More Free Meals

When it comes to cripples who really know how to play their cards right when hustling up free meals, I can’t believe anyone does it better than this couple I know. In order to protect their anonymity and not pose a threat to any of their future free meal hustling adventures, I will give them a Smart Ass Cripple alias and call them Bonnie and Clyde. Anyway, one day Clyde invited my wife and me to go out and eat pizza with Bonnie and him. He bragged about how he had scored a coupon for $5 off from a local pizza place and he wanted to cash it in soon before it expired. Clyde was the boisterous type. He did most of the talking for the two of them. Bonnie was the quieter one, just sort of along for the ride. She was a wheelchair user but Clyde was not. He had what is referred to nowadays as a developmental disability. My wife and I met up with Bonnie and Clyde at the pizza place. We ordered a big-ass pizza for all of us to share and they ate most of it. And when it came time to pay, Clyde threw in the $5 discount coupon like a discard in a poker game and that was it. We had to pay for the rest. But I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised. Bonnie and Clyde had a reputation for being food hustlers. You could always count on them to attend your meeting or event as long as there was free food or snacks to be had. And they always brought along recyclable grocery bags so that they could take home all leftovers But hustling is the name of the game for some cripples, especially those that are trying to survive on Social Security, like I believe Bonnie and Clyde both were. Cripples that are trying to survive on Social Security are always broke ass. After they pay the rent, there’s not much money, if any, left to buy other essential stuff like food. (Please support Smart Ass Cripple and help us keep going. Just click below to contribute.) https://www.paypal.me/smartasscripple?fbclid=IwAR2qrql-UFH19OepgeaCG4WmblyNylb27k2q8eYxXHH-nvFX30Mk2fJx9uI

My Daily Step Count

I recently read an article that made me feel like I’m surely going to die any day now. Reading that article was  probably supposed to make me feel energized and hopeful. But it had the opposite effect on me. 

The article was entitled, “Ways to Increase Your Daily Step Count.” It said, 

“One of the simplest ways to ensure you stay active is by increasing your daily step count. Walking is a low-impact exercise that can significantly improve cardiovascular health, aid in weight management, and enhance mental well-being.” The article reinforced something I’ve often heard before, that a lot of people (especially old folks like nme) are quite diligent about keeping track of the number of daily steps that they walk And they try to increase that number every  day for all of the health benefits listed above and more, But it’s easy for me to keep track of my daily step count. It’s zero. And it’s been that way since 1973, which was more than 50 years ago. At that time, I was an inmate at a state-operated boarding school for cripples that I call the Sam Houston Institute of Technology (SHIT). Several times a week I was sent to the physical therapy gym, where a therapist would put my leg braces on me and stand me up so that I could walk a few steps in the parallel bars.  My crippledness had gotten to the  point where a few steps was about all I could pull off. So on this day, when I sat back down in  my wheelchair after struggling to take a few steps, I felt stronger than ever that this ritual was pointless. I didn’t care if I kept walking or not. The day was coming soon when I wouldn’t even be able to take a few steps anymore. Why spend all this time and energy just delaying the inevitable? So I decided right then and there that I wasn’t going to take another step until further notice. And here I am more than 50 years later. I wish that I would have made note of the date on the day  that I decided that I wasn’t going to take another step until further notice. But I didn’t realize at the time that it would become such a significant day in my life and one that I might want to celebrate each year. Nevertheless,  according to that article, since I haven’t taken a step in more than 50 years and probably never will again, I should’ve been dead long ago or at the very least I should be fat and riddled with cardiovascular disease and hopelessly depressed. But I’m not any of those things. I must be some kind of freak or something.

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My Diagnosis (If You Really Wanna Know)

 Often people get around to asking me what makes me crippled.

I then say what I believe to be true. I don't take the opportunity to make up  some bull shit, like some cripples I’ve known. I heard someone ask that question of a friend of mine once and she replied, “I got hit by an  airplane.” I don't blame her for saying something like that. It’s hard to be set up so perfectly for a joke and not take a swing. But I always just say what I think my medical diagnosis is. And then I  say I don’t know what my official diagnosis is because I haven’t taken the time to find out for sure. And the reason that I haven’t taken the time to find out for sure is because I really don’t care much what my diagnosis is.

A lot of people seem like they’re surprised to hear me say that. Maybe that’s because a lot of people seem to think that a cripple’s primary quest in life is to find out as much as they can about their diagnosis and then do a lot of therapies and exercises and shit like that accordingly, as if we’re preparing for a boxing match.

But most of the cripples that I’ve ever met aren’t motivated in that way. Like most people, what motivates them is they're just trying to get laid. And all that exercise and therapy stuff gets in the way of achieving that goal, unless you think that a physical therapy gym is the kind of place where you should hang around if you’re looking to get laid. 

I feel much more solidarity with those cripples who are just trying to get laid, which is another reason why I don't care much about my diagnosis. Maybe I  fear that the more I dwell on it the  more likely I am to run into people who are determined to cure me. Sure enough, there is a group that is out to cure that which makes me crippled. I try my best to stay away from them because  I ‘m afraid that if I get within sniffing distance of them they’ll try to recruit me. Although it wouldn’t do them much good if they did because about the only suitable poster that they could put me on would have to say something like, ”Please cure me so it’ll be easier for me to get laid.”

 I don’t think that would inspire many people to open up their wallets.

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