Why We Suck_ A Feel Good Guide to Staying Fat, Loud, Lazy and Stupid - Denis Leary [41]
Odd? Yeah-you became a roadie for a rock band that dresses up in superhero costumes and wears twenty-seven pounds of makeup? Where and when is that considered normal. AND you made money at it? Sorry, pal. You don't get to make guitars blow up for a living and then stake a claim as some kind of social retard. Lucky? Yes. Rain Man? No. Not on my planet.
Two days later I hear another person on the same show-a chick who made a documentary about her brother-another Asperger's victim. This guy was incredibly smart and socially adept but for some reason couldn't keep a job or cook or clean or do his own laundry and therefore was still living with his parents at age forty-two. My cousin has this version of Asperger's. It's called Mikey Ain't Moving Away From Home syndrome. It's a disease that makes you suddenly realize-hey, I gotta good thing goin' here-rent-free-so my ass ain't goin' anywhere. Some guy tried it in Italy a few years ago and his parents kicked him to the curb. He actually took his parents to court-at the same age, forty-two-and the courts told him to grow up and move out. I know a ton of Irish and Italian guys who would still be living at home being waited on hand and foot by their doting mothers if their dads didn't one day decide to lay down the law.
But in America? It's not pure, unadulterated sloth or taking advantage of a good thing until it goes dry. No-here it's been coddled and studied and written about and fully vetted into a sickness. It can't be that your kid is just a lazy, potheaded, beer-bellied slob. No. He must be "special."
I think the parents don't wanna face the cold hard facts that their joining of the loins has produced a semi-retard with a nervous twitch so they jump on any available train-in this case the autism express-and blame good old Mother Nature. And of course they find a doctor more than willing to tell them what they want to hear for close to seven hundred dollars an hour-not to mention the special pills and potions. This doctor don't work that way. You bought this book so I'll consider that my fee and here is the answer to the questions about your kid: give up. The next Steve Jobs he ain't. Matter a fact-he ain't even gonna be the guy who goes to get Steve Jobs his coffee in the morning. If he keeps himself on the straight and narrow and doesn't get run over by a bus or go to jail-he MIGHT be the guy who cleans up Steve Jobs's office after Steve goes home to his mansion every night.
Now I know how hard it may be to face the truth when it comes to your kids. If it was easy to be objective about your own progeny don't you think Paris Hilton's parents would have hired a short bus and special security to transport their daughter/whore/celebutard out of the public spotlight? Damn right they would have. Instead-they pimped their second daughter out into the marketplace to try and juice more money. Because-I'm sure-they thought she was "special." Just like Paris is so "special."
Listen up, America-odds are, your kid is NOT special. Einstein? Special. Hitler? Very special. Your little jackass? Not so much.
Will your child leave his mark on the world? Probably not. A stain, maybe. A mark-that's probably a reach.
Jeffrey Dahmer left his mark. So did Jesus. And Babe Ruth. Your kid-c'mon. Let's get real. Unless he kills and eats twenty-five people or walks on water or hits eight hundred absolutely steroid-free home runs, he will more than likely live a boring, fat, stupid and uneventful life and then die from some horrible form of cancer. If he's a boy-ass cancer. If she's a girl-cancer of the tits or vagina. Them's the facts.
There will be another Adolf one day as well as another Albert and there are plenty of Osamas and Kennedys to go around, but you should really take a good long look in the mirror.
Odds are against your kid being smart or talented or good-looking unless you AND your husband/boyfriend/sperm donor are BOTH smart