Like I’ve said, I went to a state-operated boarding school for cripples that I call the Sam Houston Institute of Technology (SHIT).
Here’s an amazing fact: SHIT still exists.
Here’s an even more amazing fact: There are still a whole bunch of places like it going strong all around the country. They're often called “developmental” centers or “training” centers. But these places are like fly paper for cripples. If we land there, we’re probably stuck there until we die.
Here’s an amazinger fact than that: Some people fight hard to keep those places open, to the point where it takes contentious lawsuits to shut them down.
And here’s the amazingest fact of all: The defenders of these places ALWAYS say they’re standing up for our freedom of choice. Cripples ought to be able to live forever without parole, if we so choose, in a place where you have about as much autonomy, privacy, creative stimuli and ability to take risks as you do in a hospital ward.
When I hear people make this “choice” defense, I find myself wishing hard that there was a nearby pit full of yak turds. Because I would grab them by the back of their suspenders and hurl them into it.
Choice and preference implies a menu of options. But if you force feed somebody nothing but boiled moose bladders for long enough, sooner or later they’ll learn to love boiled moose bladders. A key survival mechanism for the most powerless cripples is the ability to develop many acquired tastes.
And when you live in those “developmental” places long enough, it has a groundhog effect. If you venture out, it’s been so long since you’ve seen sunlight that even your own shadow spooks you and you dash back in and hide.
I could conduct a survey where I offer cripples a choice between a) being locked in a meat freezer for three days wearing only a Speedo or b) a kick in the crotch. Four out of five cripples will say they prefer a kick in the crotch. Hell, five out of five cripples will say they prefer a kick in the crotch. So then I’m not only justified but I’m sanctified when I go around kicking cripples in the crotch. I’m honoring their choice.
This happens not just to cripples but to powerless people in general. You get a choice between a) working at Walmart for shit pay and no benefits or b) starving to death in a cold alley. Four out of five will choose working at Walmart for shit pay and no benefits. Well, maybe three out of five. So we must defend their right to chose to work at Walmart for shit pay and no benefits.
When the champions of choice thrash wildly in the yak turds, pleading for me to throw them a rope, I will offer them a choice to a) stay in the pit or b) be flattened by a steamroller. Four out of five will say they prefer to stay in the pit. And I will honor their choice.