How sick I am of “the disabled” is almost beyond words.
I don’t mean helpless children. I mean those uppity, entitled, ostentatious cripples who want the entire world made over to accommodate their individual problems.
I was once standing outside an old U of T building, about to start a creative writing class. The guy in the wheelchair beside me tsked loudly about it not being “accessible.”
“Yeah,” I shot back. “How dare those stupid Victorian architects put up a building before YOU were born!”
I was virtually bedridden for years. To open and close the door of my apartment, I had to take off my running shoes, shove them onto my hands like gloves, and use the rubber soles to turn the knob, because my fingers were frozen with arthritis (and myositis.)
Never occurred to me to start campaigning to have normal doors replaced with sliding Star Trek ones across Canada.
If there are so many disabled people who need to be constantly accommodated, why are handicapped parking spots empty 90% of the time?
And what about those fat white trash pretend cripples who zip around on their unnecessary scooters and hog the sidewalks?
When I spoke against the Human Rights Commissions in London a few years ago, I got into it (slightly) with an earnest woman in the audience, who insisted that free speech was all well and good, but her “clients” needed the HRCs to ensure that stores and office buildings would “accommodate” them.
I replied that the right to private property was as important as the right to free speech. I reiterated what I’d said about Goldwater in my prepared remarks, that he alone had warned, correctly, that forcing Woolworth’s to serve all comers at their lunchcounters makes for a heartwarming Hollywood film, but would end up putting everyone and everything under the watchful eye (and powerful fist) of the State.
The whole “differently abled” thing entered Harrison Bergeron territory decades ago, but I seem to be the only one willing to bitch about this.
Oh, and Gavin McInnes:
These “athletes” were terrible. Two of the dwarfs couldn’t even get their normal-people-sized discuses past the safety net a few feet in front of them. After this we saw the women’s wheelchair 100-meter dash, and it was the opposite of the tossing dwarfs. It was fast-paced and exciting, and every woman appeared to be equally handicapped. I had my head in my hands during the Six Dwarfs, but I was on my feet during the wheelchair sprint.
That’s when it hit me: The Paralympics is just like politics. When you let the free market reign, the cream rises to the top. But when you conjure a tangled web of conditions in the name of forcing everyone to be equal, you end up with a pathetic, depressing mess. Politics, the economy, and sporting events are best when people are judged on their merit alone, free of bureaucracy.