When you take a look at these guys, you can't help but notice they're consumed by pride. Take a look at Saint Narcissus, for instance. If egomania were visible, we'd have to wear welding goggles to look at him. As near as I can recall, he hit the ground a-boasting and he ain't never stopped. The only time he ever uses a pronoun other than the first person singular in a sentence, you know it'll somehow lead back to the only person who really matters: HIMSELF!! "My Book!" "MY career!" "MY Stuff" "MY good-looking, pliant wife!" "MY trophy children!" "MY ficking everything!" His mother and sister are just as bad. I tell a lie; they're worse! Not only do they run around with a smug, idiot smirk, they also have another, more disturbing manifestation of Pride in their arsenal: Victimism! That's right; these two injustice collectors are BRAGGING about how bad they got it in the face of people suffering REAL hardship (which, of course, they are expected to clam up about so their genuine anguish drown out all those crocodile tears). It goes hand and hand with Gluttony to become the conspicious consumption that we see, know and loathe. It's their way of giving the world the middle finger and boasting about what they can waste.