Puppet On A String

 

PUPPETON A STRING

Becky (an ex girlfriend) would turn to me and some times say,

“I just feel like your puppet at times.”

I had to look the other way because I wanted to laugh. My nickname for her was poppet. She loved me calling her that. I used it straight away when we first met. It was actually a useful device as the other lady I was seeing, Susan, received that nickname from me too, but she was on the way out. It meant I could call them both poppet and not mix up their names with the invariable histrionics that would ensue. God, I am good.

What Becky had not realised that my calling her poppet was a corruption of puppet and every time I used it I would be laughing inwardly and beaming outwardly. She thought I was just smiling because I was pleased to be with her.

That is what it is all about. Making you my puppet. This is my aim. This is the means to my end of obtaining my fuel from you. As you will no doubt becoming familiar with, the means always justifies the end. Accordingly, by ensuring you become my puppet I am in the optimum position to control you to extract every drop of fuel I can from you.

I need to control you so that you admire me when I want it. I need to control you so that I can pull the strings and make you jerk to my tune. I am the puppetmaster.

To make you my puppet I engage on a two-pronged approach. Firstly, I make you utterly dependent on me. I open the doors and let you look upon heaven. That way you are in awe of what I can give you and you want it, oh you really, really want it. Secondly, I will then remove every method of support both real and potential that you might rely on to try and recover your free will (family, friends, colleagues and so on – I will be posting about how I do this through my slur campaign in a separate post) so that you have nobody to turn to. Thus, as you look on heaven entranced and enraptured, I am opening the trapdoor to hell right under your feet.

Once I have those strings attached to you we can begin our dance. It is long. It is exhausting. It is dangerous.

9 thoughts on “Puppet On A String

  1. Christopher Jackson says:

    Damn

  2. SMH says:

    God is it ever exhausting, especially for the puppet.

  3. Honey Bee says:

    You see us looking at heaven when you open the trapdoor to hell…

    I see someone trying to get out of the abyss (where the creature lurks) looking up hoping to find his one true saviour (to pull him out), over and over and over again. When we disappoint we get thrown into your abyss. But we don’t have anything to fear from that abyss or your creature. It may be a dark place, but we always find our way out.

    Strange how our perspectives differ.

  4. Kelly says:

    Lol, HG, the narc used to call me by the same name, Poppet! But as a mid-mid-ranger, it was surely not as Machiavellian in nature as yours? Condescending in hindsight, but is it likely that the same aforethought was there?

    1. windstorm says:

      Kelly
      He may well have had other “poppets”, so he was less likely to make a mistake between you all.

  5. Leslie says:

    So how to cut the strings?

    1. flutterbymorpho says:

      I want to know that too!

      1. SMH says:

        GOSO, NC. Only way.

    2. flutterbymorpho says:

      I also would like to cut them and tie him up in them and pull them right around his neck!

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