The Mind of Spaz

I love people with downs syndrome. Seriously, I do.  Not in that way you sicko perverts.

I love the childlike outlook on life. How they always seem to be happy. Maybe that’s not love, more like jealousy, how easy it is for most of them to be happy.

Also, I love the noises they make when they are excited. DAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGHHHHHHH! hehehe.  A person with downs syndrome in a theater will turn an action movie into a comedy with each explosion, fight scene, or car chase.

Seriously, how can you not love a face like this:

Now, let’s talk about the special olympics, specifically when it comes to the weight lifting competitions.  I think that people with downs syndrome are in there not because of their syndrome, but because they have an unfair advantage. Let me explain.

Downs syndrome kids have SUPER STRENGTH.  In my circle of insensitive assholes, we refer to that as ‘retard strength’.

In other words, if you have retard strength, you cannot compete in regular olympics because of the unfair advantage.

Therefore, downies are NOT in the special olympics because they have funny faces, limited mental capacity and an unnaturally bright outlook on life; no, they’re there so they don’t make the ‘normal’ weightlifters look sily.

Also, and this is just for the ladies, I understand there’s something called ‘retard penis’ and it’s HUGE.

You’re welcome.

politically incorrect, talking out of my ass DARGH, down's syndrom, retard penis, retard strength

“Lady, CONTROL YOUR TARD”.

That’s what I wanted to say.  But I couldn’t say anything like it.  “Control your tard” has a nice ring to it, you know?  Three little words to let the other person know they are shirking their duty and the accident that’s probably going to happen would be all their fault.

It was a Friday afternoon, and I was in one of the County owned parks.  This particular park had a well and a treatment system, and as with all other County owned facilities it was my job to maintain said treatment system. My truck was inside the park, but I had locked the gate behind me so no other cars could enter. This park was not yet accepting traffic, but walking was allowed by the County.

I heard a minivan pull up and turned to see two overly large, old and slow ladies pour out of the vehicle.  Yea, two lonely overfed housewives out for an afternoon stroll so they could feel they earned their bag of Doritos’s, four hamburgs and a liter of ice cream. I see it all the time, and unconcerned, I returned to my work.

It was then that I heard it.  I was inside the building doing my thing and it was a bit faint, far off and just a tad eerie.

“durgh…..”

It kept getting closer and closer, louder and louder.

“durgh………durgh……….durgh…durgh..durgh.DARRRGH!”

Oh no!  It can’t be! Is Rachel Ray here?

I really can’t stand that woman.

But no, it wasn’t Rachel Ray spewing forth her never ending verbal diarrhea, it wasn’t Rachel Ray at all.

Careening towards me and my precious truck at breakneck speed was a full on retarded kid carrying a golf ball in his wildly flailing spastic tard hand.

Who the HELL would give someone with the IQ of rabbit poop that has all the control of Linsay Lohan at an open bar a hard object like a golf ball?

I’ll tell you who.  The two equally retarded fat middle aged caretakers waddling desperately after him at the breakneck speed of 0.5 miles a hour while calling ineffectually for Jimmy to stop immediately!

That’s who.

The tard sees my truck and gives a delighted ‘DAARRGH’ and makes a beeline for it, making a pig like squeal with every step.

And this Tard can move, let me tell you. I mean, screw the special Olympics, this guy could probably make the REAL Olympics.  And every time dumpy mcfatty pants said “Jimmy! Stop! Come here!” he’d move even faster.

So there he was, ambling around my truck like a drunken redneck looking to get in a fight waving his golf ball around with a limp hand that looked like it was going to release it straight into my windshield any time.

And the fat ladies ambled to and past my truck, calling to Jimmy and saying to me “boy, he sure does seem to like your truck, doesn’t he?”

“Control your damned tard!” is what I wanted to say. But that’s not what came out.  What came out was “Yea, he sure does seem to like my truck”.

Sometimes I wish I could just say what needs to be said without fear of getting fired.

Fuck.

Anyways, this is FUCKING funny. Enjoy it.

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I love special people.  Not special as in really pretty, or very smart, or incredibly passionate.  I mean special as in……  handicapped.

Don’t get me wrong here. I’m sure all you human rights activists are going to get on my case about how they are people too and they have rights and I shouldn’t be making fun of them.

But why not? Everybody makes fun of everybody.  If you’ve been reading my site you’ll know that I’ve made fun of the religious, the morbidly obese, the ugly, the drunk, vegetarians, young people, old people, dumb people and idiotic people. You see, I have to have a poke at the handicapped or I WILL be offending them!

Moving on.

How can you not enjoy the antics of true mental spaztics? Take a Movie theater for example.  An action movie by itself can be good, but if there’s a collection of downs syndrome patients on a field trip going DUUUUURGH! and clapping their hands at every explosion, well, now you have a comedy.

My very favorite are the ones with downs syndrome. It must be bliss to be so easy to please.  Also, I wish I had retard strength. I hear those fuckers don’t have to exercise a day in their life but damned near lift a car!  Also, I hear the guys have penis’s  that hang down to their knees. Sometimes missing a chromosome isn’t so bad.

What I’m really on about though, is the retarded in the workforce.  The province of Ontario has a program to subsidize employers who hire the (relatively) competent handicapped.  I believe they pay up to half the salary.  Which is absolutely fantastic.  I can’t speak for all, but I’ve seen many downs syndrome kids with menial jobs who think it’s the BEST thing in the world.  Compare that with “normal” kids who bitch and moan that their $28.00 per hour Toyota jobs sweeping the floor is just unfair. Really, who’s the ‘tard here?

I think it’s great that my tax dollars go to help people feel useful. There’s nothing better in life than feeling useful, even if feeling useful to some people is not pooping their pants for a four hour shift.  I’ve only ever had one problem with this: Some dipshit at Wendy’s put a girl with sever downs syndrome on the salad line.  My salad didn’t need any dressing due to the soaking of ‘tard drool.

Seriously, why would you put a person that has no concept of hygiene and no control of flowing bodily fluids on food production. That’s retarded in and of itself!

I am going somewhere with this.  You see, usually, they put people with special needs in very menial jobs because of their lack of mental prowess. Clearing off tables, taking out the garbage, sweeping the floor, anything you’d have a normally functioning teenager do. But I saw something this weekend, something that made me stop and re-evaluate this.

I saw a police car with the words on the side of it, SPECIAL CONSTABLE.

Oh… My…God. They’re allowing retards to do policing now?

So here’s what I want to know. Do these special constables actually have their own car or do the normal cops carry them in the back seats for special work, kind of like K-9 units?

Regardless, I feel safer on the streets knowing that our government is finally using the most powerful tool we have to combat crime.

Retard strength.

‘Nuff Said.

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