A PSYCHIATRIC PUPPETEER IS PULLING STRINGS… Miss Marple, we need you. Republished.


From https://lesjohns.wordpress.com

Queensland Housing Woodridge; A Select Club For Psychopaths, Megalomaniacs and Queensland Stasi Headquarters.

Acknowledgment and appreciation to the hereunder url for their insight on Mother Dale, Queensland Housing and QBuild.

When we think of the word psychopath, images from The Shining, Silence of the Lambs or Texas Chainsaw Massacre may come to mind. But in reality, psychopaths are harder to spot in a crowd than one might think (hint: he’s usually not the crazy-eyed guy in the black trench coat). Here is a definition of a psychopath and as you are reading, ask yourself if this describes anyone that you know personally: “A social predator who charms, manipulates and ruthlessly plows their way through life…completely lacking in feelings for others, they selfishly take what they want and do as they please, violating social norms and expectations without the slightest sense of guilt or regret (Hare, 2003, xi).”

Odds are you know someone or have been acquainted with someone that comes close to this description (someone who perhaps resembles the character Gordon Gekko from the 1987 movie Wall Street) and, yet that person is not running amuck on a killing spree or serving time in a jail cell. If this is the case, this person would probably qualify as a “successful psychopath.” A successful psychopath is someone who fits the criteria of a psychopath, but is largely successful in their exploitations and so is able to avoid getting caught. Such people may be lawyers, professors, or politicians, and given the recent headlines, likely to have a permanent address on Wall Street.

Unskilled And Unaware Of Their Own Incompetence.

Illusory superiority is a cognitive bias that causes people to overestimate their positive qualities and abilities and to underestimate their negative qualities, relative to others. This is evident in a variety of areas including intelligence, performance on tasks or tests and the possession of desirable characteristics or personality traits. It is one of many positive illusions relating to the self, and is a phenomenon studied in social psychology.

Illusory superiority is often referred to as the above average effect. Other terms include superiority bias, leniency error, sense of relative superiority, the primus inter pares effect,[1] and the Lake Wobegon effect (named after Garrison Keillor’s fictional town where “all the children are above average”). The phrase “illusory superiority” was first used by Van Yperen and Buunk in 1991.[1]

“I’m in with QBuild. Get us a few loads of granite for me private road and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Bullies are by definition objectionable, pain in the neck, annoying creatures but differ somewhat from the mental image of a stroppy schoolkid biffing an inoffensive peer. In this housing precinct diagonally opposite Beaudesert High School, older citizens like Larry Hurst utilizes the barely perceptible passing shoulder bump, but it is his fifth column involvement with ethic deprived Woodridge Housing personnel, to whom I refer in these posts, where his malevolence is approved. Only a tenant with special Housing friends has the influence to command the Planning Department (car registration and times to be dropped in)to authorize loads of decomposed granite to upgrade his private road, now well and truly washed away.

The weird RSL dependent and trouble-maker, Garvey, a nicotine devotee extraordinaire, life’s failure and polluter of no.6 preceding the eviction tenant, Dale Woodward, stressed his importance per the dunce’s best friend; a mobile phone, and it doesn’t matter whether the device is real or imaginary. Garvey polished a diminished ego and stressed his importance by organizing virtual pickup rosters for the Ambulance Service and he did it most audibly from his bathroom window. This fellow soon learned the discomfort his smoking caused and lit up as he left his premises, leaving behind a swirl of smoke to hopefully drift into my flat. On his return the reverse, he blew smoke around like stage fog before entering the flat. The chances of smoke drift and irritation is much enhanced.

“I’m Mother Dale, I’m here to enlighten you.”

Despite first appearances, Mother Dale is not your typical self-important, garden variety old queen who you can dismiss at will. During his settling-in, I continued to assist in various ways, and was often summonsed to look at and praise various of his life’s highlights as he unpacked them. It was a one-way admiration society however; his carefully staged disdain of my proffered interests too obvious and too fixed to dislodge. There would be no bartering of compliments with this most devious of queens. An earlier professed knowledge on blog-site construction and use didn’t manifest itself. I explained how extending the edit page to the max. 1,000 lines didn’t beat the jerking and jumping that hampered the editing of end paragraphs and was surprised when he asked what I meant by ‘editing.’

“Me name’s Dale and don’t you forget it.”

Intense ego-trippers have no idea their intellectual limits aren’t spread as wide as they perceive and their sense of the ridiculous undeveloped. The comment seemed like a failed attempt at humour. My mobile phone, last used about three years ago, serves a duel purpose; in the event of breakdown, and as I am ever searching for a decent place to live, as a radio tester for broadband. Mother Dale, such is the area, has reception difficulties, believing the system operates on the crystal set principle, and even after an agreeable spot has been located, still seems obliged to scream most annoyingly into the thing, a common fault of the stubborn thick-head who have a hoodoo-like affinity with the device. He and his fellow idiots have a comprehension deficit on how their utterly worthless vocals are amplified.

“Hey everybody, I’m a Professor of the wank…”

The first exposure to his vanity came early when I was assisting his unloading; an unremarkable self-portrait by an adherent of the primitive movement, his only style, “I like it, it’s good, one of my best.” he profusely offered, adding, “I trained under Joe Blough.” I was already tiring of this old pretender. He twice chipped me for alleged errant pronunciation. “Can’t help it, comes naturally. Taught grammar at various USA Universities.” He was far too erudite to tolerate mere mortals, pretty near Harvard Emeritus Journalist Professor, I was supposed to believe. I opined how 25 years in the States should have had a greater reward than a grubby public housing hole in the uninspiring and dismal Queensland town of Beaudesert. Various unbelievable excuses were offered. Who cares? This inflated mouth was already firmly implanted on my ‘get rooted’ list.

“Hey everybody, I’m a Ham…”

The H.C. mentality came to the fore when out comes the mobile and talk loudly into it. Is it to advertise their adeptness at poking a finger or to otherwise advertise their brilliance by yelling into the bastard. “I don’t want to hear your bank details or your friend’s troubles from my residence,” I advised him of the annoyance. “Can’t help it,” he announced with a straight face, “I project as I do because of the actor training under the acclaimed so and so.” I fib not. One does not have to with these frauds.

By the end of the second day a clearer picture of the real Woodums was emerging and when the nosey and nasty baby-eating reincarnation of Valmae Fay Beck, Hydee, asked my opinion of him, I truthfully replied the only good thing so far was the absence of cigarette smoke and the rest remains to be seen. I was being summonsed into his flat to admire this and that; it was all about him, him and him. I got the drop on him once and coaxed him to view my Google Earth picture of the remote spot I would have rented, had broadband and SBS been available.

“Hey everybody, I’m a Housing Commission dobber…”

Two days later on Monday, December 13, 2010, the obstreperous, mobile-screaming, hate fueled Hydee waylaid me at Coles and wished me to the place of which I had revealed to but one person. This duo’s bust-up of the mouths should be interesting, if not noisy. Quite remarkable! Being friendless, his compulsion urges him to reveal his perceived enemies ‘secrets’ without discretion. His movements are inborn stasi and would have most certainly attracted the admiration of Woodridge spy chief and fifth column recruiter, Kimberley Hillhouse, definitely a product of deep-seated Labor Government thuggery and deviousness, now under the protection of, and the encouragement of Struthers.

The mail I have is that after the psychiatric Woodward spent a few years incarcerated, he was dispatched to Westminster Aged Hostel, an assisted pensioner residence at Merrimac on the Gold Coast where he remained until he proved a degree of self-reliability. He was left with an inadequate 30 – 40 bucks a fortnight and by taking residence at this so loved army camp in Beaudesert, he feels qualified to inflict his thoughts and opinions on the plebeians. My memory recalls baby events from the age of nine or ten months which precludes my having too much patience with drongoes like this shit-head.

If there were in the world today any large number of people who desired their own happiness more than they desired the unhappiness of others, we could have paradise in a few years.

Love from Les.

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