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silentbob
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Retards - Dirtyboy
I have nothing against the disabled, handicapped, handi-cabable, physically/mentally challenged, or whatever i am supposed to call them this week. In fact, for the latter part of his life, for which i hold most of the memories, my father was an incapacitated, drool bag, shit pants, card-carrying member of the corky club. But this thing, this little, ticky-tick problem keeps scratching at the back of my head. If all the retards in the world want is to be treated equally, shouldn’t we start mugging them, beating them for no reason, and paying NO ATTENTION to their individual needs?
That’s how i get treated, by all the other breathing bodies in the world. The last time i stumbled across someone who was decent and kind to me it was a 17 year old girl who thought i was cute and had some delusional dream that i would stick my drunken, half erect lob-cock in her prematurely loosened vaginal wall. And when i declined, stating that the law was not on her side and that i didn’t want to go to jail for banging some MTV junkie who looked like the spawn of Charles Manson and Roseanne Arnold, no, Barr, no, Arnold, no its just Rosanne isn’t it? any way, i told her that i wasn’t down for giving her a rammer, then paying for it in the slammer, and she stopped being sweet real abruptly. See, we are only nice when we want something. She wanted to fuck someone who could buy her booze and smokes, and i am only nice when i need something. It's part of the nature of us, the disgusting, viral-esque human creature. So what the fuck do we want from the retards?
I think what the collective upright walking, self-sufficient society wants from the retard nation is an excuse. A reason to be idiots. A project. Something to show how NICE and Proper and generous they are. HEY LOOK! I HELPED OUT A GIMP!!! WHERE'S MY FUCKING AWARD? See, its all just a ploy to show their neatness and Politically correctness off, being part of what they would like to consider the upper echelon. But i don't buy it. If i was a retard (some would argue that i am) And i sat there, in my motorized chair that looks like i have r2-d2 shoved up my ass, and i couldn’t talk, and i had to control my little seat scooter with a tube that reached up to my drooly, rotten toothed mouth, i would be pissed as hell at those prissy, condescending bitches in there Nancy Regan double breasted skirt suits and chartreuse scarves with golden goose brooches, bending down, looking down at me, talking baby talk to me:
"HOW ARE WE TODAY? ARE WE HAVING A GOOD ONE? IS OUR COLOSTOMY BAG FULL OF POOPY?" when i know, and they know what they really want to say is "HEY! RETARD, USELESS PIECE OF SHIT! YOU WASTE OF HOUSING AND TAX DOLLARS, YOU RAMP NEEDING, LIFT USING ASSHOLE...YOU'RE THE REASON I HAVE TO PARK FURTHER FROM THE FRONT DOOR OF STARBUCKS WHEN I GO TO GET MY LATTE FRAPACHINO! WHY THE FUCK DO YOU NEED ALL THOSE SPOTS ANYWAY? YOU CAN'T EVEN DRIVE, YOU HAPLESS GIMP!"
Just because they are RETARDS doesn't mean they can't smell the stink of insincerity. I would be furious at those assholes. No, see, i am honest about it. Honesty, you may know, causes problems. It is not always the best policy, but it can sure as hell feel good. Especially when you're yelling it at a poetry reading. And everybody is either laughing or plotting your death. At least i can run, cause i bet i can run faster than those wheelchairs.
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000618
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