I just watched an episode of Criminal Minds. I've always liked that show. Its deviant spin of the tale always gives me a twisted enjoyment. Although my mind is sometimes addled at the end of a grueling episode, I feel that the show discusses and portrays certain aspects that we don't come across in everyday life: things such as hardcore cult practices that mutilate people in the name of religion, or where a stealthy fella in a catsuit lives under your bed for a whole month without your slightest knowledge. Scary shit, mystifying shit, wits-scrambling shit. Anyway, my point wasn't to pay accolades to the series (although I must say it well deserves it), but that after seeing a psychopath hit a man on the head with a loaded metal pole, I feel inclined to do the same to my brother. He's been having a two-week holiday - today's the last, thank goodness - and I find it very maddening. He wakes up, lounges about complaining about hunger and sinus problems, with eyes glued to his laptop in pursuit of those damned online virtual games. He does nothing to aid his physical condition until my softer side relents and makes me head to the kitchen, prepare some food and leave it on the table. Every time after doing that, I resent my kindness. I hate helping people who refuse to help themselves. It is said in Jeffrey Archer's Paths of Glory that "no one can exempt themselves from their conscience." Then have these people who deny themselves their own effort not have a conscience? Or is it so blurred and destroyed by the countless times well-meaning souls stepped forward to help them, after succumbing to their wretched whinging? I believe it's the latter. People with disheveled consciences are, in effect, rather pathetic. Their mind perishes in its absence. P.S. I still cling on to my belief fact that the younger siblings are always the spoiled ones, however much the parents deny it. You're only allowed to argue the theory if and only if you're an older/eldest sibling.
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