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I am Tom Hardie, and you are not. I am an adult, sort of. I’m a citizen of the United States. Yeah, I’m “an American.” Sorry. Sincerely, I am.

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I’m down with what the kids are doing these days. And by kids, I mean your kids — my readers. Do you know of them? I am not; I’m not a cult leader. And that’s a good fucking thing. Because I could be. I so could be.

It’s a vision of mine, really. Now I’m not planning to enslave the minds of everyone to set them free, so don’t get nervous. I would never allow myself to really do that. Hahaha

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That sounds deep, I know, but I’m not stoned enough yet. I want to really explain this. I’ll take another hit and think about it.

[Hit. Ok, four. Wait. Five]

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Now where was I? Ok. So, there is no kool-aide to drink, or anything crazy like that. It’s just hard hanging. You just sit around with your friends; you smoke a lot of marijuana, and you let all of your demons hang out. You dangle your sins and your failures in front of each other, and together you fucking work it out.

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Imagine that! We talk to each other, for real. Honest to your fucking sky god people, all we do is lie to each other anymore. We’ve become a planet of frightened liars.

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I’ve had it. I’m done. I’m not telling lies anymore. I’m telling all of my stories. My life is my art. So read along, or don’t. I don’t give a fuck. Or join in, get stoned, pull up a chair, talk it all out; let it all hang out. Yeah, that would be fucking awesome!

You write it all in a comment. I’ll post it. I’ll respond. I’ll give you all of me. I’ll stand naked in words on this page. I’m yours for the taking. I am a single honest man. I am trying to live a life of good karma.

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On second thought, it would be kinda cool if you read along. I’d appreciate it. I really do crave attention. I’m really a wounded boy. I can’t be help accountable. You are really much more of an adult that I am. I really need to be taken care of. I need to be supported.

So if you choose to give me free goods and services, or money, to make it easier—or weed, I like weed—if you do that of your own free will, I have to respect your choices. I mean you are the moral adults. I am obviously sick and broken. You should take care of me. Do you know what I mean?

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Fuck off. Stop it. I’m just joking. I’m really fucking stoned. I’m doing this for me. I don’t care if anything comes of it. It just feels good to be honest—with myself, mostly.

Yours Truly Forever and Always,

Tom Hardie
Norther New Jersey
October 24, 2009, 7:30 PM

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P.S. I know what you’re thinking. Tom Hardie? Is he serious with that fucking name? Ha ha ha.

Ok, I get it. You think it isn’t really my name. You think it’s really spelled with a –y and not the –ie. I changed it to avoid being compared to Thomas Hardy, right? That’s what you figured out, huh? Well, how fucking clever. You found a little parallel. Your favorite English professor would be so proud.

Jerk off. You think I’ve never heard that question before? You think you unearthed it with your keen analytical mind? How about Tom Hardie Har Har Har. Why are you laughing, Tom? Yeah, I’ve never heard that one before, either.

Don’t be an asshole. Be better than that. Let me hide from my “corporatooniversity” masters in peace.

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