To Lobster Boy from Drunken Frankenstein

Dear Lobster Boy,

I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. I mean it as a term of endearment.

I happened across an internet video of you. You were on a stage somewhere. You sat in a wheelchair. In front of you was a walker on wheels. And across the stage was husky man, an emcee-type wearing a tuxedo. It looked like a charity fundraising event. And the audience was packed full. Not an empty seat in the house.

You must’ve been in Latin America somewhere because the emcee spoke Spanish. As he addressed the spellbound audience, he leaned in toward them for dramatic emphasis. And then he presented you with a great swooping wave of his arm, as if you were about to perform a heroic feat. And then you slowly stood. And with the aid of the rolling walker you walked across the stage. You received a standing ovation. Some people cried tears of joy. Not a dry seat in the house.

And as I watched I said to myself I wish I had been there for you. Because I would have nobly ruined the whole spectacle, like the kid in The Emperor‘s New Clothes. I would have yelled out, “Hey kid, you walk like a lobster!” I wouldn’t have been able to hold back. And I hope you wouldn’t have taken it as an insult because the intention is quite the opposite. The intention is for it to be like a secret handshake of cripple brotherhood and solidarity.

You walked on your tiptoes, teetering to hold your balance like a tightrope walker. You walked like a lobster walks if a human holds it up under its armpits and forces it to walk upright. But here’s the thing. It’s become increasingly frowned upon to anthropomorphize other beings for the gratification of humans. It once was perfectly acceptable to dress a chimp in a business suit or train a chicken to ride a unicycle. But now we’ve come to acknowledge that such stunts are inconsiderate of the feeling of the anthropomorphized entities. Why force a lobster to walk upright? A lobster’s natural form of locomotion is to crawl. It may look pathetic and undignified to humans, but it works just fine for lobsters. They’ve been doing it that way for centuries. Just let lobsters be lobsters.

And just let you be you. Your natural form of locomotion is pushing a wheelchair and it works fine. You just ain’t built for walking upright, lobster boy. No shame in that. You walk like a lobster but you roll with grace. I know how it is, lobster boy. When I was your age, I walked like drunken Frankenstein. In the physical therapy gym, propped up perilously by leg braces and parallel bars, I heaved one leg forward and then I heaved the next. Therapists cheered me on but when I look back I wish one of them had enough respect for me to be honest and say, “You know what kid, you walk like drunken Frankenstein.” What a relief it would have been to have my awkwardness validated, to have the ridiculousness I felt surrounding me at that moment acknowledged. Maybe we all could have relaxed and quit pretending.

That was at a different time in a different country, lobster boy. But it’s the same old stuff.

DisNEYabled

It’s one of those dreadful realities of life that happens to everyone sooner or later. You wake up in the morning and find out you’ve been taken over by Disney.

I guess I always just naively assumed it would never happen to me but it has! I got a notice from the Disney lawyers informing me of the hostile takeover. Somehow Disney bought out Smart Ass Cripple and they intend to turn it into a site for crippled children called DisNEYabled. They intend to stream videos designed to “shape the character” of crippled children and to sell t-shirts and buttons and such that say “I’m DisNEYabled.”

But do not fear, oh dear readers. I vow to resist this hostile takeover with all of my might! I’ve hired the best lawyers fifty bucks can buy. Because I know how those Disney people are! Every move they make is part of their long-term plan to establish international hegemony, to create a global Disnocracy, if you will. And they know the best way to achieve that goal is to indoctrinate children and turn them into little Disney zombies. They know their brainwashing propaganda is most effective when delivered by a talking rabbit or a princess.

The anatomy of Disney’s new world order is so twisted and intricate that it’s beyond my comprehension. All I know is that it must be evil. And I don’t know what the DisNEYabled stuff is all about but it must be evil too. Because the historic evidence clearly shows that a necessary step in creating a Disnocracy is to first create a bunch of placid cripples. Like for instance, take the movie Dumbo. That movie really pisses me off! The crippled protagonist, Dumbo, not only has a congenital birth defect of the ears but he’s also mute. Either that or the screenwriters thought since Dumbo is crippled he doesn’t have anything important to say.

Everybody at the circus treats Dumbo like shit. I mean, they call him Dumbo for fuck’s sake! Everybody makes fun of his ears and when his mother fights back the circus boss throws her in solitary confinement. And after that Dumbo just lies in a corner moping until this mouse gently motivates him to get up off his ass. That mouse is supposed to symbolize the uncrippled bleeding-heart professional, like a therapist or social worker, who inspires the downtrodden cripple to realize his/her full potential. What a worn out cliché that is!

But anyway, the mouse helps Dumbo discover he can fly and then all of a sudden everybody just fucking loves Dumbo and his mother gets a luxury VIP car on the circus train and Dumbo is the star of the circus. The end.

What the fuck is that? Dumbo finds out he has a zillion-dollar talent and what does he do? He goes right back to work for the same circus boss that imprisoned his mom! Everybody treats Dumbo like shit and he just lets bygones be bygones? Fuck all that!

If the Disney people really wanted to send the right message to crippled children, in the triumphant scene where Dumbo soars around the circus tent he would take a huge dump all over everybody below! You know how freaked out people get when they get hit by a little bird shit. Imagine how they’d panic getting bombed by elephant shit! And then Dumbo finally speaks! He tells the circus boss to take this job and shove it! “I’m starting my own circus,” Dumbo says, “so your circus is toast! Who’s the fucking Dumbo now, huh?”

Dumbo is a load of assimilationist crap. So I must fight back against Disney’s fiendish plot. Someone has to save the children.




(Smart Ass Cripple is completely reader supported. Contributing to the tip jar, purchasing books and subscribing through Amazon Kindle keeps us going. Please help if you can.)

A Sense of Closure

Today was a good day, I think. It was one of those days we all have once or twice when we receive a check in the mail that we didn’t know we had coming. Well that’s what happened to me so that means it must’ve been a good day, right? More or less? Theoretically?

At first I was worried when I received a letter from the law firm of Hoodwink and Steele. Why did that name sound familiar? And then I realized oh yeah, I’ve seen a lot of their commercials during the 3 a.m horror movies. They’re personal injury lawyers: ”Injured in an Accident? Call 666-6666!”

But it appears that these shrewd men figured out a way to collect damages for cripples not just for our physical pain and suffering but for our social and political injuries as well. Because the letter informed me of the settlement of a class action lawsuit against the federal government that was initiated by the firm on behalf of “Americans with myriad physical, emotional and cognitive challenges.” The lawsuit demanded monetary reparations be paid to cripples for the “historic pattern and practice of egregious mistreatment” generations of us have endured.

At first I thought hmm, reparations? I mean, I know cripples have been fucked over huge for a long time, but reparations? Really? But then the letter reminded me how millions of us have been “institutionalized, sterilized and lobotomized.” We’ve worked jobs that pay about a buck an hour. And we’ve been herded up and banished away to shitty little segregated schools, like the one I attended, which I affectionately refer to as the Sam Houston Institute of Technology (SHIT}.

So soon I felt more than just worthy of reparations. I felt owed! Oh yeah baby! My people have been skeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-rewed! So PAY US, dammit! Pay us NOW!

The letter said that after years of negotiations, the government agreed to pay $900 million in cripple reparations! And after Hoodwink and Steele took $800 million off the top to cover their fees and expenses, the remaining $100 million was to be distributed equally among 50 million living crippled Americans, of which I am one. “Therefore,” the letter said, “enclosed is your reparations check of $2. We hope this brings you a sense of closure.”

I don’t know if closure is the right word. But at least I know what my social and political pain and suffering is worth.



(Smart Ass Cripple is completely reader supported. Contributing to the tip jar, purchasing books and subscribing through Amazon Kindle keeps us going. Please help if you can.)

That Brisk Day When Cripple Oppression in America Officially Came to an End

Apparently there once was a time, long long ago, when cripples were treated rather poorly in this country. I know it’s hard to believe but it really is true. I double checked the facts just to be sure.

It seems that back in those dark days cripples were so disregarded and devalued that many of them were locked up in institutions. Cripples had a real hard time getting jobs back then. And they couldn’t get into a lot of buildings because the entrances had steps and stuff like that.

But that all ended on March 4, 1933 at noon, to be precise. That was the day we inaugurated a crippled president. And that’s how we know in America when a previously oppressed sector of the citizenry is officially no longer oppressed. When a single member of that sector rises to the pinnacle, it proves that all the old barriers to advancement no longer exist.

We learned this on January 20, 2009, when, for the first time, we inaugurated somebody besides a white man. That was the day racism ended. The racists, realizing they were licked, packed up and went home. The KKK threw in the towel. And so now we know that with all the obstacles eliminated, those from that sector who can’t similarly transcend their circumstances are probably just too damn lazy.

But it’s a funny thing though. The last time I checked, I do believe there were still some institutionalized cripples. And, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, there’s still a cripple or two without a job. And I could swear that right down the street from me is a pizza place that I’ve never gone into because the entrance has three steps.

How could this be the case when the era of cripple oppression in America abruptly ended on a brisk afternoon more than 80 years ago? There’s only one possible explanation. The reason the entrance of that pizza place right down the street has three steps is because I’m just too damn lazy.



(Smart Ass Cripple is completely reader supported. Contributing to the tip jar, purchasing books and subscribing through Amazon Kindle keeps us going. Please help if you can.)

The Evolution of Playtime

I never realized it before but when I was a wee criplet I must’ve been full of self-loathing because I was crippled. It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up to be an axe murderer.

The criplets of today are way ahead. There are plenty of crippled dolls around to help them feel better about themselves. They came out with a crippled Barbie friend a long time ago. And now there’s a crippled Lego kid. All the experts on child development agree that this is good. There comes a time in the life of every crippled child, or every child who’s different for that matter, when they long to see people like themselves represented positively in pop culture.

I didn’t have any crippled dolls when I was a criplet. I suppose if wanted to have one, I would have had to make one myself by hacking an arm or leg off one of my G.I. Joes or something. (I don't think being without genitals counts as crippled in the case.) But I never felt the urge to have a crippled doll. Never once crossed my mind. If one of my G.I. Joes came up missing a limb, I either would have tossed it in the trash or relegated it to playing the role of the wounded guy.

Criplets today can at least occasionally see a crippled kid who looks like them in a movie or on television. For a long time I never saw any crippled kids like me in movies or on television and I never particularity wanted to. In fact, the first time I saw a crippled kid on television, I was horrified. It was one of those telethons and they trotted out a crippled kid and everybody gushed over him and patted him on the head until I wanted to puke. I was terrified that the next time I went out in public everybody would treat me that way. So I prayed that no crippled kid would ever be allowed on television ever again.

And when I was a kid, none of the storybooks told stories about crippled kids. If an adult asked me if I wanted to read a storybook about a crippled kid I would have said hell no. I would have been afraid that it would be a story about a crippled kid who appears on a telethon and everybody gushes over him and pats him on the head until I want to puke.

It just goes to show how much I secretly must’ve hated being crippled. The less I was reminded of it the better. When ambushed with the reality, I tried to drown it out with the white noise of denial and avoidance. That's what playtime was for.

The only reason I didn’t become an axe murderer was because I’m crippled. I can’t lift an axe.



(Smart Ass Cripple is completely reader supported. Contributing to the tip jar, purchasing books and subscribing through Amazon Kindle keeps us going. Please help if you can.)

Marriage Equality for Broke Ass Cripples

Now that same sex marriage is legal in every state, gay broke ass cripples who want to get married will be screwed over by Social Security the same as opposite sex broke ass cripples who want to get married. That’s marriage equality.

The broke assiest of the broke ass cripples are those who receive Social Security SSI monthly payments. The richest of them gets the SSI maximum, which is $733 for an individual or $1,100 for a married couple when both receive SSI.

Now I suck at math but when I add $733 and $733 I get $1466. So if two broke ass cripples get married, they each get docked $183.

And if you think you can get around that by living together in sin and not getting married, ha ha ha on you. The Social Security people can investigate you and if they find that you and your "roommate" do stuff married people do, like put both of your names on your mortgage or introduce the other as your spouse, they can dock you anyway.

I’m not bringing you the breaking news here. This marriage penalty has been around forever. Various movements of cripples and cripophiles have tried to strike it down.

But it endures. I don’t know why. I wonder if it’s because some people see broke ass cripple marriage as a threat to the sanctity of marriage. Maybe they believe it violates the traditional definition of marriage, which is the union of one man and one woman who aren’t both broke ass cripples. It’s the old slippery slope argument. “If we let two broke ass cripples get married, then why not let a man marry a giraffe?”

Or maybe two broke ass cripples getting married goes against the Bible somehow. So I checked out Leviticus. There’s all kind of stuff in there about who it’s immoral to have sex with, like any woman who is another man’s slave, but nothing specifically or vaguely addressing broke ass cripples. In Biblical times, I guess cripples marrying was too ridiculous of an idea to even ponder.

So the force standing in the way of two broke ass cripples openly and freely getting married must be a force much more powerful than morality. It must be money. I’m sure the Congressional Budget Office or some such sober entity has determined that the global economy will collapse and anarchy will ensue if broke ass cripples are allowed to keep $183 a month.

Yep, two broke ass cripples getting married is a threat to our very civilization.



(Smart Ass Cripple is completely reader supported. Contributing to the tip jar, purchasing books and subscribing through Amazon Kindle keeps us going. Please help if you can.)

The Plight of the Promless Cripple

Some institutions of oppression are so inherently heinous, so purposefully designed to prop up the ruling class that they cannot be reformed. They must be abolished.

Two such institutions are slavery and proms. When it comes to proms I am an ardent abolitionist.

I am one of the many promless cripples. My high school was a state–operated boarding school for cripples, which I affectionately refer to as the Sam Houston Institute of Technology (SHIT). We didn’t have proms at SHIT, which is probably just as well. They probably would have been exceedingly lame affairs where we all put on a clean shirt, reported to the gym and hung around with the same cripples we hung around with every other day.

And I imagine most mainstreamed cripples who weren’t educated in a segregated compound like me are nonetheless still promless. Even if they went to schools that had proms they probably didn’t go because proms aren’t exactly freak-friendly zones. And cripples aren’t the only promless humans. I know there must also be millions of promless verts (which is short for verticals, which is cripple slang for people who can walk). They are promless by choice. They could’ve gone to prom but they chose not to because proms, they’ll say, are nothing more than a bourgeois rite of passage designed to reaffirm the supremacy of the jocks and cheerleaders and other elites. In other words, they couldn’t get a date.

But that’s okay. Being a promless cripple has served me well. It has sharpened my sense of justice by giving me a feeling of solidarity with the rejects of the world, those who have been callously left behind. It has taught me the importance of embracing one’s inner freak by renouncing false measuring sticks of self-worth. Fuck those meathead jocks and their meatheadocracy!

That’s why I’m worried that God has apparently told ex-quarterback Tim Tebow to dedicate himself to addressing the plight of promless cripples. Coming up soon is the second annual Night to Shine sponsored by Tebow’s foundation. This is a night where churches all over the world organize special “proms” for cripples only. And every cripple who shows up gets crowned king or queen.

But I’m worried that God is setting up poor Tebow for failure again, just like he did when he told him to be a pro quarterback. First, this is a classic case of trying to redeem the unredeemable. There’s no such thing as an egalitarian prom. It defeats the purpose. It’s an oxymoron. If a prom can’t be snobby and cliquish, what’s the point? Second, how can everybody be king or queen? Again, it defeats the purpose. A king is the guy who’s in charge of everything. A queen is the wife or daughter of the guy who’s in charge of everything. If everybody’s in charge of everything, that’s chaos!

Third, if Tebow succeeds in bringing about the extinction of promless cripples, he’ll be doing more harm than good. He’ll be delaying each of these cripples from experiencing that wonderful blast of liberating epiphany that comes when they say to themselves fuck those meathead jocks and their meatheadocracy! This is a formative moment in every cripple’s life.

Tebow would better serve cripples and the rest of humanity if he took a more litigious approach. His foundation should organize a team of lawyers to sue every prom and force them not only to admit every cripple but to crown a cripple the prom king and queen.

If that happened we wouldn’t have to worry about abolishing proms. They’d soon abolish themselves.



(Smart Ass Cripple is completely reader supported. Contributing to the tip jar, purchasing books and subscribing through Amazon Kindle keeps us going. Please help if you can.)