Let’s try this again.
Let’s start over. I started this blog a long time ago, and if I’m being honest, which I am, I’ve been scared to make it what it is supposed to be. But not anymore. So, without further ado —
Hi.
I’m Dick. I’m a dick. I’m an asshole. And I’m very tired of pretending that I’m not. Most likely, you’re a dick, too. Most people are. The world is full of assholes. Can we agree, for the sake of non-argument, that when describing one’s personality, an asshole and a dick are pretty much the same fucking thing? Good. ‘Cause I’m going to use them interchangeably whether you fucking like it or not. You got a problem with that? That’s what the comment section is for.
There won’t be any comments. Nobody knows this blog is here. Nobody cares this blog is here. That’s fine. Happy Harry Hardon started talking into the void to nobody. And that’s who I’ll talk to now. My fucking self. Why? Because I fucking need to say this shit. And because I fucking need to hear this shit.
If anyone does find this blog and decides to follow it, at some point, I’m going to piss them off. Because I’m not holding back here. Some people might stumble upon this and agree with a whole lot of shit that I say, and then one day … BOOM! I’m going to rip into something that is special to them, and they’re going to get offended.
Because that’s what people fucking do. They get offended. So — we all walk around on tenterhooks to avoid smashing the eggshells that are the fragile egos of our planet’s fellow inhabitants.
Well, listen. My ego isn’t fragile. It’s made of fucking silicone. Stomp the fuck out of it with army boots if you need to, it’s going to spring right back. I’m not sure this is a good thing, to be perfectly honest, I’d like to shed my ego entirely and truly recognize that I am merely a single vessel in the eternal consciousness of the Universe, and while I understand the concept and strive for it — well, shedding one’s ego is easier said than done.
But most people are assholes, and they just hide it in public. People act way different in public than they do around a small group of people they feel comfortable with, and I think that’s bullshit. I’ve been playing along, and I’m fucking sick to death of it. I’m done. I’m not doing it anymore.
I don’t want to take away anyone’s right to insult me. I don’t want to take away someone’s right to call me a faggot, a queer, a cocksucker, a filthy queen (which would be weird, cause I’m totally straight-acting, I’m a man who likes fixing cars,and doing home repairs, and working out, and having sex with men — and musicals — but I digress).’
I don’t want to take away anyone’s right to tell me why I’m a sick bastard who is going to hell. And I don’t want my right taken away to tell that person why I think they are a fucking idiotic, moronic, bigot who bases their opinion on an imaginary all-powerful sky fairie who stars in the most ridiculous book I’ve ever had the displeasure of reading.
Your right to swing your fist ends an inch from my nose. Your right to refuse me service in a business open to the public doesn’t exist. You don’t have that right. But your right to speak your mind ends fucking nowhere. If you make wedding cakes for a living, you HAVE to make me my cake if I ask you to. But you have every right to tell me why you’d rather not, what you think of my lifestyle, and make me question whether or not I’ll be eating your spit. But at the end of the day, if you make wedding cakes for the public, and I say I want you to make my gay wedding cake, you have to make it. And, to be clear, spitting in it is against the law. But if you feel that way, I don’t want you to make my fucking cake. I, personally, would rather take my business elsewhere. I don’t want you to have my money, which is why I choose not to eat at Chick-Fil-A.
I like freedom. I don’t want it to be against the law to hurt someone’s fucking feelings.