If you don’t know this by now…

1.10am local time, 15°C (59F), coolish

Just texted this to someone:—

“Robert here. Keep this on ur phone & look at it sometimes.

“Real power doesn’t come from hate. It comes from Truth. Write more, paint more, photograph more. Do something amazing. Go down a different path. Challenge yourself. Think small. Think big. Do good for no returns. Your time is limited, don’t live someone else’s life. Have fun. Don’t hurt people. Don’t accept defeat. Strive to be happy.”

(SMS message, 12.56am, 10 Jan 2014)

(Image via Silicon Republic)

_____

ABOUT | CONTACT | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | SISTER BLOG | POLICY & LEGAL

© The Naked Listener’s Weblog, 2014. (B14018)

Srsly, it’s serious business if you wanna be serious about serious business

The New World was discovered after gruelling sea voyages that lasted years. It wasn’t new or much of a world to speak of, anyhow, but it was the New World nonetheless. Heroes are heroes because they’ve learnt to hit the ground running. Wusses are wusses because they hit the ground running for cover.

PREVIOUSLY on The Naked Listener… Our heroes, the two Knights of the Order of Garter-Wearers, have learnt the inestimable art of invisibility in their epic battle to save Q.

Yeah, same routine. TL;DR. Real stuff, not invented. For you, and you, and that something behind you. Oh, sorry, is that your hubby there? Sorry! (Whistles and skips aways.)

It’s 6.39 pm on Monday. Now that’s a change. Pee-emm. Not ay-emm. The sun was up, then it got scared and went down again couple of minutes ago. I don’t know why, but the sun does that every day. Somebody wanna tell me?

* * *

STOP PRESS

Scratch that. That ain’t doin’.

Something new just cropped up. Good news, bad news, FUBAR news.

It’s 9.02 pm on Tuesday, 9th November 2010. My computer is working perfectly. I ain’t in a good mood. The computer is aware of that. Right now, it’s almost visibly, literally cowering in fear of being punched in the display and USB ports if it misbehaves.

What’s new, sport?

Don’t you ‘sport’ me, sonny boy. My computer is fearful enough to address me by “Dave — ahem, I mean, Sire — I am completely normal and all my circuits are functioning perfectly.” — I highly recommend you do the same.

Operational theatre is Somewheretown in the East Midlands region of northeast-central England. Local tribes there spend funny money (if they have any to start with) and a speak funny language that has an empty-beer-bottle-throwing vocabulary.

It’s a highly cultured, historical city where stuck-up 30-year-old wannabe-jailbait bitches trawl for not-secret-enough-but-take-me-from-behind — never mind. That’s London.

Start again.

Somewheretown a highly cultured, historical town where toilet paper used to be unrolled in the dead of night at the main thoroughfare that bisects the town as well as bisecting a couple of careless pedestrians trying to have a night out on 47p (76¢ U.S.) and hoping for some Uganda at the same time.

Careless being the operative word.

Never have I seen the carelessness in people as I have extrapolatively seen in all parties, but especially M, that psychological/psychiatric personage who still hasn’t made contact with me via email.

Monday, 8th November 2010

Around 4.45 pm. One incoming call. Three others at unknown times. All failed to get through. Welcome to the World of Deliberately Crippled Technology That Accidentally Could Not Be Used Personally.

You really have to hand it to these Richard the Thirds (hint: Cockney English).

I stated unequivocally to you (the Reader) in my last overlong, overbearing, overcooked and over-mind-numbingly report today on Monday (exact time: highly approximately lunchtime) phones calls about Q are pretty much useless for me right now.

Unless the mother’s helpers in the operational theatre actually email me about the situation on the ground, phone calls are time wasters. Especially if calls are from the mother: we no spik da same lingo, boyo. You spik, I no know. Me spik, you no-no know. We lost. We no time. Capito?

Between Sunday and Monday (7th-8th November), the gist of all the email to and fro with the mother is this:

• Get the UK helpers to email sitrep to me, for pete’s sake!
• Gimme their email addresses!
• How many times do I have to ask for them?!
• How long do you want me to wait?!
• Stop thinking early discharge for Q ‘cos that ain’t gonna happen!
• Q’s a foreigner ‘over thar’ with a breakdown/non-breakdown issue.
• Suddenly all these strange foreigners are running around, saying they’re trying to help, whose identities cannot be confidently or reliably determined.
• This ‘foreign’ crap just scares the Health Authority ‘over thar’, therefore pushing it into strengthening the legal protection for Q, which makes our jobs that much harder.
• Your Chinky-chowmein-fishball-fried-rice way of doin’ things ain’t working, ‘cos your daughter’s in the UK, which requires an ‘English’ way of getting things done.
• Educated people (not-so-subtle hint about the psycho/psychi character) who can’t or is unwilling to scribble a few words is ONE GINORMOUS VAGINA OF A PROBLEM!
• Do you think that a compulsory detainee will have international call privileges? Indeed, do you think talking to a detainee will be effective in getting the detention order removed? Hello!
• Get your UK people to write to me!
• Err … stop being a prat?

The Chinese mind has a problem keeping focus, yet the Chinese as a whole are highly focused people. Four thousand years of history and culture — and a drug-addled country like America with only 200 years or so of existent could become a world superpower. Even with such a disgraceful headcounting perspective on things, the Chinese is still beat hands down. America, ferk yeah! Only a subjective piece of shit pretending to be objective, rational and logical would say this is not the case. Your perspective’s invalid because your mother’s a crack whore.

The English way of doing things is very much like American’s. Do it my way, or no way. The really old-fashioned English way has one added flavour: Do it now! Not five minutes later! Now! Now! DO IT NOW! Bow, bow low, you street urchin!

Comprendo, meine gefahrvoll mutterficker?

Srsly, it’s serious business to be serious in serious business. Ernsthaft, es eine ernste Angelegenheit. Ist das nicht wahr? Êtes-vous me comprendre là-dedans?

(You can see how thoroughly corrupt I am in my European ways.)

We now take a short break for non-commercial messages …

* * *

Some people have commented on my last three blogposts about this serious business (one, two and three) via private email. Srsly, I don’t understand why commenters can’t comment directly in the blogposts. There’s this “Leave a comment” and a squarish box-shaped thing at the bottom for that. They are afraid of having their email recorded, so they sent me email instead. Go figure.

The commenters mostly have harsh words for me. Some say they 100% cannot understand because the blogposts are “not in correct English” — and even “not in English.” (Vraiment? O rly?)

Others complain I’m racist, typical white-trash racist out to bash the Chinese, “mentally defective and arrogant racist” about my white superiority, culturally biased, a disgrace to “humankind” and I’ve “gone too far” with this anti-Chinese thing. I reckon they’re mostly Asians or Chi/Jap/Kor/yellow gooks because they way the wrote have grammar mistakes that are consistent with these yellow people.

One unhappy bunny branded me

“… a traitor to your own kind. As a Chinese person, I cannot accept your attitude.”

Thank you. At this this person shows objectivity by actually having read up about me and my blog. My question is, if you’re non-Chinese, you could accept my attitude, no?

Then there was this email person, most probably a bitch Hongkonger because the writing was full of grammatical errors, pointing out that I’m “too emotional” and “not fair [unfair?] and to have be [sic] wrong [sic?] understand[ing]” about the Chinese.

That Email Person Who Is Probably A Hongkonger is BLIND. How emotional could I have been? I wrote three 4,000-plus-word blogposts on the situation. Yeah, right. My fuse was so blown that I sat down, fired up the browser, clicked to WordPress, logged into WordPress, navigated to the Dashboard, started up a new post, and … actually … wrote …. and … formatted … three … stories … about … Q’s … predicament. Email Person, you wrote 37 words. Your argument’s invalid because your mother’s not even a crack whore.

Statement. I refuse to accept the notion that you don’t understand or can’t read my English in my blogposts. Especially if you’re a Hongkonger, you have 10-plus years of schooling, probably more, in an education system that uses Chinese and English. On average, you have received frequent, consistent and regular instruction in the English language no less than 5 hours a week, every week, for more than 30 weeks in a year over 10 years. I am expressly unwilling and refusing to entertain your excuse that you cannot understand. You’re an invalid whore and you’re argumentative.

2nd-best prez evah

My response to all and sundry is as given in the English legal case of Arkell v. Pressdram (1971): Va te faire foutre, trouduc.

Reason: I’m Chinese myself. My argument’s valid because my mother’s a Chinese crack whore and I can’t confidently or reliably ascertain your crack whore of a mother is Chinese.

Je fume des cigares, vous fumez la verge. T’argument est nul, ta mere la pute.

(I smoke cigars, you smoke cock. Your argument’s invalid, your mother’s a whore.)

* * *

Welcome back to The Naked Listener’s Weblog.

In the last segment, we’ve seen the mother’s UK helpers have practically done a bunk-off (BrE) / played hooky (AmE) / play truant by being un-emailable for days on end, leaving me informationless to help Q.

Tuesday, 9th November 2010

Sixth day of detention. I have lolled around 6 days for word from the UK helpers. NOTHING. Some help they’ve been.

By my reckoning, Q has already been in hospital detention for five six days since 3rd November 2010 under a Section 2 Compulsory Detention and Assessment Order on s.2 MHA 1983/2007 .

All I got to show is an unending piss-stream of failed phone calls and inane email with the mother in a piss-poor, difficult-to-handle, primitive hieroglyphic language with a vocabulary of 35,000 words (if that at all) vs. 750,000 words of the English language. But still I try to write it.

I got Snowy (a friend) to help write an email to the mother, basically to explain the situation in proper chinky-ramen-noodle Chinese and basically to tell the mother off (and the UK helpers) for highly irresponsible behaviour.

If you’re going to be serious about helping and if you’ve asked for my input or help, you need to be a little more responsible to work with me.

Off-topic, I am very, very touchy about others making derogatory insinuations about my ‘responsibility.’ Indeed, I have an anger management issue especially when it’s Southern Chinese people start making that kind of ill-advised, potentially slanderous remarks in a serious tone. I ain’t racist against southerners, just that it brings my blood to the boil when these wogs, dogs and clogs start using irresponsible language like that. I’m a biker with a fringed leather jacket too, so I know how to ‘take it to the next level’ if I can’t take it to court.

Around 3.08 am today. Ay-emm. That’s 8.08pm GMT. Finally, I get an SMS (text message) on the mobile phone from Q:

“Hi R please ring me as soon as you can because i am in trouble and i am urgently asking for R’s family eight generation’s help. I am now stucked in somewheretown medical centre campus SH1T monitoring point (Assessment Ward A55HoL3 south block) on kafka road under b floor main entrance, postcode A33 H4T. Tel +44 (0)123 1234567 CHEERS LUV Q”

My reply:

“Q, stay unafraid, calm, strong. Know situ, wrking via correct procedures. Ask email access & write under suprvsn. Days or wks for discharge. Nbdy tells me anythg. Ur prob no big deal. Workable. Ask soc worker Jane Bloggs email me as ur mum useless. Show ppl this msg. Hang in there. Know horrible for u. Luv, R.”

Pay attention to the red words. They are the ‘parol’ (obsolete militaryspeak: special password used by certain authorised persons in certain circumstances for ‘non-convenient self-identification’). I can be reasonably confident that this message came from Q.

Pay attention to the blue words. This should sound like nothing to the most of us. To mention shit like this is prima facie evidence that the person (and Q specifically) arguably has a clear-enough, coherent-enough, capable-enough mental capacity (per Mental Capacity Act 2005). Therefore, there is a prima facie question mark whether Q was indeed suffering from a mental breakdown/disorder at the time of hospital admission. Would you be mentally ‘with it’ to notice this on your way in? Can you even describe where you live now?

Before getting the SMS, it seems Q tried to ring me. So she followed it up with an SMS. How thoughtful of Vodafone to bounce the SMS to my email. Now, that’s what I call service with a personal touch. Learn, Hong Kong, goddam you, learn.

This is what the UK helpers should’ve done when they rang and couldn’t get through. But they farkin’ well didn’t, did they?

The originating number for the SMS isn’t one I recognise. Maybe Q borrowed someone else’s phone to do it. Who cares. Q’s in detention. She’d managed to get word through.

Now, this is something I could work with. Take screenshot of SMS. Next action, contact Health Authority to get a move on with my official request for information. Attach screenshot to Health Authority. Indicate that, now, I’ve been asked to help direct by detainee. Not sufficiently mentally capable? You try sending an international SMS if you’re mentally incapacitated, dimwit. I’ve been asked, therefore ah hav powah to een-terr-veen, b’oyy.

Most of these psychologists and psychiatrists and the lamers who received training in same have the greatest of hard time to appreciate this. They imagine that, just because they have such-and-such training, they automatically know what’s what, what’s going on, and what’s the system.

Not to put too fine a point on things, when I did my crappy little first degree in psychology (minor: statistics), after my biology, before my law, and all the rest of that crap, these lusers have something in common. They go through the motions of helping their ‘patients,’ work the documentation, feel powerful at drawing up psychotropic prescriptions, and generally feel special and important swaggering along hospital wards with psycho/psychi name badges on their breasts. In other words, patients are just research or work fodder for their ‘psychology’ or ‘psychiatry.’ Personally, I find psychos/psychis are highly offensive people because their mothers are not crack whores.

(It’s different with us lawyers. We are incapable, biologically speaking, to be lawyers unless our fathers are faggotty little faggots and mothers crack whores. Be that as it may. I’m a printer now.)

Strange as it may seem to y’all, I have 24 hours in a day just like the rest of you good ole’ folks. I’ve got to work, eat, sleep and shit-shower-shave plus 101 other things all in those 24 hours. My workweek is 70 or 80 hours long. I get 25 to 40 phone calls a day from all manner of cattle all over the world. I can still find time to piss around and write long bloody email to the mother. And blog.

Email at 10.06 pm from Q’s old man. Another piss-stream of Chinese words. These folks know I can’t bleeding well read Chinese.

FACT: The time you spend faffing around to explain why something can’t be done could’ve been better used to get the damned thing done instead.

I just gave up the ghost. My reply basically says:

• I can’t read Chinese, old man.
• Oi! I’ve got over 38 email between y’all and me.
• I asked for the UK helpers email addresses every time I email.
• Nothing from the UK side.
• Seven days already, old man.
• What kind of Super Psycho Doc have you got ‘over thar’ who can’t even write one word?
• Y’all’re cramping my style with your asshat behaviour.
• Y’all need to be little more responsible in the way you treat your daughter, b’oyy.
• Don’t fence me off. I remind you, it’s you who came pleading for my help.
• You don’t like my face, neither do I like yours.
• Y’all ain’t my pals, old man. Q is.
• Don’t you threaten me, old man. I can bleeding well recourse and claim legal liability from all and sundry without your approval.
• I’ll tread on anyone who adversely affects Q, even indirectly.
• You’re part of the problem, not the solution, old man.
• Gimme the goddam email addresses!

I just couldn’t believe this bunch of wankers. These are Q’s parents we’re talking about here. Srsly. It’s serious business when you have to deal with the problem at hand AND arrogant, pig-headed, yellow supremacist parents.

Don’t you threaten me, old man!

No, I don’t know how shit works, you chinky lil’ wetback.

But do YOU know how ‘this’ shit works, old man?

I forgive, but I will never forget.

Thinking ahead

What’s going to happen to Q after this episode in her life?

Truth is, lots of people in the UK has had breakdowns before. Breakdowns are no big deal. It happens, especially before exam time, like the GCE/GCSE O-levels, which is the first big life challenge for most folks ‘over thar.’ You just sweat it out for a few days and it’s over. Your mileage may vary. Everybody in the UK knows about Section 2. Can’t believe Super Psycho Doc doesn’t. Whisky, tango, foxtrot.

Q (and her parents) probably wants to get the eff out of the UK ASAP and back to the Old Country. That would be a serious mistake. Srsly, that would be an unbelievably brain-damaged move to return home without obtaining the postgrad qualification Q had worked so hard to get and, now, suffered for. It’ll be time, money and effort wasted.

FACT: The Chinese are desperate to the point of hysteria about getting a ‘foreign’ diploma.

FACT: The Chinese are incredibly, easily homesick-able people.

I have literally seen, with my own eyes and also personally through my balls, loads and loads of Chinese students in the UK homesick to the core. They yearn to wear, to talk, to eat, to shit, to shower, to shave even a morsel that reminds them of the Old Country or their being Chinese. They are so focused on this that almost all the Chinese students I know or encountered just become functionally blind to anything happening around them.

I know these people. They’re completely bonkers with their nostalgia. They knew well beforehand they’re going to be brick-shattingly homesick when they go abroad. That’s why the absolute majority make lame excuses that their country’s Really Is Heaven on Earth (ain’t) so there’s no need to travel abroad for pleasure or business (rubbish). At the same time, they’re hysterically comical in their desperation for that piece of foreign parchment.

Extreme homesickability and extreme parchment-chasing is exactly what provokes a fast mental breakdown. The Chinese, as a general rule, are quite feeble-minded when it comes to mental problems. It takes them a long, long, long time for recovery.

FACT: Western universities exploit the extreme diploma obsession and extreme nostalgia by setting up high-cost distance-learning programmes to serve the Chinese.

British health authorities take note: Year after year, more and more Chinese students come to your shores for ‘edumacation.’ Factor in their said characteristics, and you chaps can easily see increasing incidents of mental breakdowns among your Chinese foreign students. You’re gonna have to deal with that, and youse hafta sort out your procedures for it. Sooner or later, y’all health authorities will start charging these students hard, cold cash for dealing with their silly-arsed, self-inflicted problem.

* * *

Photo credits (all images pilfered and used without permission):

SMS logotype via Watblog.

Comments Encouraged via Vendian.

Bush Giving the Finger via Fugly.

Thinking Ahead via Southwestern University, Georgetown, TX, USA.

© The Naked Listener’s Weblog, 2010.

Running away