Making Fun Of Handicapped People (Is Still A Really Bad Idea)

Despite the impression that you, my highly valued reader, may have of me from this purple little blog of mine, I am no superhuman. To the disappointment of all involved parties, I am not a towering monolith of everything that humanity could be if it simply fulfilled its potential for greatness. In fact, as difficult as it may be for you to swallow, I am only human, and just as fallible and stupid as the rest of my ilk. Yet, even for a species as destructive and short-sighted as mine, one would have to be exceptionally lacking in areas both intellectual and moral to do something that could be considered a sequel to something like this.

Alas, that person is me. I'm so sorry for all of this. 

Take this bottle of shampoo as a gift to show you how remorseful I am.

So I'm white. I happen to live in an area where just about everyone else is white too. Virtually every friend that I have is perfectly acceptable WASP material. Because of this homogeneous atmosphere, my friends and I have all picked up a bad habit of using terrible words to describe unfortunate things. We feel pretty secure using these terrible words, because none of us really know anyone who's retarded or gay or any of our other horrible adjectives; consequently, we don't know anyone who has a real basis for being offended. 

This is my friend, Bucket Of Dicks. He gets really offended when we call something a bucket of dicks.

So the other day, I was hanging out with a friend of mine at school. Neither of us had class for a while, so my friend suggested going across the street and getting some food. I was happy as a clam at the prospect of perpetuating my fat existence, so we went on our merry way. All was well until we got near the crosswalk. 

I have a special reservoir of hate in my heart, reserved specifically for people who incessantly mash on crosswalk buttons. It's more than just a pet peeve; every time I see a person press a crosswalk button more than once, I want to slap them across the face and explain why I believe every major tragedy in the last millennium has been directly caused by them. I firmly believe that rapists, racists, murderers and crosswalk-button-smashers are all going to the same part of Hell. I hate crosswalk buttons because they serve no purpose and the ones in my area make a God-awful clangy metal noise that can be heard from space. 

Hate Puppy knows how I feel about this. 

So we came within view of the crosswalk, and I immediately felt my soul turn cold and black, because some girl was beating on the button like a particularly bad case of domestic abuse. As we approached, the girl pulled out her cell phone and started perusing through it, pushing that Goddamn button all the while. At some point, the little white crosswalk guy came on, and every single person crossed the street except her, because she was still checking her phone and pressing that awful button. 

This blatant stupidity stoked the proverbial fires of my unreasonable hatred into a blazing inferno. Turning to my friend, I vehemently whispered to her. "Is this girl retarded or something? Why is she still pressing that button?"

My friend was horrified and urgently whispered "Johann, that girl is retarded!"

"....what."

I usually turn to the internet to express my feelings. I'd like to think it does a pretty good job.

When we got to the crosswalk, I timidly looked at my former hate-target, and sure enough, the girl was actually retarded. 

This post doesn't get a satisfying ending, as I feel the urge to repent. Goodbye.