Sociopath Community

Where are you from Jose? 

Keep telling your story bruh!

The snow came in mid-October. By November, just to make sure the ice had frozen well enough,
this alternate route to town now became my method of going to and from school on my
snowmobile. The river ran very close to the school and I could get within 10 meters of the
school without having to cross any roads. It was about a half hour ride to school depending on
how much I got side tracked by chasing coyotes. It seems cruel now but at least I didn’t try to
run them over like a lot of other people. It was a popular practice in the winter. I guess it
coincided with the hunting and trapping mentality which was still prevalent in the area. Let’s just
say that there weren’t a lot of vegetarians around. I considered myself to be on the leading edge
of enlightenment because of my belief that only stupid animals should be eaten. That belief left
the door wide open for wild animals because if they were really smart they wouldn’t have gotten
themselves killed in the first place. Among the domestic animals everyone who has ever lived on
a farm knows that cows and turkeys have the same mental fortitude as the fence that encloses
them. Chickens are also quite stupid although they’re not as bad as turkeys. Pigs on the other
hand are very intelligent and are in many ways the equal of dogs. Even our smarter chickens
were often spared the axe. Smart in that I did my best to develop their fighting skills and their
guarding instincts. This simple method involved letting them chase me every time upon entering
the hen house. Eventually the roosters attacked everyone and anything that entered. They were to
be defended only by standing up to them and kicking them just enough to collect the eggs from
the hens, but not hard enough to kill their fighting spirit.

The town was new. It was only incorporated in 1950. Our family was one of the first to get a
private phone line as opposed to sharing the same line and, if you were so inclined, the intimate
details of your life with 5 of the neighbours. There was even the odd house still around without
electricity. My best friend’s family, although having electricity, did not get running water or
indoor plumbing until we were in grade 12. In some ways though, being isolated didn’t always
mean staying behind with the current events. When fashion trends such as the spiked orange hair
of the punk 80’s swept across the western world, in our town these were usually adopted with
remarkable enthusiasm.

The school was small by most standards. There were about three hundred students in grades 7-
12. There ended up being 26 in my graduating class. I suppose it was too small to have the good
crowd / bad crowd cliques like you often see in those teenage coming of age, my father’s richer
than your father, who really gives a rat’s ass about you and your stupid life Hollywood bullshit
movies. There was really only one girl I remember getting picked on and her name was so and
so. She left school in grade 6 to take the home schooling program. By what would have been
grade 9 I think, she had dropped out to marry her 23 year old boyfriend and raise their kid
together. We were in fact very cruel to her and I’m not even sure why. Yes, she did have the
cooties I suppose, but that can hardly be considered a valid reason. We didn’t even really make
fun of the fat kids. That was most likely due to the tallest and fattest person in the entire school
who just happened to be a girl in grade 7. At about 140 kg and 1.9 m she was taller and stronger
than all the boys in the school including those in grade 12. I think I was in grade 10 when she
first came up from the elementary school a little ways down the river. She hadn’t even failed or
anything; she was the normal age for a grade 7 girl. You wouldn’t have dared make fun of
anyone for fear of her exacting revenge for the little guy, or I suppose underdog might be the
more appropriate choice of words.

My best friend was named Scott. He lived on the other side of town, about 45 minutes by
snowmobile or 30 minutes by car. He was in most ways my superior. He certainly got better
grades than I did. He had a very sharp mind and could provide a witty comeback in any situation.
One time when the lights unexpectedly went out in the school leaving us in a complete blackout
during an assembly in the gym, it was he who came up with the line- “That had better be my
hand down my pants.” Or during an environmental presentation by two traveling speakers who,
after being 10 minutes late, began their speech by saying “sorry we’re late”; it was Scott who
interrupted them with- “Cause they rode their bikes”. This meant even more due to the intense
snow storm outside and the extreme distance they must have traveled to get to our town. Perhaps
though, his crowning achievement was when he was sent to the office during English class
because he farted too loudly. It was just a one timer but it rocked the place to its very
foundations. If it had been in a slightly higher key I’m sure the windows all would have broken.
It was all we could do not to kill ourselves laughing.

Alberta, Canada....ok, Getting a little emotional about this, kind of the roots of my fkeupedness maybe?

In the last year of school Scott also acquired a customized 1975 Buick Century roadster. I say
customized because he made it into a topless wonder himself. I helped him with the process. He
operated the cutting torch whilst I made the necessary aesthetic adjustments with a sledge
hammer. The edges were treated with generous amounts of duct tape. To complete the effect we
painted it bright orange. The car was a monstrosity to say the least. A special toolbox in the trunk
was designated specifically for the high requirements of fluids that seemingly constantly had to
be added. All in all it was a fine machine. I’m sure we had more fun cruising in that than any fat
cat in his BMW ever had. Scott was lucky to have a car. When his older brother was 16 he had
stolen of all things a road grader. It was just taken for a joy ride mind you and no harm would
have come from it except he couldn’t figure out how the brakes worked. Road graders aren’t
noted for their apt handling, and this particular runaway machine was only stopped by Mr.
Mazepa’s cow fence. He ended up getting some community service- mostly consisting of
volunteering at the retirement home. After that stunt he was the most respected person in school
although after the once in a lifetime English class act Scott was just as highly revered.
We had some good times in that car. Top speed was exactly 165 km / hr if the speedometer was
correct. There wasn’t much fear of ever getting caught as the town only had 2 police cars. After a
quick trip by the cop shop to see if they were both there, it was clear sailing. The cops were
really tame as far as cops go. Unless it was their quota day for tickets or you were stealing a road
grader, there wasn’t a lot to worry about. The corporal even taught Tae Kwon Do at the school

every Wednesday after classes. That was the only area that I had the edge over Scott.
Academically he was certainly my superior, and he was also stronger and better in most sports.
But in fighting I seemed to be just a little quicker. It wasn’t much but it was enough to boost my
self confidence to not get my ass kicked in everything I did.
Those were the good times.
Life unfortunately is made up of more than just pom-poms and swizzle sticks. I don’t want to
compare myself to the starving children in Ethiopia. Their only concern was where the next
bowl of rice was going to come from. No matter how much farmers bitch and moan about grain
prices things aren’t really that bad. Grain prices may have stayed the same over the past 30 years
while the price of everything else has tripled, but farmers all seem to drive new trucks and
starvation is impossible with granaries full of wheat. Every farmer could also grow vegetables
and most did. I was shocked one time on the news to hear some welfare recipient going on about
having to eat boiled potato sandwiches. These are very tasty with just a little dab of mustard to
give it that kick. Wash it down with a beer and your belly is laughing.
My problems were more along the lines of hatred of my parents religion balanced with
contrasting guilt which manifested itself in recurring nightmares of being slaughtered at
Armageddon; only to have the birds later pluck the skin right off my bones, saving the eyes until
last so the whole gory scene could be viewed in the finest detail. The endless rules and
regulations weighed down on my very soul. My earliest memories of life itself include being
dressed up in some hideous little suit equipped with a red polka-dot tie; dressing up to go to
meetings three times a week. It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that these meetings were all the
same, week after week, year after year: seemingly endless lectures on what reprehensible sin
fornication was and how we had to deaden our bodily members with respect to things unclean.

This obscure passage –things unclean- was not only interpreted to denounce fornication, but also
to classify as a sin both masturbation and oral sex. Oral sex was an out and out sin even among
married couples. I didn’t imagine there to be many really satisfied persons there, the least of
which I’m sure was me.
Still, I grew up believing it all. When I was seven, I remember going to my grandmother’s
funeral. “Katarina was a very loving, caring person. It gives us great comfort that she lived a
moral and selfless life. However she does not share our hope for the future. Even though she will
neither be going to heaven nor resurrected once again to a paradise earth, her warmth has
touched us all.” The minister went on to explain that she hadn’t been to meetings enough and
hence didn’t do all that was required to “make it” so to say. My grandfather died three months
later. For his funeral the minister was kinder. He quoted a scripture saying that men will live to
be 70 or 80 if they have special mightiness. Since my grandfather was 85 he was in the class of
special mightiness. They didn’t specifically say that he had no prospects of a new life but he
hadn’t been to meetings either in many years so I didn’t expect to see my grandparents again.
I had always enjoyed visiting my grandparents. They had enormous Saskatoon bushes right in
their yard. Beside their house was another house that lay abandoned. It was the original house
they had built when they first immigrated to Canada. It was huge as it had once held 14 children.
When I was playing at their place I would always explore through the old house full of rusty iron
beds with squeaky springs. I would live the adventure that was climbing the crooked stairs going
to the second floor exploring for ancient artifacts. I remember when I would go over there to help
with chores they would always give me an apple afterwards too, or sometimes even a dollar. I
don’t remember my grandparents much any more but I know that I loved them and had respect
for them. To start a new life in a new country had to have been a difficult challenge. I wish I

could have known my grandfather as the strong man who cleared his land with an axe instead of
being frail, one-legged, and confined to a wheel chair.
The worst part though, I would say, of the religion was the preaching door to door. Every
Saturday meant getting up early to drive endlessly around the country selling magazines. “This
issue explains our hope for the future. It’s based on the bible,” I would say. If someone just once
would have said- “Ah, yes, this article here, what’s it about? Can you explain it to me?” I
wouldn’t really have known what to do, as I normally didn’t read the magazines myself. I
suppose I could have taken a guess at it because like the meetings, the magazines were all pretty
much the same. Occasionally the routine was enhanced with everyone’s favorite game called –
“Whose House Am I Going to Take for Myself after Armageddon?” When most people fought
for some doctor’s or lawyer’s house, I always laid claim to some secluded cabin in the woods
without power-the kind forgotten by time. This game only provided limited relief from the
boredom and my constant struggle to avoid car sickness. Maybe the car sickness was only a
mental condition because it only happened going door to door and never driving around with
Scott.

My problems were more along the lines of hatred of my parents religion balanced with
contrasting guilt which manifested itself in recurring nightmares of being slaughtered at
Armageddon; only to have the birds later pluck the skin right off my bones, saving the eyes until
last so the whole gory scene could be viewed in the finest detail. The endless rules and
regulations weighed down on my very soul. My earliest memories of life itself include being
dressed up in some hideous little suit equipped with a red polka-dot tie; dressing up to go to
meetings three times a week. It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that these meetings were all the
same, week after week, year after year: seemingly endless lectures on what reprehensible sin
fornication was and how we had to deaden our bodily members with respect to things unclean.

Damn Jose. That may be the root or roots of your multiple problems. Doesn't seem that you have worked around much of that at all.

Now you are a transgendered, bisexual fuktoy? And a submissive sniveler to round it out. Not sure there is much help for you at S4M, so you will just have to fake it like I do ;)

The phone rang. I suddenly remembered it ringing and ringing the night before. But, as I had
decided to never answer my phone again; exactly who it was had remained a mystery. I had even
turned the answering machine off despite having the coolest (or some would say most annoying)
message in the entire world. It was taken from Guns N’ Roses –Use Your Illusion 2- Civil War.
“Ah. Ah. What we’ve got here is - failure to communicate. Some men you just can’t reach.” It
was the opening to the song. I think they might have borrowed it from the movie –Cool Hand
Luke. I didn’t have the CD jacket anymore and I say Cool Hand Luke only because I once had a
phone call from one of those survey takers. “Hi,” she had said. “I actually called last week and
you weren’t home but I just had to find out who left such an imaginative message.” She may
have liked it but not enough to go out with me when I asked her. The phone rang once more. In
anger I pulled the cord from the wall.

It’s amazing how life can twist and turn. One event can change history. You could play the
“what if?” game until the end of time. What if I had moved there instead of here; went for the
blonde instead of the brunette. Unfortunately life’s most important decisions are made by the
young. Once you realize your mistakes it’s often too late to do anything about it. Let’s say you
spend four years in collage to be a teacher and then discover that you hate kids. It’s rather a
waste of time but by then it’s almost too late to change. Time and money are not exactly
unlimited. To make matters worse your wife in a desperate attempt to save the failing
relationship, would most likely nag you half to death until you finally relented and then she’d
stick you with 2.1 kids who’d suck all the life and money from you for the next twenty years.
How is it that I arrived at this moment in time sleeping with my dog, burning breakfast and not
wanting to answer my phone? Things started off ok I guess. Childhood is much like the good old
days. No matter how horrible they may have been, it’s hard not to think of them without a certain
fondness. For me although my youth can best be described with a very low grunting action, it is
hard not to remember the good times.

I grew up on a farm outside of a small town. The town itself was really nothing special- small –
about 1400 people. It was almost as far north as you could go and still farm for a living. The
town was certainly not famous for anything although its most famous former resident put out a
country album. I don’t think it did that well and I’m not a fan of country music anyway. I guess
she had one song that was recorded by someone else which hit some kind of country chart. I
certainly wouldn’t have known about her except some time later when I was talking with an old
friend he happened to ask, “Hey do you remember so and so?” to which I honestly replied no.
She was only 2 grades ahead of me so I think she must not have been that cute or else I would
have had a crush on her. Upon subsequent research I did in fact find out that my sister used to sit
behind her in grade 10 English. Or it might have been in front of her, beside her, or even grade 9
Math. I don’t really remember any more and since I no longer have contact with my sister I can’t
exactly confirm that point.

The town was certainly not famous for anything although its most famous former resident put out a
country album. I don’t think it did that well and I’m not a fan of country music anyway. I guess
she had one song that was recorded by someone else which hit some kind of country chart. I
certainly wouldn’t have known about her except some time later when I was talking with an old
friend he happened to ask, “Hey do you remember so and so?” to which I honestly replied no.
She was only 2 grades ahead of me so I think she must not have been that cute or else I would
have had a crush on her. Upon subsequent research I did in fact find out that my sister used to sit
behind her in grade 10 English. Or it might have been in front of her, beside her, or even grade 9
Math. I don’t really remember any more and since I no longer have contact with my sister I can’t
exactly confirm that point.
Our farm was situated 4 km outside of the town. The house site was on a triangular section of
land bordered by 2 creeks that joined into one, and then flowed into a vast swamp. The swamp
was home to numerous beaver, muskrat, and during the appropriate season many species of
waterfowl. The swamp in turn drained into a small river. The river then made its way toward the
town. The river didn’t actually border our land but it bordered my Uncle’s which was adjacent
to ours. It was a nice spot to get lost in when there were important things to think about. A
secluded and abandoned train bridge also crossed the river nearby. The summers were spent
skinny dipping with my dog there. There were no real beaches as such along this river. Normally
it was either a steep bank or a tract of very sticky mud. The skinny dipping always started by
rolling around in the mud until everything was covered, then swimming around until clean. It
was a great way for us to pass a Saturday although the climate only permitted swimming during
mid- July to late August.

O,o ths sht is not frm a bul , bul has bals

Speshul Snowflake Syndrome?

With the focus on the "unclean" and fornication, makes you wonder where this story goes.

Keep telling it bro ;)

Ya, right about that. Emasculation via scrotalectomy due to losing them up my ass was not exactly how I had planned my life either.

More about me, the source of my angst and terror :(

Having done my best to keep a low religious profile at school, running into a classmate in the
preaching work was a constant danger. I’m not sure if most of the kids were aware of my faith or
not. I think they must have noticed that I was always absent from any sort of Christmas party. It
turns out Jesus wasn’t born on December 25th and he wasn’t really into birthdays anyway. In one
birthday party mentioned in the bible some guy ending up getting his head cut off. That tended to
put birthdays in a bad light. In any case I didn’t go around preaching at school to both classmates
and teachers like I was instructed to by the ministers. I called on Scott’s house a couple times
which was no big deal. I knew his family well. I would leave a bunch of magazines there just to
keep my numbers up. It was also necessary to have 10 hours of preaching work in each month or else someone would come around to council you. This was usually avoided by lying on my monthly activity slip. I would justify my high number of hours by claiming it was informal
preaching to Scott.

My teachers in elementary school must have known of my faith though. The last Friday of every
month was hotdog sale day. It wasn’t like a cafeteria or anything, you just told the teacher the
day before how many hotdogs you wanted. For some reason years seemed to have passed by
before I realized there were always specially wrapped hotdogs for me. Those would have been
the bloodless ones. Beef and or beef by-products was the red flag on the ingredients list.
Consuming blood by way of eating or a transfusion was ranked right up there with fornication,
masturbation and oral sex. I never told anyone and just naturally assumed my fate lay with my
grandparents. It turned out that that one particular interpretation would later change anyway. Byproducts
would later be classified as just the most vial disgusting parts of the oldest sickest cows
available, but they miraculously turned from being blood to bloodless.

Every summer marked an annual pilgrimage of sorts to the city for the holy mother of all things
exciting religious convention. Imagine the excitement of a Sunday meeting multiplied by ten
thousand. I say this sarcastically of course. It was the be all and end all of everything spiritual.
When everyone else was praying for forgiveness of their sins, faith to endure coming
persecution, or the courage to preach boldly from door to door, I said my own silent prayer for
the power to stay awake. We were also strongly encouraged to wear our suits including our little
nametags identifying ourselves as religious zealots when we were going out to restaurants after
as well.

Good service? Why yes. And for a tip what better a gift then this new book that was just
released on how to survive Armageddon. I hope you weren’t expecting money were you? This is
far more valuable.

It may have been embarrassing but at least there was a zero chance of being identified by
someone I knew. For four days this went on. There would be the normal talks like at the usual
meetings, but also interviews of persons who took the most highly regarded step in life of
quitting their job and only working part time so as to devote more time and energy into
converting others. The Lord would provide of course. Like the one experience of the couple who
needed 240 dollars for some new tires, and wouldn’t you know it, after 2 weeks of praying the
husband received a cheque for exactly 240 dollars from someone else in the congregation. The
Lord must have been in a good mood that day.

Having done my best to keep a low religious profile at school, running into a classmate in the
preaching work was a constant danger. I’m not sure if most of the kids were aware of my faith or
not. I think they must have noticed that I was always absent from any sort of Christmas party. It
turns out Jesus wasn’t born on December 25th and he wasn’t really into birthdays anyway. In one
birthday party mentioned in the bible some guy ending up getting his head cut off. That tended to
put birthdays in a bad light. In any case I didn’t go around preaching at school to both classmates
and teachers like I was instructed to by the ministers. I called on Scott’s house a couple times
which was no big deal. I knew his family well. I would leave a bunch of magazines there just to
keep my numbers up. It was also necessary to have 10 hours of preaching work in each month or else someone would come around to council you. This was usually avoided by lying on my monthly activity slip. I would justify my high number of hours by claiming it was informal
preaching to Scott.

My teachers in elementary school must have known of my faith though. The last Friday of every
month was hotdog sale day. It wasn’t like a cafeteria or anything, you just told the teacher the
day before how many hotdogs you wanted. For some reason years seemed to have passed by
before I realized there were always specially wrapped hotdogs for me. Those would have been
the bloodless ones. Beef and or beef by-products was the red flag on the ingredients list.
Consuming blood by way of eating or a transfusion was ranked right up there with fornication,
masturbation and oral sex. I never told anyone and just naturally assumed my fate lay with my
grandparents. It turned out that that one particular interpretation would later change anyway. Byproducts
would later be classified as just the most vial disgusting parts of the oldest sickest cows
available, but they miraculously turned from being blood to bloodless.

Every summer marked an annual pilgrimage of sorts to the city for the holy mother of all things
exciting religious convention. Imagine the excitement of a Sunday meeting multiplied by ten
thousand. I say this sarcastically of course. It was the be all and end all of everything spiritual.
When everyone else was praying for forgiveness of their sins, faith to endure coming
persecution, or the courage to preach boldly from door to door, I said my own silent prayer for
the power to stay awake. We were also strongly encouraged to wear our suits including our little
nametags identifying ourselves as religious zealots when we were going out to restaurants after
as well.

Good service? Why yes. And for a tip what better a gift then this new book that was just
released on how to survive Armageddon. I hope you weren’t expecting money were you? This is
far more valuable.

It may have been embarrassing but at least there was a zero chance of being identified by
someone I knew. For four days this went on. There would be the normal talks like at the usual
meetings, but also interviews of persons who took the most highly regarded step in life of
quitting their job and only working part time so as to devote more time and energy into
converting others. The Lord would provide of course. Like the one experience of the couple who
needed 240 dollars for some new tires, and wouldn’t you know it, after 2 weeks of praying the
husband received a cheque for exactly 240 dollars from someone else in the congregation. The
Lord must have been in a good mood that day.

Ya, you are probably right. But I have been telling so many bullshit stories for so many years. I mean, you have no idea how many many years of this bullshit I have been doing. it's like I don't even know who or what I am anymore! Just this fked up idiot of a navel gazing bullshit artist. And the best part, is some of the goons think they know anything about me!! Even got one of them arguing that she knew my puppet, but she has no clue what the hell she is talking about. LMAO!!!