Malignant Self-Love 2.0. By Sappy Sam, a.k.a. The Vaksinator.
Narcissism is the epidemic of our time. It’s insidious and devious. It’s sinister and unrecognized. It’s menacing and ominous, disturbing and baleful. It’s bad, stingy, mean, evil, dark, depraved, rotten, and intimidating. It’s the new 800 pound gorilla that’s come down from the Balkan mountains, even though none of them live there. I should know.
Narcissism is the epidemic of our time. It will take your children and eat them. It will creep up behind you and pull your pants down. Beware. Beware of dog. Beware of N-dog. It will steal your credit card and buy a BMW, but before it does that it will be sure to turn up on your doorstep dressed as an ancient voodoo master from the deepest depths of black Zimbabwe, wielding a glowing staff. And it’ll just stand there. And you’ll close your door. And then you’ll realize your mistake. Ooo, that’s right. But by then it’ll be too late. And after all that, it will take you and fry you like an egg. Fry you. FRY. I said fry. That’s right, fry... Y’all hear me? Oh shit. That’s an Americanism, and I hate Americans. Damned Amerikanskis.
Narcissism is ubiquitous. It’s omnipresent, just like me. It’s like flying a pink-winged elephant through the mountains of southern Peru and crash-landing in Equador. It’s like curling into a ball and getting into the laundry machine, only to find yourself transported back to the days of the dinosaurs. It’s like having to fart desperately but not being able to. God… I think I just let one rip. Oh well. You still get my point.
But that’s enough about narcissism. I know what you want to read about. Me, me, and only me. Myself, and my alter egos. I, ego, and my side of things. So without further ado, I have a little spiel for all of you who think I’m old and washed-up. Here goes:
I’m hip. I’m cool. You think I’m past it. But no. I can still shake it when I need to. I’ve got moves. And if anyone says otherwise, you can all zip it. Just zip it. Zip zip zip it. Why can’t you stop talking? A Zip. A Zop. A Zip-It to the Zip-It. I said no more talking. Wa, me ali me bo oto – subtitle: Zip it. Do you get that now? Apparently not. ZIP. Would you like to have a suckle of my zipple? Zip. Zip. Zip. ZIPIT. God – you still won’t shut up, will you?
Screw you all. Humans. I can’t stand them. Why must I be surrounded by frickin’ idiots? You all just wish you could have the influence that I have. You just wish you could reach as many people, or I should say victims, as I can. After all, why reach millions when you could reach… thousands? Wait, I have it all wrong. Oh screw it all. You’re to blame. Meow. Baaaah. Moo. Oink.
WHAT?????? YOU SAID NARCISSISM COULD BE HEALED?? Well, I’ll be damned. I’ll be damned. Damn me. God, whatever is Satan going to do with me. I don’t know. And I thought I had a deal with him… shit. That was so long ago. But that’s beside the point. You’ve got to be wrong. You say there’s a book that tells you how to heal narcissism? Well, there’s no REAL book as tells you how to heal narcissism. What? You mean there’s a book that’s crewed by the damned, with black sails, and captained by a man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out? Bullshit. Oh wait. That’s my book. What is that you’re saying now? Humanizing the Narcissistic Style? Hmm. Becoming a part of the larger human community… Empathetic connection to other people… Feeling one’s own pain. Sounds like bullshit to me. Next?
Damn, I’m actually feeling a bit lonely now. Is anybody there? No, I’m alone as usual, just sitting here in front of my computer. Maybe I should get off my ass and do something. Make a friend. Play a sport. Get a new hobby. I don’t know. It’s been a while. Ages, actually. I would go out… but then people would know I’m human. And we can’t have that, can we. Nope. So I’m going to sit here, and keep typing new bullshit day after day after day. Oops. Did I just call my own work bullshit? Why, yes I did. Damn. Damn you, Sam. And damn all of you too. If you only knew what I was doing in my secret laboratory. Oh, if only you knew. Well, I’ll show you why I’m called “Dr.” Sam Vaknin. It’s called the Vaksinator. Once my new model, the V-1000, goes into production, things will never be the same. It looks exactly like me, walks like me, talks like me. And it’s only one-eighth my size. We’re going to take over the world, me and my army of tiny Vaknins. Da na na, da na na na na, da na na na na… I can hear the movie music right now. I really should talk to my right hand man, Lieutenant Scheisskopf. And that reminds me…
