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I took the Jung Typology Test, courtesy of a friend's blog, and scored ISTJ, which stands for Introversion, Sensing, Thinking, Judging. According to this, I am an Introveted Guardian.
I am, among other things, quiet, reserved, serious, loyal, determined, not fond of change, desirous of things being clean and neat and orderly, and secure enough with my experiences to resist trying different approaches. Suffice to say, I'm not very surprised at all by this result.
After all, why should I be? It's a typical dragon personality.
The debate over whether the world's fattest man should be helped further is a matter of common sense.
(Previously published by Blogcritics)
Some people say that Paul Mason needs help. I say he's already gotten enough. One million pounds' ($1,666,666) worth of help, to be exact.
Who is Paul Mason, you ask? The world's heaviest man, at a mere twenty pounds shy of 1,000. Yep, you heard right: If this guy gains just twenty more pounds—and gaining weight is obviously his life's sole goal and achievement—he'll be one thousand pounds in weight.
The 48-year-old Mason knows he's in bad shape. He saw his father die of obesity. Yet, he continues to consume 20,000 calories a day. He has received help before, but gained all the weight back soon afterwards. The taxpayer-funded cost for the NHS to treat him over the years totals £1 million. Living on benefits such as he obviously does, he costs the taxpayer a further £100,000 a year.
His mother had to remortgage the house just to pay his food bills and his sister bemoans, "I still love Paul, but what he does just breaks my heart."
Now Mr. Mason needs emergency surgery or he could die. Well, I hate to be this callous, but the phrase "too bad, so sad, never mind" seems appropriate in this case.
Mason is cursed with a serious illness. It's obvious that he's got an incredibly stubborn eating disorder, but he doesn't even have a redeeming personality or conscience to make up for it. He served time in prison for stealing cash from letters during his former job as a mailman. He slimmed down to 280 pounds during his stint in jail, but only because he had no choice but to eat a limited amount. As a free man, Mason cannot keep himself away from fast food, candies, chips and other junk.
His sister alleges that Mason didn't want help from even his nearest-and-dearest. "I let him get away with it. He has suffered from depression and I know I should have been a lot more supportive as a sister," said Mrs. Mason. "But there is only a certain amount you can give someone if they don't help themselves. He didn't want our help."
And there you have it. You cannot help people who won't help themselves. Therefore, Paul Mason must accept his fate. He has no right to demand a £20,000 stomach operation on the NHS when he has already cost the public health care system £1 million. He's had his chances and he's blown them.
Sorry, Paul, but your six-foot girth will land you six-foot under and you have no-one to blame for that but yourself.
Is there something about being fat that blinds people to reality? And how can they be content to live off society? A non-working Scottish couple, who weigh a combined 666 pounds, had all seven of their children taken into custody over concerns about their weights. It's one thing to breed like rabbits when you're on welfare, but for all seven of your offspring to be on the hefty side really takes the cake, if you'll forgive the pun.
The 40-year-old proud mom offered up her heartfelt defense. "All I hear from the two lassies is 'can we come home?' and I tell them 'soon, darlings'. It hurts. I will take my kids to the obesity clinic and help them get the help that they need. I want the best for my kids. That's the kind of mother I am."
Errr, forgive me for asking, but if that's the kind of mother you are, why were your kids taken into care? The local authority in Dundee disagrees, justifying the move with their own riposte. "[T]he welfare and safety of a child or children is the over-riding priority and in some cases, despite the strenuous efforts of the agencies providing this support, the best option is for them to be looked after away from their home." I agree with the council. We don't need seven future overweight shirkers.
This sort of thing is what scares me most about Obama-care. No strangers to those with planet-sized rear ends themselves, Americans will be footing a bill as large as the fat of the land itself to take care of them. Unless, of course, we adopt L.A. Times columnist Melissa Healy's idea to make fatties pay for a public health care system. It's not a bad idea. Sure, it reeks of the ol' liberal stalwart of throwing money at the problem, but it will raise funds and it will make others think twice about what they eat; they just might realize that there was indeed life before trans-fats. The only problem is, of course, the goverment-funded doctor-crats will take this ball and run with it. You daren't step into a health care professional's office without a BMI chart being waved in your face. I can see the two sides of that issue.
But one thing is for certain: Until people rediscover common sense and start taking back responsibility for themselves and their own lives, we will continue to deal with the Paul Masons of the world and the subsequent creaking and groaning of the public services infrastructure that they cause.
Can anyone figure out Boris Johnson for me? As recently as two weeks ago, the Mayor of London jumped to the City's defense, calling bankers a "vital part" of the UK's economic recovery. No argument there. We are financially healthy when the bankers and stockbrokers do a robust job.
"[N]ever forget, all you would-be banker bashers, that the leper colony in the City of London produces 9% of UK GDP, 13% of value added and taxes that pay for roads and schools and hospitals across this country," Johnson told the audience at the Conservative Party conference on October 5.
Around this time last year, during the thick of the recession, Boris asked Londoners to stop their "neo-socialist whingeing about City bankers." Sounding the same line as with the Tory conference, Johnson beseeched, "Before you attack the bankers of London, remember that this is one of the few global industries in which we truly excel; the City contributes about nine per cent of Britain's GDP."
So what to make of his recent column, "The Barefaced Greed of Bankers and Their Bonuses Beggars Belief," one must wonder?
This is one scurrilous attack on City culture from the man who took such pains and risked such unpopularity to defend it. Referring to bankers as "a type of cockroach," Johnson opines that, "their interests, and the interests of the community, have been intertwined by the fact of state intervention, and they need to show they understand that."
This is very true as well. Bankers showed off, gambled with leverage they didn't have, and played Russian roulette with the money, not caring if they lost the gamble as the taxpayer would bail them out. And yet they have shown that they've learned nothing and are happy to accept their lavish bonus packages for failing.
In my opinion, bankers need to show humility and forego the huge bonuses for at least a year and demonstrate that they're rediscovering the A-game necessary to help bring us out of recession. Instead, they are treating themselves with our money—and even the banks that didn't fail and remain in private hands are still playing fast and loose with the profits.
I praise Johnson's latest column, but hope that he's truly seen the light as opposed to simply jumping on the bandwagon.
