Friday, April 18, 2014

Rock God Revisited

I want to tell you a story about someone.  Someone I was once very close to.

Sean was a friend once.  Hell, he was more than that.  We met on campus in 1992.  He approached me to tell me that my pro-choice button on my lapel sucked . . . but that he admired the guts it took to wear in Mormonville.  It wasn't long before Sean was giving my then-husband guitar lessons in return for tutoring in algebra.  My husband never did master the guitar, though Sean did teach  me the following fancy Allegro (no, that's not Sean playing):

My ex did manage to drag Sean through Algebra--a good thing, as Sean had already failed it twice and had no hope of finishing his degree without it.

When my husband and I separated in 1993, Sean and I embarked on what we affectionately called our "three month stand."  So called because there was no way we could have ever maintained a long-term relationship, so we went into it knowing it was only for a while.  Our politics, our world-views, and especially our relationship with intoxicating substances--none were compatible.  But Sean was fun, smart, impossibly tall, and had long, bleached-blond hair halfway to his ass.  Hey, it was the very early 90s.  Hair was still in.

Before you get any ideas about me, Sean was my THIRD partner.  The other two had been HUSBANDS.  He was my first AND last "fling."

For three months, Sean and I were together almost every moment.  I often blame my car accident, which really did do a number on my "impulse control" and ability to make rational decisions.  No doubt, that was part of it.  Sean had an ex-girlfriend, a toddler, and was only paying 25 bucks a month in child support while his ex (later his wife, even later his ex-wife) was living with (and being supported by) her hyper-disapproving Mormon parents.  We tangled often about that--about his being able to afford smokes and beer but not child support.

I remember one day, the ex showed up at Sean's (he was in a roommate situation with four other college students at a condo owned by the father of one of the students).  She was always nice to me, but always looked utterly wounded by my existence.  She considered me gravely, then said wistfully, "I wish I could be you--then he'd love me forever."

That poor girl.  Sean really did put off a shine that drew you, a warmth that made you feel you needed to be close.  I doubt it ended that way, but for a long time I think she was helpless to resist the draw.

For a few months, I hung out with the band Sean played with, learned how to run their sound board.  I don't say "Sean's Band" because it wasn't--they'd lost their guitarist and he was a hired gun.  They were called "Genghis Khan," and holy cow, they were derivative.  They practiced at an old farmhouse in the country.  Place was crawling with hundreds of ferel cats and kittens.  The vocalist was a Tom Keifer wannabe (vocally--looks-wise he was more a Sam Kinison clone), the other guitarist was so wasted most of the time it was impossible to get much out of him, the bassist . . . wasn't (they had no bass player), and the drummer . . . was sober and so much better than the rest of them. He and Sean should have started a band, left those losers behind.

Instead, he slogged along and fell deeper and deeper into the booze and drugs.

One day, Sean said he was really wishing he was back together with his ex, the mother of his lovely little boy.  I said he should go for it.  And he did.  Sadly, Sean had some serious impulse control issues.  He went back to his ex, I hooked up with my now-husband, yet Sean kept trying to get back with me.  Not for a long-term thing, but a "friends with benefits" arrangement.  He really just never could stop himself.  Something that haunted him all his life.

Finally, his advances became so enraging that I cut off all contact for years.

When we reconnected, it was via Facebook.  He'd gone through years of addiction, had flipped hot and cold hard-core religious (you know how the addiction thing can do that), but his politics had taken a hard swing left.  He admitted to barely remembering me--turns out, he'd been utterly addicted even then.  Most of that time was a blur for him.  We palled around on Facebook for a couple of years, but then he and his latest wife (not sure how many there were, at least two) fell apart.  It started with him taking responsibility, admitting it was his temper, his sarcasm, his drug use, but, as he always said, one of his greatest talents was turning things around on folks, and it went from being his fault to her being a faithless whore in record time.  It was all played out very publicly on his wall, and it was horrible to see.  Like a train wreck of meanness and deceit.

And then, because (he later admitted) this is what he did when things got rough, he turned on me.  And, to be fair, his other friends, too.  There was nothing special about me.  Because addiction circles so often fall into the "higher power" trap, Sean, seemingly out of the blue, went nutty on me over my atheism.  It was insulting, immature, unreasonable, and really quite shocking.  Like I said, "out of the blue."  My response?

I smacked him down so hard my hand is still stinging.

His reaction?

Shock.  He was stunned that I had come back on him.  Said that people usually just took it from him because that's how he was.  That was, in fact, the backbone of his apology:  this is how I am when things aren't going right in my life, and I am helpless to stop myself.  No promise to never do it again, just a wow, sorry I did that, I was out of line, but this is how I am.  Get used to it, because it's sure to happen again.

No.  No, I refused to "get used to it."  And I told him so.  Told him that I was sorry, but that, at my age, I didn't have a place in my world for someone prone to spontaneously erupting on me like that.  I didn't have what it took to tolerate abusiveness or drama.  I didn't NEED to tolerate it.  If he couldn't assure me that this was never, ever, EVER going to happen again, I was going to have to walk away.

He couldn't, and I did.

That was a couple of years ago.  Today, I opened the paper to come across Sean's obituary.

I gasped when I saw it.

Says he died of a perforated ulcer, and I'm sure that's true.  But what he really died of was a life of alcohol and drug abuse and an inability to get his act together in any meaningful way for any real length of time.  Apparently he'd just gotten a new job, was very happy, very optimistic.  But that was Sean--the same scenario played out again and again.  Like he was trapped, doomed to repeat that pattern until . . .

Until now.

Poor Sean.

And my son?  Well, he still plays that old white Ibanez (gone cream-colored with the years) I bought from Sean all those years ago.  Sean had two of them--he kept one, and the other wound up being my son's.  Is there some meaning there?

Probably not.

Friday, April 11, 2014

Karma Comes Back?

So, a post comes across my wall today, someone decrying the hit-and-run of her family's pet black cat.  Apparently, the cat was in the middle of the road and the driver who hit him didn't stop.  The driver BEHIND did stop.  This angry post went on and on about Karma and what a bitch it is, how hitting a BLACK CAT and then not stopping is a guarantee of deserved bad luck coming back.

Clearly, this is the case.  Karma obviously works because look what happens to people who let their cats wander on city streets.


This is the same person who, just last year, was positively cheering about the killing of stray/feral cats in her neighborhood because they might transmit diseases to her loose pets.

Are you serious?  You're worried about your pets, keep them INDOORS where pets BELONG rather than letting them wander. As it stands, I'm seeing you as the responsible party.  Hey, I GET having a cat that won't stay in the house--we had a big, black poof-ball named LOG who would dart past, pry open screens, and otherwise find his way out.  And, had he been hit by a car?  It would have been OUR fault.  No one else's.

Anyway, back to the black cat in the middle of the road.  I know it's so easy to assign nefarious motives to folks who've caused you hurt, but did it ever occur that maybe the person didn't know they'd hit your cat?  Or maybe they were afraid to stop for fear of a potentially scary confrontation with you?

The solution to your pets being hit by cars (or picking up diseases from strays) is to keep your pets in the house where they belong.  Let them out only in your yard, and only when you're there to keep them from wandering.  And stop passing the buck--responsibility for your pets is YOURS, not anyone else's.

And in case anyone is concerned, the black cat is fine.  45 minutes at the vet and all is well.  He clearly thumped the undercarriage rather than taking a direct hit.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Race Jumping/Steeplechasing: a rose by any other name

So, I came across a bit of incredibly self-serving, biased fluff in defense of steeplechases yesterday.  In case you're not familiar with the sport of steeplechasing, let me post this for you:

The argument that it's "tradition" is specious.  Slavery, child marriage, and genital mutilation of children are all "traditions," too, but that doesn't make them good or right.  Barbarism is barbarism, regardless of cultural swing.

The most common "defense" I've seen of steeplechasing/race jumping?

"The horses love it, too--they must, ever try to make a horse do something he doesn't want to?"

Oh, stop.  Hush.  Do you REALLY believe that's meaningful?  Horses are animals, and animals can be (and often are) trained to do dangerous things ALL the time.  Through the basics of conditioning, not only can they be trained to do dangerous things, they can be trained to WANT to do them.  They don't perceive the danger the way we do, they don't understand the risks.  They don't GET that they're being abused and endangered.  Hell, you can train a dolphin to be happy about carrying a BOMB on its back.  Doesn't make it a good thing.

I'm no PETA member.  I occasionally eat meat.  I occasionally wear leather (from non-endangered creatures).  I see the difference between chicken sandwiches and cock fighting.  One is food, and the other is the willful torture of animals for the sole purpose of entertainment.  I put jump racing in the same category as pit bull fighting.  Arguing that you "love them" rings disingenuous when you're putting them in danger every time they're on the track.  Serious, immediate, potentially life-ending danger.  Love?

I don't think so.  I think you're having fun, the casualties be damned.

And yes, I feel the same way about horse racing in general.  This is like that, plus awful.


Hoping to hit a new cemetery or two this weekend while the boy is playing paintball.  We got him a marker and barrel for his birthday, but he's been sick for a couple of weeks now, hasn't had a chance to play.  We didn't get him anything fancy (we can't afford that), but he says these products are good and will do the job.  I hope so.  

Here they are, in case you're curious:

That's a link to Amazon, where we bought it.

Another link, also to Amazon, where we purchased.

I'm hoping this turns out okay.  There is, of course, the fear that it's crap, that it won't work, that it'll break, etc.  I sometimes fantasize about what it would be like to just not worry about that stuff because you have the cash to replace things that break.

I don't fantasize for long because I've never been there.  I don't have a frame of reference.

Anyway, one of the cemeteries is an old pre-Civil War to 1900 jobber.  Used to be a church cemetery until the church blew away to Oz.  Looks like it might be tick-heavy and poison ivied, but it's only 40% photographed, and I'd like to make a difference.

Hopefully my back and knees will be kind.  Hopefully there won't be any bear traps.  

Or banjo players.


Sunday, April 6, 2014

Institutional Sexism

Seems to be something of a theme lately.

I've been archiving cemeteries lately, with a lot of work in Congressional Cemetery in DC.  One of the things I've been poring over for information?  Wills.  It's not the first time I've run across this, but I've finally seen it so many times I wound up shouting about it last night.

What could piss me off in a 100-200-year-old will?

"And to my beloved wife, I leave all property (home, land) for the term of her natural life, provided she does not remarry.  At the time of her death (or in the case of her marriage), all property shall be distributed as follows . . . "

In other words, you own NOTHING, woman.  You may, because I am so kind, USE what is MINE, so long as you don't move forward with your life.

Sickening.  And yet it ties in so well with that whole "women belong to their fathers until they marry, and then they belong to their husbands" thing that has so long held us down.

It goes beyond that.  Oft-times, fathers would will to the husbands of their daughters rather than to the daughters themselves!  Think about that:  your father dies, leaving your HUSBAND your family's farm. Your husband dies when you're 23, and he wills the whole mess to his cousin or brother, with you being allowed to LIVE there, so long as you, at 23 years, never marry again.

Yeah.  Let that one sink in.  Your husband's cousin gets your father's farm because you're just a woman.

To quote Louis C.K.:

"Women didn't get the vote until 1920,  That means American democracy is 94 years old. There are three people in my building older than American democracy"

When I was born, women had only been voting for 45 years.  My grandmother was born into a culture that didn't allow women representation (though it merrily taxed them).

We're complacent.  We watch the wingnuts chip away at us, and we assume that things can never go back.  I'll bet that's exactly what the women of Iran and Afghanistan thought, too.  You do know they used to wear their jeans, their short skirts, their t-shirts to university classes, driving their own cars and working pursuing their own careers, with their own apartments, bank accounts, and autonomy, right?  You did know that?


Afghanistan, 1970s and today

Don't think they won't do this to us.  Complacency is the enemy of freedom, and our freedom is still so young that it could easily be quenched.  Roe v Wade was only 40 and a smidge years ago. And states like Texas are effectively overturning it by making access impossible.  And our silence is emboldening them.  And it's not just women--take a good look at what the right is doing to poor neighborhoods, to traditionally African-American neighborhoods--disenfranchisement via "redistricting" and doing away with early voting and absentee voting.  They've got women, the poor, and "minorities" in their sights, and they WILL silence us if we let them.


On a (closely) related note, this came across my wall today:

I used to have a friend named Aziz.  Abdulaziz, in fact. He was the (married) live-in boyfriend of a friend of mine.  His wife and kids were back in Saudi while he studied engineering (and American women) in the States.  One week, his brother and sister-in-law came for a visit.  Speaking to the sister-in-law was . . . enlightening.  She strenuously defended the horrid circumstance of women in Saudi.  Used words like "honor" and "revere" and "protect."  Told me how women have a divine duty to keep men from being beasts by covering themselves from head to toe and not ever being anywhere a man might be even slightly tempted.  That MEN should be responsible for their OWN behavior was a concept so foreign she couldn't begin to grasp it.

I was reminded of nothing so much as an old Mormon neighbor of mine who strenuously defended the LDS Church's treatment of women.  She used to tell me about women's "special" purpose, how women and men are inherently different and each made with a certain set of abilities and ways of being that rendered them perfectly suited to the tasks the church deemed proper.  Women holding the priesthood?  Oh, goodness, why on earth?  That's for MEN.  Women have Relief Society!  Female Bishops?  Pshaw!  A woman is a "helpmeet" made by das deity to support and lift up her husband, to the glory of them both.

Oh, my backside.

Nothing, NOTHING better perpetuates oppression than the permission of the oppressed.   Church leadership is made up entirely of Mormon men.  Like the Union and the Knickerbocker, minus the cigars and plus the unmistakable air of divine self-satisfaction.

And before you think I'm picking on Mormons, know that many other faiths are just as bad.  I mention Mormons in particular because my neighbor was Mormon.  Had she been Catholic, we'd be talking about the College of Cardinals right now.


Worried a lot about money these days.  Hubby is hoping for a better job, but there/s the very real danger that our credit will prevent him from advancing.  The catch there is obvious--if he could get this job, we'd have EVERYTHING (that's car and student aid included) paid off in 18 months. But we can't get it paid down without the job.  And the job probably won't come through because of the debt.  

He had me in tears last night, totally by accident.  He was out in the kitchen, I was here at the computer, and we were talking about the above-mentioned wills and husbands leaving homes for their wives' USE, but not actually leaving them the property to OWN.  Hubby said, "Maybe that's what I'll do--I'll leave the car to our boy, but with the stipulation that you may USE it for as long as you live and remain single."  I laughed and asked, "Why the CAR?"  And he said, "It's not like we're ever going to have a house or anything really worth having."

And I burst into tears.  I will, in just over 11 years, be SIXTY years old.  Sixty, and I'm not ever going to have a home.  It's been a dream my whole life.  A house, a little land, just enough for a few horses and my dogs to run.  Grow some food, not have to listen to loud neighbors banging and thumping, their dogs three feet from my window, baying.  


It really does just race by you, and there are no do-overs.  

Yeah.  That's enough sad for the day.  I need to try to look at it this way: at least we haven't attended any Red Weddings.

There is that.


Speaking of which, don't forget Game of Thrones is on tonight!  Episode One of Season Four!  

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Welcome Home, Dad!

Well, I called my Step-Mom last night, and she had just gotten home from the hospital with my Dad!  Four months, he was hospitalized.  I really didn't think he was going to make it out.  It's been a long, miserable slog for him.

He's using a walker, very unsteady on his feet.  They pared 60+ pounds off him in that four months, and, after trying to discuss diet with his wife, I'm pretty sure he'll gain that back, plus some, pretty quickly.  She made it very clear she had no intention of making any changes to his diet.  Same ol' eggs, bacon, grits and Philly Steak Sandwiches as always.

Speaking of "same as always," her plans to clean out the house and quit smoking before he came home?  It didn't happen.  By the time I spoke to her last night, he was already smoking again, and she had never stopped.

And that's how I'm going to lose my Dad.  It'll take longer, but fact is, he's sliding right back into all the old habits, and he's still terrifically weak from the ordeal.

Nothing I can do.  Nothing.  My Dad isn't one to take lectures.  He wouldn't take them from the medical professionals, he's certainly not going to take them from me.

On the bright side, HE'S HOME!  And he called today!  He never calls, it's always me who has to call.  In fact, he's only once called me since we moved here 2.5 years ago, and that was because I sent him an email asking if he'd float Tommy the cash for my planting, should a surgery go awry, with the promise that he'd be paid back out of the insurance payout.

We talked for over an hour.  On speakerphone, because his ears are so wax-impacted that he can't hear on normal phone, plus his hand and arm go tired and numb after just a few minutes of phone holding.  He sounded . . . weak.  Older.  But far less gravel-y, and he could laugh without choking.  I know, that'll pass after just a few weeks of smoking.  I am so upset about that.  I knew, when she kept putting it off again and again, that she wasn't going to quit.  And no way he stays quit if she's still smoking.


For now, though, I'm just going to try to be glad that my Dad is home from the hospital and didn't DIE back in December.  The rest is beyond my control, so I need to try to stop worrying about it.

Love you, Dad.


Another thing on my mind--trying to line our boy up with volunteer work.  We've found a trails/conservancy/wildlife group looking for volunteers, and I think that might be good.  Good for him to be out and active, good for him to be accomplishing something, and good for him to learn how to better follow directions.  I've also found a Dagorhir group I'm hoping he'll fit into.  Some of these groups come across frightfully SCA-ish, with perhaps more emphasis on adult members and strict social hierarchies than would be suitable for our teenager (that's not a dis, just an observation). This group I've found doesn't look or sound like that.  In fact, they seem quite welcoming and kind, with an emphasis on inclusiveness and good sportsmanship. Now, let's just hope they're still active. It's going to be a while before we can scrape up the cash for the gear he'll need, but I'd like to get him started with the group this summer.  We're going to need some things to get him ready--we've already built his bow, but the forums I've visited really go nutty in a mean, mean way about PVC and Fiberglass rod bows.  It's pretty brutal, which means we'll likely be coughing up more cash than we have for a real bow.  Plus, we'll have to get more arrows and then modify them like this:

We first discovered Dagorhir while living back in Utah--saw a special on TV about it, and my boy was totally hooked.  His father, too, truth be told.  The event we saw took place in Pennsylvania, and, at the time, we were angling for a job in that area.  I feel bad that it's taken this long to start really thinking about this, but most Dagorhir groups have a "16 years or older" rule (a good one, I think), so I've been waiting.  I hope it turns out to be what he hoped for.  There have been a lot of crushing disappointments here.

I also hope he can make better friends.  He's a marvelous kid, and he should have better friends. This looks like it might be a good place to find them.

Click the picture if you want to learn more about Dagorhir.

We first discovered Dagorhir while living back in Utah--saw a special on TV about it, and my boy was totally hooked.  His father, too, truth be told.  The event we saw took place in Pennsylvania, and, at the time, we were angling for a job in that area.  I feel bad that it's taken this long to start really thinking about this, but most Dagorhir groups have a "16 years or older" rule (a good one, I think), so I've been waiting.  I hope it turns out to be what he hoped for.  There have been a lot of crushing disappointments here.

I also hope he can make better friends.  He's a marvelous kid, and he should have better friends.


Going to end this on a rant about stupid, careless neighbors.  Daughter of the woman next door (you remember the woman next door?  The one shouting about "those damned dirty atheists?"  Well, daughter comes to the door a WEEK ago and asks if she can park in our second parking spot.  She's done this before, stays for a few hours, and then is gone.

She's been there a week.

Biggest problem, other than her failure to let us know this was going to be a long-term thing?  Is that we've ALREADY ENTERED INTO AN AGREEMENT WITH THE GENTLEMAN ON THE OTHER SIDE TO LET HIS GIRLFRIEND PARK THERE.  So we NEVER would have agreed to let the atheist-shouter's daughter park there long-term.  Gonna have to talk to her, and we're dreading it.

To make it worse, the atheist-hater's daughter brought her damnable MASTIFF with her, and they leave the dog outside ALL day and half the night.  And he barks.  LOUDLY.  I can't even go in my yard to work on the garden beds without that mutt getting right up against the fence and SHOUTING at me the entire time.  Worse, our DOG can't go outside to do his business because the moment he steps outside, the gigantic creature next door starts barking and growling, which sets our poor dog to barking and growling, and then it's all over.  It's enraging.

Enraging, and it's going to come to a head.  It's going to have to.  We put up with this (the dog) over the holidays, too, but then it ended.  I'm scared to death the daughter has moved back in.  If she has, this gets sad and ugly pretty fast.



Oh, one more thing.  I've lost a Find a Grave pal, went by the name of Sally - Midcoast Maine.  She was really helpful, nice,  and wonderful at what she does, and suddenly POOF, she's gone.  Just since this morning.  It's a very sad thing for me, and I'm not sure what happened.  Sally, if you see this, please come back!  If you can't, please let me know what happened!

Saturday, March 29, 2014

Edwin Kagin

So, Edwin Kagin died day before yesterday.  I just found out last night.  If you're like most folks, you're probably asking "Who?"

Well, that's what I'm here to tell you.

Edwin Kagin was the South Carolina-born son of a Kentucky Presbyterian minister.  He was a man who earned his Juris Doctorate and spent his life fighting for the rights of others.

He was a man who did the near-impossible in shaking off deeply religious roots and becoming an atheist.  An outspoken, brave, sometimes brash atheist who devoted himself to the idea of creating a safe society for atheists.  A place where we can be open without fear of reprisal. Where our public schools and public offices are not machines of religious indoctrination.

Now, I didn't  know Edwin in a "face-to-face" sort of way.  No, we never met.  But he and his wonderful late wife, Helen (a physician and force to be reckoned with in her own right) founded Camp Quest.  Camp Quest, which opened up the world for my atheist son.

This is turning into a tribute, and I didn't actually intend for that to happen.  No, I'm writing because I'm angry.  I'm angry at the Wills and the Monicas of the world.  The small, mean people of this planet who would invade a Facebook atheist group just for the purpose of crowing victoriously or spouting dippy biblical passages on a page frequented by Edwin's children and friends.

Oh, yes.  This isn't something new to me--my first foray into atheist online forums was in 1995, AOL.  We had an atheist "support" forum, and the Christians (we called them "thumpers," short for "bible thumpers") would invade constantly, some stupidly preaching, but most attacking.  Because, of course, you can't have ANY pocket ANYWHERE of ANYONE who doesn't share your mythology.  Oh, no!  You've got to ROOT OUT those dirty atheists wherever you find them.  Even on private forums where you have to LIE about who you are to join.

Because, as we all know, LYING is one of those touted virtues.  Right?

Anyway, so here are some samples of that vaunted Christian love we're always hearing so much about:

The above is classic.  Typical example of someone who can't tell the difference between a pointy stick and a bible.  And why can't she tell?  Because she uses them both in the same way.

This guy posted twice, because crashing an atheist Facebook group and joyfully crowing that someone is burning in hell is SO much fun that it needs to be done repeatedly.  Says so in the scriptures, I'm betting.

Will #2--in case we missed it the first time

Another oldie but goodie--a variation on the "bet he's sorry now" theme.  Not particularly inspired, but also didn't likely burn up too many of those endangered brain cells, either.

These two came as a set.  The first blatantly mean, the second more sneakily so.  See, there's a smugness to number two that, as a non-believer, you come to recognize .  It's a passive-aggressive "whaaat?  I was just being nice!" thing.  I get it from family pretty frequently.

Oh, and speaking of passive aggressive, here's another one of those cowardly fakes:

No, Tom.  That's not what you're doing.

Now, you might be wondering why I've blocked out the  names.  Believe me, I don't want to.  I figure that, if you're okay with spraying your idiotic bile on a Facebook page, you MEANT for the world to see it, and if you said it, you must be PROUD of it.  But fact is there are petty, stupid people who do things like this, and then SUE when someone reposts their nastiness in a way that clearly identifies them.  So I obscured the names.  Not to protect the innocent, but to protect MYSELF, because these buckets o' barf are anything but innocent.

As a special ironic treat, I'd like to share a meme from Mr. Will's Facebook profile page.  

Indeed, Will.  Exactly that.

Friday, March 28, 2014

One More Time for the Kids in the Back of the Class

This is exhausting.  And it's always the same people over and over.  So let's do it again, shall we?

Samsung is NOT giving away BRAND-SPANKIN'-NEW Galaxy S4s.  Not today, not yesterday, not next month.  Not on Facebook, not anywhere.  Not because they were "unsealed," not because of any other thing.

Samsung is not a charity.  They do not give away Galaxy S4s.  Even if the items WERE unsealed, they'd still sell them.


It's a "like-farming" scam, and these people make money off your sharing their spam.

This picture was taken from the like-farming scam that skidded across my Facebook feed this morning.
And while we're on the subject, BMW isn't giving away free cars on Facebook, either.

Contrary to the Facebook Scam's claim, this is not a "BMW Marketing Manager" looking to hand you a spiffy new BMW.  The image was actually taken from BMW India's site and used as part of the scam.
Nor is Ford giving away free Mustangs.   Or Chevy free Camaros.  Or Primark Vouchers for surveys.  Or anything free for Facebook surveys.  Or for Facebook shares.  Or for Facebook likes. Sure, Lucy's Heavenly Bites might be giving away coupons for a half-dozen amazing cupcakes (and they ARE amazing) for a page like, but BMW isn't handing over shiny new cars.  Don't be stupid.  If it's big and fancy and expensive, it's not likely to be handed to you on Facebook.

The number of people who respond to being told these are scams with "well, no harm in trying" is horrifying.  No harm in trying?

You clog up walls, you eat up bandwidth, you waste time and make a fool of yourself in order to make scammers rich and "no harm?"

I get wishful thinking.  I do; you think I haven't bought a lottery ticket now and then?  But my occasional forays into the realm of fantasy don't hassle other people or make criminals rich.  And we know that, every once in a great while, someone DOES win the lotto.

Nobody ever wins a free Galaxy S4 on Facebook through scam like-farming and bogus surveys.

Here endeth the lesson.

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