Persistent Vegetative State

I, Smart Ass Cripple, wish to publicly declare that if I am ever in a persistent vegetative state, I do not want to continue on. Please pull the plug.

I’ve seen people in persistent vegetative states who try to keep on going. It’s a sad and depressing sight. I would never want to live that way. And I know it would be heartbreaking for my loved ones to see me in such condition.

And now, I, Smart Ass Cripple, wish to publicly declare how I define a persistent vegetative state. I know that it is characterized by a total lack of brain function. But beyond that, I can only define it the same way former U.S. Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart defined pornography: “I know it when I see it.” And I, Smart Ass Cripple, see people I consider to be in a persistent vegetative state when I watch the Republican National Convention.  Especially disturbing to behold are those who actually try to draw attention to the fact that they are attending the Republican National Convention.  They dress up like Uncle Sam, accessorized with a bullet sash and assault rifle. They get revved up with joy and hoot and howl like a tasered moose. It takes a lot to stand out in an endless sea of white people.

As I watch this spectacle in horror, I have to remind myself that in spite of our differences, we are all humans and every living human contributes something of value to life on earth. If nothing else, we all exhale carbon dioxide, which is good for plants. But then I wonder if the steady decline in brain function that plunges one into this state of being eventually reaches the point where that person drifts across the line into planthood and begins exhaling oxygen and ingesting carbon dioxide. As I watch these frenzied conventioneers dancing with glee in a blizzard of red, white and blue confetti, I figure this must be the case. There’s no other explanation.

This is what I mean by a persistent vegetative state. It’s tragic.

I pray with all my might that I will never find myself in this persistent vegetative state. But you never know for sure.  Here in Chicago, there are these evil machines all over town called red light cameras. If you turn right on red without coming to a complete stop it snaps your car’s picture and in the mail you receive a ticket for $100. Fascist bastards!  They’ve stuck me for $300 so far! It’s enough to make me want to join a survivalist militia. But then I come to my senses.

But maybe someday I’ll crack. First, I’ll make a star-spangled, stovepipe hat out of cardboard. And before I know it, I’ll find myself on the convention floor.

If that happens, please have mercy and smother me.  I would never want to live that way.