arachnoiditis, Tarlov cysts, hydromyelia, syringomyelia or cachexia aka wasting syndrome.
The law took effect January 1. For some cripples on that list, this means the moment of complete liberation has finally arrived. All the years of political struggle have finally have paid off with the ultimate legislative victory. For some cripples I know, all they want is a warm place to take their daily dump and the right to get high in peace. Of course I know plenty of people like that who aren’t crippled, too. Who doesn’t?
For those cripples, utopia is finally here. And all you need to enter is a doctor’s prescription. And this utopia is a much sweeter place when only cripples can get in and only certain cripples at that. If this was a state like Colorado where any old slob can waltz in and buy pot, it would take almost all the fun out it because that would take away the revenge factor. Cripples on the medical marijuana VIP list can use the new law to get even with all the punks who used to call them spaz. The VIP cripples can throw a Bygones-be-Bygones party and invite all the punks who used to call them spaz. Then the VIP cripples can gleefully blow smoke in the faces of the punks and say, “Don’t you wish you were a spaz now, mofo?”
There’s another great reason I should sign up right away. The law allows cripples who qualify for medicinal pot to select a “designated caregiver” to assist in administering their pot. This would enable me to finally provide some upward mobility for the members of my pit crew. Whoever plays their cards right gets promoted by me to the position of designated caregiver. There’s no extra pay but there’s a definite fringe benefit. Technically, the designated caregiver isn’t allowed to partake of my stash but hey, if I happen to turn my back for a few minutes---.
Rahnee’s on the list, too. Rheumatoid arthritis. That’s her. We should both sign up right now. We could take our legal pot and say fuck it all and go spend the rest of our lives someplace where it’s always warm and comfortable, like our couch.
There’s no good reason why I shouldn’t sign up. So why haven’t I? Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’m one of those greedy, grabby, entitled cripples who’s never satisfied. You let them get high with impunity and they still want more. They still insist on being “full participants in society” and blah blah blah.
I should just declare victory, take my pot and go home. Full liberation is just a prescription away.