considering wanting to marry me.’

So, basically, if Elisha chooses to be with someone, they could be friggin’ hideous, that is what this sentence is saying.  An impressive skill set? She wants the fuckin’ impossible! She wants fuckin’ superman for Christ sake! Also, I’m not saying I want to marry this woman, but I would like to have a long term relationship, which is looking less and less likely to occur with every paragraph I write of this post.

Adjunctively, Elisha has mentioned in the past to me that she is a strong believer in the Christian religion. I am an atheist. Is that going to spell doom and gloom? Wait a minute, if we were to get married…does that mean the wedding will take place in a church? Could I even go to church? Hypothetically, let’s just say God is real 100%. I’m an atheist, I walk into church – will He smite me down with lightning? Or will I spontaneously combust and catch fire from the spells and hexes placed across the church to prevent people such as myself who are inevitably doomed to end up in hell from entering? Oh no, perhaps I should call this whole relationship thing off…this is just far too strenuous. Second thoughts, Elisha is far too foxy and amazing to give up on just yet…moving on.

On a more serious note, returning to the views on Christianity, I want to know one thing. At the start of 2011, Elisha mentioned she was a virgin. Yes, quite the thing to admit to, but she did. Being a Christian, what is the chance that she believes in getting married before you know, having rudey nudey’s/ the deed/ a roll in the hay/ the time of our lives/ how else could I put this without putting it any other way? I am not asking this question because I am a sex crazed loon – not at all. I would just like to know where she stands. One friend of mine has decided to not have sex (oh my God, I used the word!) before getting married, and although she is a Christian, she is not as strong a believer as Elisha is.

Any other issues? Well, there is of course location. Elisha has said in the past that she wishes to go to London for a year, and to go around the entire world. I intend to stay at uni to obtain my masters, so I will be unable to accompany her if we are in a relationship. That is the thing – I do not want a long distance relationship; I want a long term one, which is completely different people! At the moment, this same difficulty is in effect. How come? Elisha lives in Darwin. I live in Melbourne. For those of you who do not live in Australia, let me give you the geography.  Darwin is located at the top most centre point of Australia. Melbourne is located in the lower most right section of Australia. There is a cool few hours of flight time in-between each state, with a massive desert smack bang in the centre. Elisha is only in Melbourne whilst she is at university, and since every semester is only twelve weeks in length (and during the week off Elisha flies back home), that provides me with very little time. Quite the issue it would seem…

The other problem would be that I am infatuated with her. And, I am sure anyone reading this right now knows how it feels to be infatuated with the one woman/person you cannot live without – it is friggin’ horrible! I realised I had feelings for her last year, but I did not make a move. Why not? Was I chicken? No, that was not it. I simply thought she was in Melbourne just for the year, and I would never see her again. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how I view this, she did return this year. I did nothing again, not because I was chicken, but because I came to this conclusion; do not do anything until the last minute, the last minute being the first week of the final semester we would ever experience together at university. That way, any awkwardness that comes from me finally admitting to her my feelings will be relatively less difficult than it would be if I mentioned the way I felt earlier on. So, if everything goes belly up, then we will only have to experience eleven weeks of awkwardness rather than an entire year’s worth.

What awkwardness am I referring to? People go to university to study. They spend a shit load of money to do so. By the time I am finished, I would have a racked up a bill that probably extends to that of 100 K, if not more. I mean, my masters course alone will cost 42 thou, and who knows about the doctorate!

At high school, people can quit at any time, whilst people who attend university attend such an institution because they want to. They wish to gain an education – they do not go there to get hit on by fellow students. If they wanted some dufus flirting with ‘em, they would spend their life in a bar. So, by waiting until the end of university basically, that limits the amount of awkwardness that could very well come from such a situation. I think…

The problem with this plan is that I cannot move on from the way I feel until I confess to Elisha my feelings cuz that is the kind of guy I am. I need to verbally convey them to the woman in question, and then, if nothing happens, which is quite the possibility, I will be able to successfully move on roughly two weeks later. If something happens, well, that would be absolutely beautiful, but I always plan for the worst, and hope for the best, but do not expect it to ever come to pass. Due to the fact that I cannot move on, I have to endure these painful feelings. Yes, they are terribly, terribly painful. You see, at the moment;
I want Elisha
the way a heart needs a beat,
the way lungs need oxygen,
the way a bee needs pollen,
the way a plant needs the sun.

I want Elisha
the way a shark needs the sea,
the way a lion needs meat,
the way earthworms need moisture,
the way rich red blood needs cells.

I want Elisha
the way a gun needs ammunition,
the way a hunting knife needs a clean,
the way an army needs a captain,
the way a country needs government.

I want Elisha
the way a husband needs a wife,
the way Cupid needs an arrow,
the way true love needs to survive,
the way moist lips need to be kissed.

Okay, sorry about the shotty poetry, but I felt no other way to explain myself nor my feelings.

So basically, I still have a few issues I need to go through…

…before I go however, there is one last question I wish to pose…back in March, Elisha mentioned in conversation that she was going to cook with someone she referred to as her ‘lovely’. Now, who might this ‘lovely’ be, cuz she never went into specifics. Lovely husband? Lovely partner? Lovely boyfriend? Lovely mother? Lovely father? Lovely family member? Lovely friend? Lovely teacher? Lovely dog? It would have to be one friggin’ awesome dog to know how to cook, let’s put it that way! Also, the post I took the information about her potential future husband? She typed that up in April, one month after mentioning this dinner. Any ideas? No? Yes? No?

I guess I will find out when I see her next…if I see her next…

Well, here’s Naughty Nefarious once more, signing off, and hoping for the best. See you round…

…and thanks for reading!

BTW, Any material acquired from Elisha’s blog is copyright of the original writer.

I Really Don’t Understand Women

 

FYI…… THIS PIECE CONTAINS SOME RATHER INAPPROPRIATE SEXUAL REFERENCES AND COARSE LANGUAGE. I should probably apologise before you continue reading in case you become shocked by what you might read.

BTW, if you have the intention of reading my other post ‘Broken, Done or Dying? Actually just Dead!’, I would recommend you perhaps read this post first to gain a better understanding of how I totally do not understand the fairer sex.

Now, I wish to talk about two instances involving women where I received mixed signals and interpreted them wrongly. Basically, as I will explain in the piece mentioned above, women give off signals to blokes to indicate whether they like them or not. Well, I have as much an easy time interpreting those signals as I would Egyptian Hieroglyphs.

One: Final year of high school. It’s literary class, or ‘porn’ as I sometimes called it. People would ask me ‘what class do you have next?’ and I would say ‘porn!’ They did not get this, and after asking ‘what?’ I would reply ‘it’s literature – but all we ever talk about is sex and nudity.’ Yes, and whoever said reading literature could not be sexy?

Anyway, perhaps it was for this very reason that I did something a little untoward. There was this foxy New Zealand chick in my class, who come to think of it was totally out of my league. For one, she played sport; soccer, hockey, wrestling – yes, she was a skinny chick, but she was a danger to the Australian people! On top of this, she was best friends with the arseholes of the school. Other people may have referred to this crowd as ‘the cool kids’, but for everyone else (meaning everyone who was not a part of this crowd), they were, and still to this day are, the arseholes! If that is not enough, she would go out every second night, and on occasion every night – and party like it was the end of the world. She would get pissed drunk! She would dance at every club every time she went out. She would hook up with random strangers. She was very wild now I come to think of it, and I’m afraid I’m not quite like that. This story is of course a post for another time, one which I shall title ‘Naughty Nefarious’s, A Nightmare on Chapel Street.’

Anyway, the end of the class comes, and I’m basically on the verge of coming too at the sight of this woman. Yes, I will admit, at the time it was quite often looks that got me interested. Amazingly enough it was after this particular woman that I grew up and decided looks were not everything, and it was the personality of the woman in question or their intellect that would gimmie interested in ‘em. But, on with the story.

I go up to the lady (who I have chosen not to name, cuz someone may read this and know who I’m talking about because how any people named Melissa O’Toole are there In Melbourne?) and I ask her out. I did not think about it, which is something cuz I like to pride myself on being kind of smart all the time, kind of. I did not hesitate. I just walked right up to her and said my line ‘do you wanna go out sometime’ like it was something I said to every person with breasts and a dress, or in her case a skirt that was so short her clitoris was constantly trying to pop out and say ‘hello world it’s me, and I’m awful moist this evening!’

Anyway, the response of this woman? Well, her friends sitting around her are dead silent; the bloke and the two other chicks – they were mid conversation, but they are all stumped! Their mouths hit the floor! Their eyes pop their sockets! Their tongues are tied like a li’l girl’s ponytails. The answer; ‘No thank you, I already have a boyfriend’, which I believe was a subtle way of saying ‘fuck off!’

The issue? Her ‘boyfriend’, the one she was ‘dating’, was the young man sitting right next to her!

Two: This one is probably pretty pathetic really. In March of this year I went to see the Americanised version of ‘Girl with the Dragon tattoo’. The first half an hour of the film I however felt was terrible. Why? The acting was superb. The directing was flawless. The dialogue was intelligent and the vibrant camera transitions were captivating. So, why was it so bad? Well, it wasn’t the film per se as it was those watching it; two of them in fact. I was seated up the very back, and so were they. Two young women to be precise. For the first half an hour at least. The issue; well, yes, they were foxy women, and the problem with foxy women at the cinema is that they are very distracting because they are so foxy, but no! That was not the issue…they kept using their phones. On, off, on, off, on, off, on, off, on, off, about twenty billion times! No – this is not a story of how I overcame the evil ladies of the cinema and told them to put away their phones. No – I placed my hand to the side of my face and by doing so they did not annoy me again. Yes – well, you see I have a very large hand. I have a very large head so it makes sense I have large hands to put next to my large head. I have large feet too which makes sense cuz I have such large hands. I also have a very large – okay, that’s enough! BACK TO THE STORY! Anyway, to digress, the ladies leave half an hour into the feature.

When the film is over, I walk out, past the cafeteria they have going on beside the candy bar – only to see the two ladies again. No, I did not confront them – quite the opposite actually – they confronted me! What the hell did I do to deserve such treatment! I’ll tell you what I did! I was too fucking handsome, that’s what! Nope, no bullshit! No joke! The ladies said that they found me attractive – and were deliberately putting their phones on and off, over and over and over again as to gain my attention and make me angry enough to go over and tell them to stop so they could initiate a conversation with me! If only I had told them to stop using their phones! Instead of watching Girl with the Dragon Tattoo I could have had a fucking threesome in the cinema toilets!

The ladies said I was an idiot, and basically made the implication they were fools to find me remotely appealing because of my inability to ‘read between the lines’ as they put it, and that any woman in general would be a fool to find me appealing after my piss poor display of my observational skills that night. I mean, want kind of idiot am I? I went to the cinema to see one of the most talked about movies of the year? I should have realised that you don’t do that! That’s not why you go to the cinema! No, you go to meet girls! That is apparently what you do these days! Who would have known? I mean, large screen, surround sound, leather seats (it was in the Extreme Screen after all), exorbitant prices – yep, who would have ever thought the cinema was where you see movies?

I’ll have you know that I have not yet had a threesome, and honestly, I’m not really looking for one. I know, loser, right? But, in my defense I have enough trouble trying to get a girlfriend, and then I have plenty of trouble trying to entertain just one woman without adding another one to the mix.

Well, with that said, I think it is obvious; during one moment, I thought the young lady was single, and did not realise the young man she was having a relationship with, if that is what the ominous ‘they’ call it these days, was sitting next to her. Yeah, I must be blind, deaf, dumb and stupid to have missed that one. And during the second circumstance I had difficulty attempting to notice two women flirting with me; albeit, rather strangely I might add, but still, flirting is flirting is flirting.

In my next post, ‘Broken, Done or Dying? Actually, just Dead!’ I wish to further this topic of discussion in accordance to the current ‘girl of my dreams’, how this applies to this situation and what my chances are.

Yes – stay tuned for the BIG reveal!

Naughty Nefarious, signing off – and thank you for reading.

Freedom of Speech? No Mate, the Dissolution of it…

 

It’s amazing how in the past one could get away with saying more than what one can say today. We have technology like none that ever was before. We live in a society where rights are been equalised more and more each decade, kind of. And society, culture and communication is continuously changing right before our very eyes. So, with that said, why is it that the freedoms regarding speech that we once knew have changed quite radically over the past few years?

The issue I have found is that every time someone says something that another person does not like and a court case is brought about to resolve the dispute, certain freedoms begin to be pulled back and rules safeguarding people from certain things expressed verbally are entrenched into society. A good example of this is located within the link found at the conclusion of this paragraph. In this instance, two journalists working for the ABC mentioned the name of the woman who was the victim of a sexual assault, which is a blatant disregard of the law. So, because of two bad apples (who were subsequently fired), the law cracked down harder on those who use freedom of speech to say what they wish.
Although this article is a few years old now, the information inside reigns true to this very day, and there is a great quote from Nicholas Pullen which perfectly summarises my fears for the future in regards to free speech.

http://www.abc.net.au/mediawatch/transcripts/s1892911.htm

Adjunctively, there are the rules that journalists are forced to comply with. This however is only the beginning of my next argument, which revolves around blogging. Those who blog are now being visualised as stereotypical journalists; they communicate to large audiences and motivate those who read their posts and provide to them arguments which can alter and change their opinions. This in itself is what journalists have the potential of achieving, hence, the reason behind why government agencies are considering the crack down on web based content. At the moment, the law is still yet to catch up with technology, which alone is quite ridiculous, but when it does, what will bloggers be prevented from expressing online?

There was a time when you could walk up to a person and say what you wanted without them becoming so unbelievably taxed at your commentary. You could walk up to a woman and simply say ‘you look very beautiful today’ without any ulterior motive, agenda or bias. Now, if you say such a thing you are likely to be accused of being a sexual deviant and a few seconds later find a pair of hands around your neck.
Worse still, you can gently tap a woman on the shoulder as a gesture of motivation when she is about to, I don’t know, provide a verbal presentation to a large audience, and in the same second find yourself accused of sexual harassment!

There was once a time when you could say to a person ‘I think you’re an idiot’ and a few seconds later laugh it off, but today, you could say the exact same thing and suddenly find yourself being hauled into court with the person who you were just laughing and talking to a few seconds earlier, who is now suing you for damages done to his/her name.

You could in the past say to a person ‘I hate your rotten guts’, and today say the exact same thing and be accused of being a psychopathic murdering scumbag.

When do privacy laws that relegate freedom of speech obsolete become ludicrously unnecessary?

The major problem is that the complainant holds a large majority of the power, whilst the defendant, a.k.a, the accused, has very little. There are so many legal avenues against free speech, whilst there are few protecting it, truth and the public’s right to know being the primary excuses often utilised, and you would imagine in a society that promotes it there would be many more avenues for its protection.
To ensure prosecution of the defendant, all that needs to be proven is that damage was indeed caused by what was said or done, which is very easily provable in the eyes of the plaintiff, leaving the defense with little leeway, because even if they did not necessarily mean to maliciously cause harm, the plaintiff is immediately seen as the victim for they are the party expressing how they were violated.

I guess on one hand, free speech is a liberty that people very much enjoy. But the right to privacy and other such laws that protect people from this freedom are just as important. A person who has never had their privacy invaded may not completely understand the importance of such a law, and upon this happening, their ideals in regards to the freedoms they once trusted may be considerably tarnished. My point is that yes, we do need protection to ensure that our private lives are not explored; to ensure we are not violated verbally or literally by others; to ensure our reputations are not destroyed by slanderous material; to protect our families and the ones we love so dearly – but at what cost? We may turn around one day and find the entire conception on free speech to be entirely extinct.

Just because we live in a society that allows free speech, does not mean that we allowed to speak freely; quite the conundrum.