Who Decided What’s Weird And What’s Normal And Who Cares What They Think Anyway?

I’m not weird. You are. Normalcy is the most stupid word in our society’s vernacular. It’s some sort of illusion or mirage that people strive to achieve, because they’re told they’re supposed to. What is it really? No, tell me, you dick. What is it? Is it a wife or husband? Is it a steady job that one’s parents approve of? Is it eating right, because that’s what your asshole friends on Facebook are pitching? There IS no normal. Trying to attain normalcy is like trying to live as an earthworm, or me cleaning my room.

I hate that the way our world functions is solely because someone decided that’s how it is, and people buy in. This isn’t some manifesto or a call for some sort of revolution with armies where dudes wear berets. This is purely coming from a personal place. I’m considered “weird” because my brain works differently than other’s. So does yours, you fucking idiot. Everyone is different. That’s a beautiful thing, but we don’t allow it to be, because we want to be safe. That’s all. We all have the same basic needs. Sure, some people like mime sex, and I once told a Mormon that I don’t read fiction, but that’s not important.

Stop being a shell of yourself. Be yourself completely and authentically, and watch the happiness pour in, because the burden of trying to be someone you’re not is heavier than Honey Boo-Boo’s mom wearing a fat suit made out of metal. I’ve just said “fuck it” lately. I’m me. Take it or leave it. I’m happier than ever. You should try it. Say what you’re thinking. Tell that person how you feel. Tell your friends that you’re gay, and that you’re moving to the Yukon Territory with your Inuit boyfriend. WHATEVER it may be; we’re too special to waste away being unauthentic. And, no, I’m not coming out of the closet, assholes. This is about soul freedom.

What’s the guy that makes jokes about Nigerian Screech Hawks know about anything? Nothing, probably. This probably won’t even make sense when I read it back; partially, because I’m speaking authentically from the heart, and partially because I took enough peyote to kill a lemur colony in less than ten seconds. Look, just try it for a day. Be exactly who’s in that beautiful head of yours, and tell me you don’t become happier for it. Bat dicks. Bye.