On the nature of Freedom…

In honor of President’s Day and in celebration of the great leaders our noble nation recognizes, I would like to share with you my feelings on exactly what freedom means.

Freedom is like my penis.

freedom is like what?

These are two separate and distinct concepts, I realize, but I feel that by analyzing them together, freedom and my penis will be able to shed a mutual light of understanding on one other. They do share commonalities, after all. For example, although there are people all across the world who have been deprived of both freedom and my penis, both objects are still common building blocks for an operative society. But I get ahead of myself here. Before we apply these models globally, I feel we should address our own locales first. Fortunately for me, that happens to be the land of the free: America, the ideological capitol of freedom. It is also where my penis is currently housed and so, for now, America is the capitol of my penis as well.

America is frequently referred to as a democracy, though most pretentious Poli-Sci majors will remind you that it is actually technically a Republic. Then they will remind you that somebody is a fascist, most likely The Man, and they will struggle to produce one single, noble tear for all of the suffering in the world in the hopes that you will be impressed enough by this show that, should you have a vagina, you would immediately apply it to them with the utmost verve and vigor. I’m entirely not sure what the hell they’re talking about when they say this, however, as I am essentially just a parrot with thumbs and, that being the case, I just recycle bullshit like I’m the Bullshit Greenpeace. If I had to guess, I’d venture they mean that though we espouse the lofty ideals of democracy, we are in practice a Republic.

This is mirrored in perfect symmetry by my dick. It leans a little to the left (the side most commonly associated with democracy,) but it is constantly being yanked in every direction by the conflicting wants of the people, and the conflicting hands of all the ladies. But much like our fine country, it is always and forever pointing upwards. In spite of the clawing, desperate grip of the countless women who just lose their shit when they find out I’m awesome enough to keep a blog, it remains ever hopefully gazing to the heavens. It is perhaps envisioning a perfect world, where one day we can all live free, free to indulge in our unrestricted access to my penis.

the freedomladies

Though it may be a necessity of human prosperity, freedom is unfortunately not simply given. It is in our vile nature to oppress and destroy. We wish to own others, to keep them in our iron grasp so that our will can be absolute. It is fear that is responsible for this. We fear that if we share what is ours, it might be taken away from us. But this is fallacious. You see, freedom is not a commodity, though it is often talked about as if it is. There are any number of idioms that treat liberty like something you purchase: “Freedom isn’t free,” you can “buy your freedom,” or you may be asked “freedom at what cost?”

This again is mirrored in my package. You could say that I have but one penis, and not all may share in it equally. You could say my wang should be reserved for those strong enough to take it. You could say that the resources in my pants are finite, and must be secured against all attackers.

It’s easy to fall into this trap. It’s dangerously tempting to take this path to Cock Facism. The problem here is in the very basis of this mode of thinking. It is not my cock so much as it is what my cock represents. There are many freedoms we as Americans do not often use, but what happens when you take them away? There is strife, conflict, violence. The same is true of my penis – you may not have partaken of it yet, but what would you do if you could not? You too would fight.

cockpatriot

Why would this be the case? Why would stealing something we do not often use upset us so? It is because it’s not just freedom from rule and oppression that makes us free, but what is achieved by knowing that we are free. And what is achieved is something wondrous to behold and impossible to replace. The end result of bestowing both freedom and my cock to all people equally is something simple; it is something pure; it is something so easy and basic that sometimes we forget it could even exist. It is happiness.

Just happiness.

There are people out there who would argue against this. They would tell you that to ensure and protect your freedom, you must bend others to your whim. They wish to manipulate our desire for freedom and our basic, intrinsic need for my dick. If you move freedom an inch, you can move it a mile. If you bend the rules of liberty, they will break. These people forget that much like freedom, it is impossible to truly ‘bend,’ my penis: That shit hurts. They say our fight to be free is a literal one: It is a war. They say we must kill, burn, and destroy to protect it. They say we must bare our fangs and seize upon the throats of our enemies.

some sort of freedom bird

I say “for seriously, YOU DON’T EVER BITE! YOU HEAR ME!?”

I say this because violence is not the answer. It is a simple minded alternative, based again in the self same fear that breeds tyranny and fascism. Violence is the antithesis of freedom. The fight is not against others, you see, but against yourself. It is a war of morale, a war that is entirely spiritual. To argue that there is but one of my cock and we must make war for it, is to discount my dick in your mind. Some of you, as sad as it is and despite my best efforts to the contrary, may never physically touch my penis. This does not mean you are deprived of it, however, because it is now and has always been a part of you.

You see, in my mind, I’m fucking all of you right now.

To be free is not a physical thing given to you. It is not land or money or ownership. It is a basic admittance to yourself that you are worth something, that you are worth liberty. There is a reason we are free that has nothing to do with God, or country. It has nothing to do with power, or strength, or Bruce Springsteen. The reason we are free is to be good to one another: To be just and loving. And the first step towards being good to another is to be good to yourself. My penis is an easy way to accomplish this, and to serve as an example to all others out there, I make it a point to be good to myself three or four times a day.

To be happy is to be free. To be free is to be happy. My penis may help to make people happy the world over, but ultimately, it is up to you to feel it. It is your choice and yours only, (though I may buy you a drink as incentive,) to embrace my penis, to embrace freedom, to be happy, to be good.

So appreciate your freedom and your inalienable rights today, because not everybody is so lucky: Did you know there are some people in war-torn dictatorships who have never even seen my penis? They have no concept of liberty. So celebrate, go ahead, but always remember those poor, those meek, those huddled masses yearning for my penis.

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8 Responses to On the nature of Freedom…

  1. Pooky B says:

    Good Sir,
    your eloquence is truly staggering. to put forth such a bold and brave statement solidifies you as one of our countrys top patriots. may your penis shine with the bravado of all our nations freedom…..

  2. dgrub. says:

    its like seven inches of an american flag rolled up and soaked in an apple pie ooze and eagle tears at a little leeg baseaball game. while watching a “best of classic bassmasters classics” episode.

  3. Jerk Face says:

    Wow.

    Just, wow.

  4. Ian says:

    Brings new meaning to the phrase “Don’t Tread On Me”.

  5. Faulty Ninja says:

    My penis is more like Communism…

  6. Paul says:

    My penis is like bread in Soviet Russia. Theoretically, everyone is supposed to get an equal share of it, but it turns out there are really long lines…

  7. Hammer says:

    seriously :say “for seriously, YOU DON’T EVER BITE! YOU HEAR ME!?”” made me lose my shit at work. glad cracked linked me to this

  8. Robert says:

    Please, Hammer…

    DON’T HURT ‘EM.

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