Friday, March 05, 2004
the good doctor revealed (part one)
Well, my dear reader, it is time to learn more about the Life and Times of The Good Doctor Noyz. You see, despite my nearly infinite appetite for alcohol and its potential for Bravado and The General Bad Craziness it inspires; I am, at the very core of my soul, an amazingly compassionate man whose life is dedicated to improving the quality of life and serving the needs of individuals with disabilities.
My heart is given to the passion of the never-ending pursuit of that goal. If we were playing the "If You Could Be Any Cartoon Character You Wanted To Be" Game, I would choose to be Homer Simpson, because despite his fanatical love of Duff's, going to Moe's and hangin' with Barney; Homer is an American icon of the lovable devoted family man and a wonderful in his own unique way father.
It has been that way for over a decade. Teacher, counselor, therapist, friend. With the Divine Grace of Providence and/or whatever else one might choose to believe in for guidance in matters both spiritual and eternal, it will remain that way for many more decades to come. Unless of course, I develop lock-jaw and night vision or get carried off by a twister.
I'm also married. (Yes I know, right now the heart of many a dear reader is probably infinitely shattering at such a revelation.)
I had the good fortune to find a like-minded individual, who identically to me [either through a self-less sense of duty towards those perceived as "less fortunate" or as a means to bolster a shaky sense of self-worth still reeling from the reality that those dreams of being forever memorialized as a minor yet very influential rock star (think Marc Bolan and T. Rex) will in all probability never come to fruition] has the same utopian vision of a world where all children are loved and rocked to sleep at night when they're sick. All children, even the Unwanted, the Unloved, and the Tards.
Yes that's right the Tards. Don't give me your god-damned liberal politically correct aging hippie bullshit. Been there. Done that. I don't know quite what happened to tardblog.com, but I for one, found it brilliant, informative and very entertaining. My only hope is that Rita Sped is somewhere writing and planning her return to the internet. Like lawyers don't joke about their clients. Like I've never heard a doctor or nurse tell a joke about a patient. Or a parent laugh at the antics of their children. Where did the phrase "gallows humor" come from anyway?
We love 'em, we laugh with 'em, we laugh at 'em. We love 'em, and you don't want them in the same class as your kid because lil' Britney or Brandon just might catch autism, cerepral palsy, a seizure disorder or heaven forbid something real like a nasty strain of hepatitis or HIV or fetal alcohol syndrome because mommy's a crack-whore junkie.
No, oh fucking no, keep that kid away from mine because maybe even something more devastatingly worse could happen and lil' Ashley or Dylan ends up connected to tubes and wires because someone's moment of human weakness and poor judgement caused a traumatic brain injury.
Because that "special" kid may cause lil' Kaylee or Lucas to get left behind and their standardized test scores might go down.
So we love 'em and we laugh. Because humans are inherently humorous creatures. And it beats the hell out of screaming and crying. Trust me, I know.
Except right now, I don't feel so much like laughing. More like screaming. . . and chain-smoking. . . and doing a double shot of cheap vodka and lime every 5 minutes until I feel like passing out. Then I'll do one every 3 minutes.
Thank you for your time. Good night, and good drinking. . .
|
My heart is given to the passion of the never-ending pursuit of that goal. If we were playing the "If You Could Be Any Cartoon Character You Wanted To Be" Game, I would choose to be Homer Simpson, because despite his fanatical love of Duff's, going to Moe's and hangin' with Barney; Homer is an American icon of the lovable devoted family man and a wonderful in his own unique way father.
It has been that way for over a decade. Teacher, counselor, therapist, friend. With the Divine Grace of Providence and/or whatever else one might choose to believe in for guidance in matters both spiritual and eternal, it will remain that way for many more decades to come. Unless of course, I develop lock-jaw and night vision or get carried off by a twister.
I'm also married. (Yes I know, right now the heart of many a dear reader is probably infinitely shattering at such a revelation.)
I had the good fortune to find a like-minded individual, who identically to me [either through a self-less sense of duty towards those perceived as "less fortunate" or as a means to bolster a shaky sense of self-worth still reeling from the reality that those dreams of being forever memorialized as a minor yet very influential rock star (think Marc Bolan and T. Rex) will in all probability never come to fruition] has the same utopian vision of a world where all children are loved and rocked to sleep at night when they're sick. All children, even the Unwanted, the Unloved, and the Tards.
Yes that's right the Tards. Don't give me your god-damned liberal politically correct aging hippie bullshit. Been there. Done that. I don't know quite what happened to tardblog.com, but I for one, found it brilliant, informative and very entertaining. My only hope is that Rita Sped is somewhere writing and planning her return to the internet. Like lawyers don't joke about their clients. Like I've never heard a doctor or nurse tell a joke about a patient. Or a parent laugh at the antics of their children. Where did the phrase "gallows humor" come from anyway?
We love 'em, we laugh with 'em, we laugh at 'em. We love 'em, and you don't want them in the same class as your kid because lil' Britney or Brandon just might catch autism, cerepral palsy, a seizure disorder or heaven forbid something real like a nasty strain of hepatitis or HIV or fetal alcohol syndrome because mommy's a crack-whore junkie.
No, oh fucking no, keep that kid away from mine because maybe even something more devastatingly worse could happen and lil' Ashley or Dylan ends up connected to tubes and wires because someone's moment of human weakness and poor judgement caused a traumatic brain injury.
Because that "special" kid may cause lil' Kaylee or Lucas to get left behind and their standardized test scores might go down.
So we love 'em and we laugh. Because humans are inherently humorous creatures. And it beats the hell out of screaming and crying. Trust me, I know.
Except right now, I don't feel so much like laughing. More like screaming. . . and chain-smoking. . . and doing a double shot of cheap vodka and lime every 5 minutes until I feel like passing out. Then I'll do one every 3 minutes.
Thank you for your time. Good night, and good drinking. . .
|
Comments:
Post a Comment
