Proud to be Weird

Borttagna

Fellow weirdos, sickos, perverts, miscreants, social outcasts, degenerates, freaks, deviants, kooks, queers, dirtbags, and ass-lickers...

Lend me your ears. I propose that we band together and start a deranged social movement of our own - beginning here and now, at this very moment. Please join me in establishing a new world order - a warped confederacy of the disaffected, the disenfranchised, and the fucked-up. A flagrant, unapologetic public declaration one million sc@talogically-fixated wackos strong.

It’s high time that the lunatics take over the asylum, anyway, so therefore, you might as well join my filthy peepee-party.

To show your support and openly avow your proclivities for the freakish and the absurd, please:
(Seriously, please, click the fave ♥ below. I'm talking to you, unclean misfits.) It's the only way we'll sweep the globe with our inveterately depraved movement. If you're so inclined, I also invite you to drop your name in the comments section below. Own it. Tell the world you're in. And wear it like some kind of twisted badge of honor.

Just so you know, this is not some shithead sales pitch or Nigerian prince scam. It’s nothing more than a half-assed, carelessly (but brilliantly) taped-together Rube Goldberg network for helping us all find each other. It's like a Puke-Stained Mickey Mouse Club for the Congenitally-Maladjusted, albeit epic as fuck.

I hope to see you here soon. In the meantime, I’ll be busy shoving Krispy Kreme donuts deep up my rectum until my fists smell like a funnel cake stand at the Bronx Zoo.

Endless love,

Truth-Talker
Supreme Queen of the Sickos


“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars…”

— Jack Kerouac, On The Road, 1957