|Emily AC: Multi-Talented Comedian||
As faithful followers know... I don't read your thoughts... I read your displays and make a deduction of what type of mental illness you probably have... and to roughly what degree.
So... when I see what I think has the posture of a man deep into psychopathy... which does look different from a sociopath's look (socios are usually sexier because they don't show emotional displays nearly as often)... and he stops and comes my way...
I can make a deduction that this man is far enough gone that upon sight of what he deems is a good victim; he will immediately strike. Which, I figure, explains crossing the street, jumping off the bike (August 6th post), and rushing me.
He asked for a cigarette because the only thing he was thinking about was what we thought was the impending rape... he was so excited about it that he, thinking on the spot, saw the cigarette and made up his retarded story about his cigarette breaking off... gesturing like a puppy begging for a treat.
...you've never seen anything like this. If you were to see this display--even not being a psychology buff--you would be perplexed and avoid the person, too.
So I flicked my cigarette at him... as a diversion... because he looked wwwaaaayyyy bigger that first encounter. I wasn't sure my crappy ninja-shit would work. You read that... crappy ninja shit.
I did not train with mr. miyagee... no wax on and off for me! I read the journal of the american medical association for kicks as a teen! I picked up info on anatomy, there! That's how I learned how to kill. Accidentally.
Now... paralyzing by pain... I figured out because I was sick of my brother beating me up... so I tested different techniques that I devised... they hurt like a motherfucker!
I will not describe or display these techniques... except to women or really sissy dudes. The women I've shown have been grateful... because they must be done within arm's reach... which you are if you are about to be raped.
This is why I will never walk around with a weapon. I don't need them. I prefer not to fight.
Now, then... getting back to psychology of this latest titmouse (and the last one, too, probably)...
It is doubtful that this person would consider this a defeat. It might be more like a challenge. I told my husband 50/50 chances that this was the end of it.
...I think, in the cases of both men, I have not seen the end of them. Seeing them means I'm in danger of attack.
...Both dudes would rely upon the element of surprise because both dudes are now viewers. If you figure out who they are and do some digging... you will find both men now obsessively read the blog... maybe every time the blog updates.
I'm not, at all, worried about this. No. I've stared death down the barrel of a gun... and the blade of a knife...
...fear does not exist in me for it.
There is no fear of rape, either. It is like an annoyance, now. No... no fear, at all.
The neighborhood knows... my loved ones know... those that follow me in cyberspace know... law enforcement was made aware... but they won't help me and I know it. They never do.
So... if it happens... it happens. You know how to track me down. No more monitoring. No more vigilance... back to work. I have a peace plan to work on.
Should some shithead decide that he above the opinions of so many... just because he became some big, tough rapist... fine, dude! Just roll with whatever happens!
For you see... I've made it perfectly clear that when a woman knows how to protect herself... she doesn't need some big, strong man to help out.
It is so clear to men that meet me... they quiver when they shake my hand... even in interviews which is why I'm difficult to hire.
Both men have been warned... move along... you will make yourself a bad mistake if you try my patience after I've let you go.
Yes... by contacting the police, I relinquish any need to stalk the streets. That's on you... and I will call it in, everytime, if I see it. I just won't worry about it.
...but I'm not stupid. It's coming.