Urinalism

I call the crew of people that I have hired to come to my home and help me do the things everyone has to do (like getting in and out of bed and pissing) my pit crew. I don’t mean that to be derogatory in any way. I am quite fond of all of them. I couldn’t do anything without them. But I don’t know what else to call them. Some people call them PAs, which stands for personal assistants. I suppose that sounds more professional than pit crew member. But it doesn’t get across what they do. A personal assistant sounds like someone who keeps my calendar and schedules my appointments. And that’s hardly what my pit crew members do for me. Pit crew gets it across better because that's sometimes what it feels like to me. I pull into the pit and they hose me down and I get back in the race. When I went to Jerry Lewis cripple summer camp in the 1960s, they called the people that do a lot of the things that my pit crew members do for me today our counselors. But I don’t ever recall going to any of them for counseling. However, I did go to them for many other thing. Giving them the job title of counselor was more of a reflection of the predominant attitude toward cripples in the 1960s than of anything else. Cripples could never be anything other than poor little campers who needed the verts (which is what I call people who walk because it’s short for verticals) to guide us through each day. If I was going to bestow upon my pit crew members some sort of professional-sounding job title, I guess that I would call them urinalists. And if they work for me for long enough, they earn a degree in urinalism. (Please support Smart Ass Cripple and help us keep going. Just click below to contribute.) https://www.paypal.me/smartasscripple?fbclid=IwAR2qrql-UFH19OepgeaCG4WmblyNylb27k2q8eYxXHH

The Royal Council of Cripples

There is this thing called The Royal Council of Cripples. It is the governing body of all cripples everywhere and it meets to conduct its business on the third Thursday night of every month in their secret underground lair. And this may be the last time that you hear from me because I am sworn to secrecy about the very existence of this group, let alone its modus operandi. But sometimes cripples are expected to speak with one voice and until we do we must all shut the fuck up. We have to be a monolith. And that’s why the Royal Council of Cripples was created many moons ago. This nine-man council meets in the wee hours when all of the verts are asleep in their beds, with visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads. (Verts are what I call people who walk because it’s short for verticals.) Every cripple in the world attends, but we all have to sign a blood oath swearing that we will always deny that anything happened and then we’re all issued a cyanide capsule that we’re supposed to take if anyone tries to torture any information out of us. The main responsibility of the Royal Council of Cripples is to decide what every cripple in the world thinks about a certain issue and to designate spokescripples to express the view of every cripple in the world. And that’s why I decided to come clean about all this, even though it puts me at considerable personal risk. I needed to lift a weighty albatross off of my shoulders. Now everyone will know what I am talking about when I say that I have been authorized to speak on behalf of every cripple in the world by the Royal Council of Cripples. Besides, some of the verts were starting to figure it all out anyway. Just because they can walk doesn’t make them all stupid, you know. (Please support Smart Ass Cripple and help us keep going. Just click below to contribute.) https://www.paypal.me/smartasscripple?fbclid=IwAR2qrql-UFH19OepgeaCG4WmblyNylb27k2q8eYxXHH