Saturday, 8 December 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 97

I could not update my blog last week because of flu.  Doctor was right, I should have remembered to get a flu shot.  I also wish there were a shot that would have boosted our immune system against the unfairness in life.  Oh, well…I just have to invent one myself.

Though the hyenas are contemptible for cowardly preying on the victims already bitten and fallen by predators, we can still assume that they would not have chosen this path if the predator/bullies had not existed in the first place.  So what makes the bullies tick?    ‘Greed’ goes without saying.  Predators bully the weak to squeeze out whatever they fancy be it money or sadistic pleasure.  As Mr. Maher has said during his show, power begets power, I can see why the predators would stick to bullying which has proven to work.  But one thing puzzles me.  The bullies still wish to be popular and liked too.  

How can you expect love or even some approval from someone you have just bullied, robbed or deceived?  I can see that their greed is so humongous that they want it all, power, money and love, but please, have some logic!  Of course, some people have achieved this feat in the history but they were known to have conscience and they did not rely on bullying.  No decent mind would give a minute to the bullies.  Thus the bullies resort to nepotism or favoritism.  The bullies have to look for sub-decent lots who would sell their soul for a right price.  There is an apt name for these opportunists: sycophants. 

Often the sycophants are more despised than the bully himself because the sycophants abuse the power despite they have no merits of their own.  They ride on the back of the bully while fully aware of the pain they incur on others, even enjoying it.  Fortunately, the sycophants almost always meet the same end: fired or kicked out by the bully.  The bully do not like being used because it is a privilege granted only to the bully himself.  Human psychology is a funny thing.  You can almost forget for a split second how much you disapprove of the bully when he has crushed his sycophants.  Maybe the bully keeps the sycophants to blame his wrongdoings later.   There is never love to be lost between the bully and the sycophants.  Only the sugar-coated agenda on the both sides.  It must be really lonely at the top when you are a bully.  

Nevertheless the bullies will survive but not the sycophants.  The world will punish the wimps, once they are deprived of the power they had never deserved.  The sycophants seem to meet an end very similar to that of the hyena.  Forsaken and loss of credentials.  No one replies to Mme. Landlord anymore and her un-spruced apartments have not yet been bought despite the lowered price in Paris where properties sell like hot potato chips.

However, there is one group of people who are more deplorable and more hated than the hyenas, the sycophants and even the bullies.  This last group is the most tempting that I must resist joining at all cost.  To be continued.
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Monday, 26 November 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 96

I may have given the impression in my last post that I was about to embrace a religion.  Not quite yet although the case of Mme. Landlord taught me the importance of believing in the existence of God as an omnipotent-supervisor.  She lied and manipulated because she did not feel the God’s eyes on her.  We tend to commit anything if no one was looking.  Belief in God will check me from joining the victim-turned-predator business.

However, embracing a religion does not seem to save people from corruption either.  The Sludge people is one example.  It seems they use God as their front that shields them from accusation while engaging in foul acts behind the back of the God while he is looking away.  People reproach the Sludge for their foul acts, but the Sludge will turn the argument around and scream religious discrimination.  My one loyal reader wished to know the name of their faith, but that is not important.  A good religion was molded into a cult by the Sludge as a potent mean to push their agenda.  It is quite a foolproof tactics, but the Sludge can derive strength even from their rare loss as a bonus of the victim-business.  There is no winning with them.

The readers of my blog may remember that I decided to let the Sludge win and win instead. While it sounds crazy arming them with more success, but in my post 92, I described how Mme. Harmonie was being affected by her own poison.  Here is the link, and please come back to read the current state of the restaurant from Hell.


Having failed to attract clients during the regular dining hours, Mme. Harmonie opted to extend it to midnight.  For this she should have applied for a Service Continu license that allows long hours.  It would cost her money and never the one to play by book, Mme. Harmonie avoided the problem by announcing the new late opening hours on the social media site only.  Decent restaurants would be upfront about it on their menu on their windows, but not Mme. Harmonie.  She did not bother to inform Mr. Pride, her landlords that she would be extending her business hours illegally either.  Mme. Harmonie knew that I still suffered from their illegal large noisy kitchen appliances not permitted to the small size eatery kitchen, but she would still refuse to insulate her kitchen.  I may have moved out of my old apartment, but my new apartment was not that far away from the restaurant from Hell.  However, I did not complain to the authority.

Now, it is universally acquiesced that food is mediocre at the long hour bar-restaurants.  People may have thought that the restaurant from Hell had to open late because they could not attract serious diners who would sit down for three courses meals during the regular hours.  Mme. Harmonie used her media connection and obtained many good reviews, but it did not boost the number of serious diners.  Soon, the restaurant from Hell opted to tapas style, offering small dishes to share among friends.  This increased the number of late diners, while lowering the average consumption of each client.  It would have worked in a small eatery but the restaurant from Hell had a large dining area in the most expensive part of Paris.  The expensive rent would still have to be paid. 

In this unfair world, sadly the restaurant from Hell would be successful one day, but it was not happening fast enough for Mme. Harmonie.  I know this because she has started to serve brunch on Sundays too.  Less respite from their kitchen noise for me, but she would not even think about an insignificant Asian migrant with no voice.

What Mme. Harmonie does not know is that I am one of the top 50 influential reviewers of TripAdvisor in Paris.  I received the congratulation message from the editor last week.  To be continued.
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Monday, 19 November 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 95


Mme. Landlord resorted to nick-picking to undermine my reputation, but the other neighbors would not take any notice.  They must have always suspected her hypocrisy but did not want to be wrong.  Now she was met with a unanimous silence against her slander about me.  I felt so encouraged that I was ready to stare back at Mme. Landlord should we meet as I came out from my apartment in the same building.

But it never came to that.  Mme. Landlord put her apartments up to sale sooner than she had anticipated under the worst condition.  One apartment she had planned to sell with a renovated kitchen, courtesy of her former gay tenant Jupiter.  That did not pan out as he stripped it off as he left as he realized that she had him duped.  She was stuck with her old appliances which Jupiter had kept in her storage area.  Her other apartment had its value crumbled by the existence of the restaurant from Hell.  She tried to recoup the loss through piggy banking on my lawsuit against the restaurant from Hell without paying a cent herself.  That did not pan out when I withdrew my lawsuit.  It never had the chance because of Mr. Honor anyway, but Mme. Landlord was still furious when I withdrew it against her will.  Instead my lawyer rebuked her for her wrongdoings which blocked her from extracting money from me. 


She was never a fighter, just a hyaena that fed on victims.  It never seemed to occur to her to endeavor in a normal way.  She could have still paid some professionals to do up her apartment, but the photos on the real estate site show no such a trace.  Apart from the walls that I painted, the rooms looked shabby.  Did not any of her children from her multi marriages help her?  I even recognized the old trash left on the same spot as a few months ago.  She may have been lying about her close relationship with her children.  She was not invited to their Christmas dinner in the two years that I knew her.   

Then one photo stopped me.  In her guest room the large bed mattress she had retrieved from the garbage room was still there.  It was covered up by a reasonably clean bed cover, but the content remained a dirty lump ran over by mice.  This symbolizes what she became in the end.  My wrist broke because of her, but I am still grateful for one thing she showed me.  That atheist risks being taken over by some powerful force to fill the void left by a religion.  We are weak humans after all.  Mme. Landlord denied God and was possessed by Greed instead.  An old woman who disgusted my mother by always insisting on using my toilet paper with a sheepish smile despite she had her own toilet upstairs in the same building.  She'd better believe that God does not exist because it is with that sheepish vulgar face she would be facing the Maker no matter how much she tries to conceal it with a sweet fake voice.   

Oh, wait.  She became a self-appointed ruler herself.   She may have snatched a lot from other people but may have missed out on bigger rewards that could have been obtained by her not soliciting.  I would have gladly given her my furniture (the ones I bought) so that her apartment would look appealing had she not lied to me that it was an obligation of migrants in France to co-operate with their landlord in every way.    Her children and grandchildren could have benefitted from my connection should they have wanted to try their luck in Japan.  I may be just a migrant in France, but back in Japan, I am a graduate of Keio University, Japanese version of Oxford University.   

The breaking news: In Paris the expo 2025 has just been awarded to Osaka Japan.  Another city to host a great international event where I have relatives and friends.  Mme. Landlord and her family had a place to stay in Tokyo during the Olympic 2020 and in Osaka during the expo 2025 courtesy of me.  And she had blown it all away by demanding me to pay for a water tap that I broke while I was painting her apartment for a free.  If she had been graceful enough to accept my offer that was equal to the price of her water tap, what a great time she would have enjoyed.  In life it does pay to be nice and patient.  You just don’t always know it. 

To be continued.
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Sunday, 11 November 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 94

I could not update my blog last week because of the pain in my wrist.  It is healing slowly, but the pain returns whenever I stress it.  But my mind was busy wrestling with many ideas about my identity.  Then I thought I should start but analyzing each harmonious character in my true horror stories.  Let me start with Mme. Landlord, the ruthless whipper of the weak while pretending to be their savior.  How does such a personality develop?

The clue may be in the fact that she was not a born Parisian.  Every city has a hierarchy that consists of the in-crowds that were born with the non-coded priority over those who joined the city from elsewhere.   Mme. Landlord often spoke proudly of her birthplace, but her eyes betrayed her words.  She chose not to return to her birthplace which speaks the truth.  The late joiners of the city struggle to secure their place unless blessed with a tolerable wealth or some kind of accomplishments.  Did Mme. Landlord have any of them?  A daughter from a decent family would not grow up to be a scavenger of garbage rooms.  Her sense of hygiene did not revolt against bringing a discarded mattress (run over by mouses) into her bedroom.   Then how would an ambitious woman with no advantages navigate herself in a city?  How would she climb up the social ladder?

By pretending to possess what the rich and the successful are stereotyped to be lacking it.  Empathy.  No other virtue has been more abused because you can act it while regular accomplishment requires a lot of hard work or even financial expenses.  Mme. Landlord boasted of her volunteer works, boasted of getting involved in many good causes.  It left unpleasant aftertaste that she would demand recognition or gratitude each time, unlike my acquaintances in Japan who had kept quiet about their volunteer works until I accidently found out.  However, her tactics must have worked for Mme. Landlord because despite there were some who suspected her true color (Mr. Brave wrote about it) she managed to gain respect as a moral leader who became the equal to the rich and the successful among the circle which she had insinuated herself into.  But there was one person who was not fooled.  Herself.

Not naturally empathetic nor generous, her life-long acting would naturally take its toll on her.  She vented her frustration on the weak whose voice would not be heard.  She was all smile to an aristocrat gentleman while writing slander about him in her emails to me. I have written in one of my updates about the night when I was made to move her bulky furniture.  It was not an isolated episode, of course, and one day she made me move other piece of her bulky furniture during the daytime.  She came along to give me instructions, so I would not damage her old furniture, which was not precious enough for her to pay the taxi fares for.  What was the point of having migrants around if you could not use them for free labor?

A couple of French women were chatting on the street.  I had to stop because there was no room on the narrow street of Paris.  I was about to politely ask them to let me pass when Mme. Landlord hurled some abusive comments to the women.  Even I could understand the part ‘people have lost manner to make space for others in Paris!’  The two women looked hurt more than offended and said something softly in French as they stepped aside.  I felt compelled to apologize to the French women for the rude behavior of Mme. Landlord while she walked past them triumphantly.    Where was this moral leader Mme. Landlord passed herself as?  What was to become of her?

Unexpectedly, I was to find out sooner than I thought.  To be continued.

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Tuesday, 30 October 2018

The true horror stories in modern Paris part 93

Back in the old ages, predators were savage and physical.  Victims were slain to death.  There was no coming back from that.  But in the modern age, predators tend to shy away from physical abuses remembering the legal consequences.  Thus, came the age of victim-business.

It is quite fool proof and yet potent.  Generally, people are sucked in by the former victims’ sad tales, no matter how shamelessly elaborated, and believe them without checking the facts.  Some smart or life-wise ones would voice their suspicion, only to be struck back with the accusation of discrimination of all kinds: racist, religious persecutors, misogynist, ageism…the list goes on.  If you have some money, the victim-business will send their lawyer to milk you, over and over because it does not matter how much money you have paid already, it is the heart that counts, and you have not apologized sincere enough.  So, pay up!  One word from you complaining their elaboration of the facts, the price will hike even steeper.  It is quite lucrative, this victim-business of the modern age.  Best of all, no one can stop them, and they feel no remorse about having turned predators of a more sinister kind.  In their mind they are always right that the world should revere them.  The sense of obligation and respect for the order goes out of the window.  It is not cheating if they do it.  Hard work is for the idiots, like Japanese workers, who are forever indebted to the victim business.

It is so tempting to go down this road.  God knows, I nearly did after being exposed to ‘the sludge’ community for so long.  But Mme. Landlord showed me what is in store for the victim-business.  She manipulated me by mimicking Mr. Pride jeering at my health damaged by his restaurant from Hell.  It was such a vulgar sight that spoke a world about her true color.  And yet I attributed the vileness to Mr. Pride because my self-righteousness blocked me from seeing who she was.  I was against ageism, and she took much advantage of it.  Wasn’t I fooled when she acted out the scene where she was being bullied by Mr. Pride?  Furthermore, she thoughtfully advised me not to have a direct contact with Mr. Pride because he was a crafty man who would use my word and twist them against me.  In hindsight she robbed my chance of finding out the facts.

I am so grateful that I ran into Mr. Pride after I had left the influence of Mme. Landlord. His eyes were not as arrogant as I had been made to believe.  In the end he was a man who was  duped by Mme. Empathy, just like I was by Mme. Landlord.  In his own way, he apologized to me for my horrendous near-death experience caused by Mme. Empathy.  It took me a while to apologize to him myself for having opposed him without verifying the facts, but I needed time to be sure that Mr. Pride was not part of ‘The Sludge’ or ‘the victim-business.  And more time to find a definition of myself.  I was not going to be a victim, the word I detest now.  I must not turn a predator either.  

Then what am I to be?   To be continued.

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