“Around half way through Europe my bubble burst. I started hearing reports from Italy that the Vatican was trying to ban my show.”
So I’m in Rome, and Mike Anthony, or as I call him, D Boy, and will for the remainder of this story, decided to do a photo shoot at the Church of San Giovanni in Piazza San Giovanni. I rocked up to the apartment he’s crashing at a few hours earlier without having dinner, but arriving with my camera, and a bottle of rum and whiskey. We can all see where this is gonna end…
So we start in a mirrored bedroom with D in heels, black undies, cap and smoking cigarettes, and we consume what must have been a shit load of booze. I don’t know if it was because I haven’t eaten or I am 10 kilos lighter but unbeknownst to me I get drunk.
D Boy pulls out a USA back pack that he bought in a Chinese shop in Spain and wants to do a location shoot with it.
I follow him to the fore mentioned location and he gets his gear off, wearing only my #dontyouknowmyshoesarefamous yellow Adidas kicks, red GoGo shorts, black cap and this cheap ass back pack.
This wasn’t a XXX shoot, but it would seem a sexy white boy wearing short shorts and an American backpack is too much for the locals of Italy. The stupid thing was we had actually wrapped up the shoot when I remembered I had Mousey in my pocket and I said to D Boy, “Quick, lets get a few with Mousey!”…
It was then that two cop cars pulled up, like in the scene in Baz Luhrmann’s, Romeo and Juliette, at the steps of the chapel after Romeo had popped a cap in Tybalt.
D Boy puts his clothes on so quickly, one second there was a white snowball next to me, the next a fully clothed boy. The police officers approach us speaking English and Italian, asking what we are doing. D Boy starts talking to them in Italian and all of a sudden none of them speak English anymore. There’s a bitch cop and 3 blokes and I approach the bitch, with attitude, and the guy next to her and try to communicate. They speak Italian back to me and I point out that they were both speaking English a few seconds ago, to which the wanker dude replies, “You are in Italy. You speak Italian”.
D’s doing most of the peace treaty talk. They all seem focused on him, I think of a quick getaway but realise I don’t know where Mousey is? The little shit probably ran off at the first sign of trouble. Eventually they ask to see the photos and I show them. Then they ask me to delete them. Horrified I say, “Why?” They look at me weird so I may have mumbled something incoherent, as I was drunk. (Unbeknownst!) Regardless, I will not compromise my art and defend it till my dying breath! There’s a lot more talk which I don’t understand. I’m trying to reason with them but I think I’m just pissing them off more than anything.
All of a sudden one of the guys opens the police car doors and tells us to get in. At which point D Boy points out that if they had anything on us they would have arrested us already. This fuels my rebellion. I really don’t want to delete my pictures and decide to fight for my rights as an artist and proclaim, rather dramatically, “Arrest me then!” And jump in the car. (In hindsight this was the whisky doing the thinking not me.) The guy then tells me to get the fuck out, like I ruined a surprise birthday party, or something.
Another bloke takes D Boy aside and in between asking him advice on steroids, tells him they don’t give a fuck about the photos but they were called here due to complaints and need to resolve the issue. He then goes on to explain the crazy Aussie can delete the pictures or we can all go back to the station and nothing will actually happen to us but it will take up the rest of the night.
D Boy translates and I don’t understand why they just don’t smack our asses and tell us to piss off. I eye the female officer cause she a cunt and she’s probably the one enforcing this rapping of my art.
I eventually give in, or maybe its instantaneous, as time is warped when you’re pissed. I painfully go through the entire shoot with cunt face and the guy that spoke to D and delete all the pictures they think are disrespectful to the large building I’m standing in front off. I try to sneak over a few while hoping no cock shots pop up outta the blue.
Finally happy they have upheld the law we are allowed to go.
We walk home. I vomit in the toilet and pass out.
Oh, Mousey was in D Boy’s pocket the whole time laughing his little face off.
It is impossible for me to hate any of you for having a negative opinion about me as I am an advocate for owning your “TRUTH” and the freedom of choice. To choose who we are, who we love, what we want to do with our lives and in the case of this thread who we don’t like. People like me who put ourselves out there like I do, open ourselves to criticism. You can’t gain the love without the hate.
But one thing I won’t allow is people blatantly hiding behind their anonymous web names and stating incorrect facts about me. So lets cover a few of these.
1. First, which I find extremely funny since I’m Anglo Indian to the point of black in certain, times of the year, or places of the world, is that I’m a racist. Again, if any of you twats actually knew anything about me and COME ON! It’s not like I make it difficult for you guys to see what I’m all about – the self-proclaimed media whore that I am! You would know my best friend is Asian and I have several African-American close friends and um… my families Indian!
Some one with a low grasp of narrative English states this paragraph as evidence that I am a racist;
"… and I get seated with all the other ethic people who I guess Americans think look dodgy. No white folk here guys."
This was a factual observation about who the USA customs were bringing into the room. In case you can’t read properly, let me emphasis “I guess Americans think look dodgy.” I’m Aussie.
2. Second, I’m still HIV negative.
3. Thirdly, I do not glorify the use of steroids, I admit to using them. Turning a blind eye to its use in the bodybuilding world and saying it’s wrong to young kids and leaving them with no room for communication or to educate themselves about it, is not helping anyone. Misguided, they will sneak behind your back and use it and, that, my ignorant people is how accidents happen. Prevention is no longer the solution. EDUCATION is.
Someone even quoted me saying;
“Gear is like a tattoo. Once you get one and get a “good” one that looks amazing you want more - so once you do a course and you get amazing results it becomes a vicious cycle that never ends. For some of us 3 months on. 3 months off.”
But, of course, left out the previous paragraph that said;
“I remember what a trainer at the gym I worked at told me when I asked him for advice when I was considering using for the first time and doing research.” “his advice was, “Don’t do it.” I didn’t really understand why he said this at the time and he never explained it to me but I understand now.”
I then go on to comparing steroids like a tattoo addiction – perhaps English isn’t this person’s first language, so you’re forgiven for not understanding that I have actually painted its use in a negative way. Socially the word “Addiction” has a negative connotation to it. Just like the word “vicious.” Notice I didn’t use a positive adjective here.
This git then posted this.
“In the MEMBERS BLOG section of my web site I will be going through past failures and success stories while giving you a detailed document of the next 14 weeks while I start my 5th course of steroids and take my body to 95kilos+ territory. My workouts and methods, visual and written, my diet and of course supplements what I’m taking down my throat and in my bum.”
My response remains the same;
“PREVENTION ISNT THE ANSWER – EDUCATION IS.
That’s why I write these articles, if they help a kid think a little bit more I’ve managed to do something positive towards him treating steroids better than just mindlessly experimenting.
FIRST and NO BUTS! Go get a complete check up before you start a cycle and then again once you finish one. Blood levels, organs ect. And tell the doctor you are doing steroids.
IF YOU ARE A BIG ENOUGH MAN TO USE THEM YOU’RE A BIG ENOUGH MAN TO ADMIT TO IT.”
4. Now the fourth is more of an accusation BUT it pissed me off. A cunt said I think I’m better than everyone else. Firstly the ironic thing here is all you people, by judging me, are holding yourselves above me to pass out judgment.
noun, plural hypocrisies.
1. a pretense of having a virtuous character, moral or religious beliefs or principles, etc., that one does not really possess.
2. a pretense of having some desirable or publicly approved attitude.
3. an act or instance of hypocrisy.
Secondly show me a post, film (… and YouTube clips where I flex my massive arms and say things like, “You wanna lick this muscle don’t you, you pathetic faggot!” is called muscle worship, a sexual fetish that I am asked to perform and I post clips like these to advertise my business. I’m a prostitute remember? We provide fantasies.) photo shoot, artistic project or anywhere, where I have “EVER” claimed to be better than another human being. You can’t.
And please don’t confuse the fact that I am completely comfortable with myself, my body and what I do, as being above anyone else. Yes, I completely love myself and if all you people did so as well - this thread wouldn’t even exist.
I don’t expect to change one person’s negative views about me on this blog. I assume they will barrage the thread after me with posts, somehow finding ways to state, what I have written, justifies their views even more.
So why bother even acknowledging this? Why bother even writing anything?
Well, unlike these people, if noting else I am consistent and the reason I write all my articles is incase a young impressionable youth stubbles upon this and decides to take a read. They need to know not every homosexual is bitter and cruel and not withstanding with their false opinions and slander about others that might not adhere to their way of thinking.
Some of us just do what we do and say it’s OK to be you.
This is the FLEX! aka ROGAN RICHARDS, signing out.