Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Proud Cripples of America!

Some of you may know that I, the Chuckmeister, am a cripple.

Yes, my friends, it's true.  I can no longer run as fast or jump as high as I used to. Actually, I can't run or jump at all.  I just kind of shuffle along with the aid of a cane.    

But who really wants to run and jump anyway?  Certainly not me.  I'm just fine sitting in my Barcalounger with remote in hand, ready to watch some Magnum, P.I. reruns on my 70" Samsung big screen, replete with 5.1 Dolby sound and a magnificent sub-woofer the size of a washing machine.

Have you met my cane?  I usually introduce him as, "Hello. This is John, my Cane." Get it?  John, my Cane?  I thought you would.  Or, perhaps "Herman,"  the other "Cain."  Or, I might say, "I'm Abel because of this Cain."  I crack me up. Maybe you too.

Anyhoo, me and John manage to get around pretty good in spite of three rather gory back surgeries and a complete fusion.  That would be from coccyx to mid-thoracic, my friends.  My doctor calls my fusion, "a**hole to appetite."  My doctor has a rather macabre sense of humor.  

At least I have a doctor.  With the advent of Obamacare it's the rare person who can actually say he or she has an actual doctor.  And it will get worse.  Much worse.  But hey, that's another story which I've covered ad nauseum and shall no doubt cover again.

Back to my back.  Yes, I'm a cripple.  I hurt all of the time, but in varying degrees.  With the proper amount of pain killers and Cabernet Sauvignon in copious quantities, I can manage it.  The cause?  Disc disease probably caused by the million or so games of pool I played during ten years as a touring pro. Bending over a hot pool table for 8 or 10 hours a day, day after day, after day, is likely responsible.  But hey, whatcha' gonna' do?  That was then, this is now.  

So I function quite well considering my rather advanced age and my surgical history. But I'm just one of millions of seniors who are, for whatever reason, laid up or on disability or made lame.  And I think it's time we all get together and use the clout that would come with millions of souls all joining forces.  And I'm just the cripple who could supply the glue.

Do you have bad knees?  Degenerative disc disease? Neuropathy?  Scoliosis? Sciatica?  The heartbreak of psoriasis?  Hemorrhoids?  Gum disease?  Alopecia? Whatever your malady, just think of what we could accomplish if we got together and started using the power of our numbers.  So here's the plan:

We start...

Proud Cripples of America!  

This to-be formed 501(c)(3) corporation will serve to represent the interests of everyone out there in what used to be America who are laid up and in need of a voice.  Of course, it might be that Lois Lerner, or whoever replaced her now that she's sucking down Cuba Libres on her enormous retirement package, will simply put our application in their lower right hand desk drawer for a few years and punish us for having some conservative leanings. 

And trust me, we have some conservative leanings.

Whatever.  We'll ultimately be able to shine our light and force the Gummint to consider our unique needs.  So, please send along $5.00, cash please (we don't need no stinkin' paper trail), as your annual membership fee so I can begin to order up some bumper stickers and refrigerator magnets and business cards and flyers for distribution at the local Wal-Mart.  

And who knows, we might be able to offer up some special travel bargains, or investment options, or car insurance discounts, or two-for-one restaurant coupons. Any way to make (or save) a buck, right?

Speaking of Wal-Mart, have you noticed that most everyone who shops there is a cripple?  That's the place to launch our new effort.  

Actually, I applied for a position as a Greeter at Wal-Mart and they said, "Get out.  We don't want your kind around here." When you can't even get a min-wage job at your local Wal-Mart, you know you're an outcast.  So I just volunteer at the local wineries, greeting visitors and advising them to join the wine club.  I usually say, "Welcome, thirsty travelers!"  Hey, maybe I could also invite them to join "PCA."  They could prove to be a target-rich environment as well.

So, let me know if you're on board with PCA.  Send along some bucks if you want to join, or at least write your thoughts in response.  We're on to something here, my friends.  We can't let this opportunity pass us by.  Just think, America is creating thousands of new cripples every day.  That's because it's the "practice" of medicine, don't you know. They, the doctors, never actually get it right, but they keep on practicing.

Think of it this way.  Guns in the hands of those with ill-intent, or those desirous of offing themselves, kill 35,000 people on average every year.  Doctors, on the other hand, kill somewhere around 800,000 every year due to malpractice or mis-diagnosis. Work with me here.  I would surmise there's an unending supply of cripples to fuel our little venture.

So, I wait to here from you.  Don't fail me.  $5 bucks is all it costs.  About the same as an overpriced cup of coffee at Starbucks.  Let's get started now!

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