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You know the funny thing about the whole Martin Shkreli trial? There are literally tens of thousands of people like this running companies, and millions more in the business world. There are CEOs who comfortably order the forced displacement and massacre of native people in South America. They poison towns, infiltrate governments, and science to promote their for-profit agenda. They put melamine in milk powder, killing six children and hospitalizing 54,000 babies, and then go to sleep in their four-poster beds without a care in the world. In 2012, Jiang Weisuo, a 44-year-old general manager of a dairy products plant in Shaanxi province, was rumored to have been murdered in Xi’an city. It was Weisuo who had first alerted authorities to the scandal.

The affable, neat businessmen who society lauds as ‘job creators’ and people to aspire to be like are malignant narcissists, as this man is… and the only reasons Martin Shkreli was singled out are because he looks and sounds like a villain. He’s an ugly, weaselly loudmouth, and that’s why he’s being punished while others like him carry on about their daily business.

The effective ones disgust and scare me more. No one will touch them, because they don’t look like the weasels they are.

I wrote about this in the story I sent in as part of my Clarion West application, Mark of the Beast:

The worst criminals, by far, are narcissists.

All of us choose what best suits our interests, our desires, our impulses. If our desires are in line with society, all is well. In my case, my desire to be the man my grandmother believed in exceeds my desire to fuck, kill and eat pale boys with pretty hands. The darkest of these whimsies started up about a year after killing Randy, fading in with a late puberty. I entertain the fantasy of cannibalism most days now, watching beautiful men with perfect hips jutting from the shadows of doorways in Queens, but act on it? Nah. It’s nothing but a cute dream, and it’s nothing I can’t play out with a well-paid twink, a cold bath, and a rare roast veal dinner.

Malignant narcissists can’t think that way. The only person that’s real is themselves. As far as they’re concerned, they’re the only tree in the forest, and they’ll do whatever it takes — whatever it takes — to make sure it stays that way. They’ll lie, cheat, kill, and maim for themselves. These are the real monsters. Some get off on hunting, like Bundy, but others run lobbies and corps and countries. They preen for the golf course and sail their yachts and look and sound so very reasonable. They’re leaders at church. They rape their daughters in the dark.

And sometimes, they proxy-murder their pregnant girlfriends and deal coke at Honeys, a titty bar on Park Avenue in the Bronx.

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