Performative question

Honestly, I don't care enough about politics at all, and when conversations turn that way, my only input comes from the occasional compulsion to ridicule those that do care. Not for any grandiose, nuanced reasons, I'm just A) a dumbass, B) apathetic about most matters outside myself, and C) easily amused by prodding the self-serious.
Freedom of expression is really the only political ideal I'd say I care about. In this way, I suppose Hard Fast Faggot Maps could be seen as a political WAD. I don't see it that way necessarily but if you're enough of a reductionist to boil every conversation about free speech (for or against) down to discussing whether or not there's ever an acceptable context to using slurs, then it becomes political in that way. HFFM was an abrasive title but with just a tiny bit of digging into the context and intent, it becomes clear to any sane person that the whole thing was a ridiculous inside joke brought about by a word cloud generator, made with genuine love and care. You don't have to like it or "approve" of it or find it funny, but it very clearly wasn't about hate.
Freedom of expression is really the only political ideal I'd say I care about, and not even for political reasons but for artistic ones. Ever since I was a kid, I was compelled by lowbrow art, probably just because I was so sheltered. The sort of shocking transgressiveness I'd find in a MAD magazine while unsupervised at the grocery store just tickled me. I kept a borrowed copy of Conker's Bad Fur Day below my dresser that I could only play while my parents were gone. These sorts of naughty things with foul language and crude humor always amused me, but I knew that my mother would never understand it and I would be punished if I were caught with these things. The context and intent would never matter to people like my mother.
A landmark in my teenage years was when I read William S Burroughs' Naked Lunch, a novel written by a heroin-addicted beatnik, that was beyond anything I ever imagined a piece of art, let alone a boring old book, could be. A book that blended science fiction with detective stories, but nightmarish and paranoid, all about lunatics and baboons escaping asylums and wreaking havoc, a man who taught his asshole to talk, the grotesque Mugwumps that raped children, a sadistic back-alley abortionist with his mad schemes, all of it absolutely insane, taking place in the INTERZONE, which may or may not exist inside the upper portion of a baboon's asshole... It was horrific, and wrong, and oddly enough it was very funny and absolutely fascinating.
There's no room for morality with lowbrow art, this sort of juvenile trash that I enjoy goes straight through the 'super-ego' and directly to the 'id.' There's an interview with underground comix artist Robert Crumb that really informs my personal philosophy about art, where he says, "I have a compulsion to reveal the truth about myself, for better or worse[...] maybe it's just about, you can put a noble slant on it, you can say you want to tell the truth [...] there's also in you, the thing that if you reveal this, you're going to take the heat for it, but everyone can see it and know it's out there, and now we know, now we know[...] Somebody's gotta lay this out. It's like there's this shit underneath that people just don't wanna confront. And I just put it out there, this whole paranoia, you know, put it in a comic, yeah, you know it's a little bit exaggerated, I'm not actually promoting those ideas[...] Playing with those kind of images, those kind of racist images and that, the key word there is "play," and some people think that that's not right, you shouldn't play with those images, you know, it's too hurtful. But you know, what can I say?[...] Somebody has to put it out there[...]."