Chapter 12 - Like We're Supposed To Care?
As I mentioned in chapter 11, some faggoty presidential candidates just love that their children die tragically so they can use it on a bumper sticker. Pretty sad. But not as sad as the terminally children who use their sickness to get attention. I have never seen children enjoying their incurable diseases so much.
It seems to be all the rage for little whiners of want with so-called "terrible illnesses" to try and turn their maladies into some sort of cause-celeb begathon for medicines and research to cure their condition or relieve their pain.
Okay, you have an irreversible disease. So did Al Capone. It doesn't make you some martyr.
First of all, we call these conditions terminal for a reason and spending time and good money on a cure for something terminal seems be a rather wasteful use of good research that might be better used for curing something curable.
Prior to getting leukemia or malignant tumors -- or whatever it is they say they have -- these children didn't seem to have a single problem with disease, much less expecting the rest of America to take time away from creating a strong economic base for healthy kids to take advantage of. An economy that these taking-up-needed-space-in-hospices cry-babies could also have access to if they wouldn't be so selfish and lived healthfully.
Now, it seems that the world is supposed to drop everything because these weakened weebles weren't careful enough to properly count the number of red or white blood cells that could cohabit peacefully without killing each other off.
Why must we be forced to wear some synthetic, sterilized mask every time one of these kids cry "Mommy." I'm not their mommy and I don't care to be. If the families of these money-sucking bedridden cretins choose to parent them, don't ask me to support them. I don't ask them to buy my satin-black Chanel. You want someone to come to your child's bed, ask Bill Clinton for a donation. I'm sure Monica Lewinsky's mom and dad would have.
If I ever choose to have someone else's child I'd first make damn sure that it would be a healthy child, something the so-called grieving parents of these children might have thought of before jumping into bed with some syphilitic, affliction-carrier.
If you can't raise a sick child without outside help, don't have one. And if you choose to have one, don't expect society to be shedding a tear or a dollar, for that matter, to help you with the problem. It's forced victimhood and welfare tears for the cripples, retards and hopelessly contaminated that the liberal elite continues to perpetuate so that the sick will keep from being well. At least a welfare queen uses her money for some nice wheels which while driving her to some free cheese wagon, drives the economy, and tell me General Motors and Detroit wouldn't be happy with that.
Parents of the perpetually sick just throw good money after bad. If the child is going to die, dragging it out isn't going to make her or him any more alive.
People will defend the screams of agony from these health-wannabes with a liberal doctrine of infallibility, saying that we can't question their neediness because they're sick or are going to suffer some horrible death. Their shelf-life is dwindling. Don't be surprised to see whatever is left of this sicklings soon stripping off their feeding tubes and bandages on the pages of Playboy.
A disease is a medical condition. It deserves a medical professional's response. But these kids and parents cut commercials against second hand smoke or air pollution. It's bad enough that we have to hear Al Gore doing an Ed Begley in the Ciniplex and blather on about his sister's death. Do we also have to see sick children on the screen while I'm trying to eat?
What these kids and their parents are doing is ruining everything America stands for. You wonder why they aren't rolling their hospital beds up to Canada to wait in line with the rest of the draft-dodgers.
It makes me want to throw up even more than I want to already.
John Murtha should only be a terminally-ill child, then maybe we can get on with winning this war.
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