F*ck Fitting In, A Manifesto for the Glorious Misfits
<p>Oh, you’ve felt it too, haven’t you? That nagging suspicion that you’ve been playing a part in a play that doesn’t quite suit you. The script is all wrong, the other actors are desperately out of tune, and frankly, the director seems to have taken a long, permanent vacation.</p>
<p>Once upon a time, I was the quintessential nice guy, a bloke who’d shape-shift, adapting to the whims and fancies of the gallery of acquaintances that floated in and out of my life. “Nice weather, isn’t it?” I’d chirp, knowing damn well that I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about meteorological events.</p>
<p>But here’s the fucking deal. At some point, I decided to quit this draining charade. Call it enlightenment, call it the middle-finger epiphany, call it whatever tickles your fancy. I took a sledgehammer and smashed the damn mold they tried to shove me into.</p>
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