
The Anatomy of a Bully: Greed, Ghosts & Imaginary Friends…
You ever meet someone so disconnected from life, you half expect to see a Vacancy sign blinking behind their eyes? That’s our Bully. He struts around like a man of substance, but if you peeled back that smug exterior, you’d find little more than fear, old debts, and a desperate craving to be somebody.
Word on the grapevine, and yes, the spirits absolutely gossip – is that Bully’s latest grand mission is to get me off this land. Because apparently, a stubborn, mouthy woman with a will of her own and a few spirits on speed-dial is too much for his fragile little ego.
It’s a tale as old as time:
Man fears what he can’t control.
Man schemes to remove it.
Man realizes too late that you can’t evict the unbothered.
But what really makes a Bully tick? It’s not just greed. Oh no, greed’s only the fuel. The engine is fear. Fear of insignificance. Fear that one day, when the curtains close and the crows come home to roost, no one will remember his name except in whispered curses and bad family stories.
He doesn’t have real friends, of course. Just a rotating cast of opportunists, ass-kissers, and small-town hustlers with names like Two-Faced Jimmy, Sneaky Mick, and Deirdre Who’d Sell Her Granny for a Tenner. You know the type. I imagine them holding strategy meetings in the dead of night, clutching knock-off brandy, plotting new ways to avoid taxes and decency.
Funny thing about men like that, the harder they cling to what they own, the less they have. No roots. No history worth telling. No loyalty. Just a string of bad decisions and imaginary mates to high-five him when he sells out his own blood.
And when someone like me stays put?
When I refuse to bow, or sell, or play nice?
It’s like holding a mirror up to a coward. And trust me, they hate that.
Message from Beyond: Darcifer’s Dispatch:
“Ah, Bully… still wheeling and dealing like a pound shop Scarface. Tell him from me – a man can’t bribe St. Peter. And he’ll be lucky to find his so-called ‘friends’ in the afterlife. The only spirits he’ll have around him are the ones he betrayed. And me? I’ll be waiting with a freshly dug spiritual ditch for him to fall in. Woof.”
Sir Percival’s Philosophical Note:
“Human greed’s a bit like a dog chasing its own tail. It looks ridiculous, achieves nothing, and leaves everyone else wondering what the hell he’s doing. Pity the fool, then move out of his way when karma comes to collect.”
Prophetic Moment:
I swear to you, the other night I looked in the mirror and for a split second, saw his entourage standing behind him – faceless shadows, muttering and shifting, waiting for him to fall. It made me smile. Even his imaginary friends are plotting his downfall.
Lesson of the Day:
“Greed’s a heavy chain. And the ones who wear it sink fastest when the tide turns.”
So let him plot. Let him gather his little band of ghosts and grifters.
I’ll be right here, standing on ground my ancestors blessed, with a fat old tomcat, a sharp-toothed lab in the afterlife, and a few thousand years of spirits on my side.
The land remembers.
And so do we.


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