The Spaz

Hi, some people call me a spastic, Others just call me Simon. Sure, I suffer from spastic paralysis, And OK, I have problems with involuntary movement, Disturbance in gait and mobility, Difficulty in swallowing, speech impediments, Abnormal sensation and perception, Seizures, Mental retardation, Sores and skin disorders, Feeding difficulties, And no bladder or bowel control, The cumulative effect of which is that I appear like some kind of writhing, half-human slug, Monged out on homebrewed beatnik wine, But hey, here's something ot think about... I have never started a war for oil, Or strafed a classroom full of school children. I have never had the pleasure of beating up an Asian, Then bundling him into a sack and throwing him off a pier. I am not a greased up, money grabbing slum-lord, Milking extrotionate fees from stinking Dagos, Or a wart-ridden pimp on skag. I am not even capable of rape. And I have never rolled a drunk, Or kicked a beggar in the balls on a cold winter's night. So is it really me who is the spaz? Yes. Yes it is.