God's Radioactive Ballsack

I've written about it here before. My hatred. For ribbon magnets.

It occurs to me now that I could be the fucking queen of them. All the diseases. I possess them in some way. Some connection. I could go all the way with the magnets. I could support so many Chinese factory workers.

Because I refuse to make another whiny post (at least before I go to the doctor tomorrow, and have fresh things to whine about), I will list for you, the magnets I could have. You're welcome:

M.S.- It's important for me to know what color this magnet would be. Does anyone know? Because if I'm absolutely certain of anything, it is that there is already one in existence. So what color? Because I've decided that the best way to deal with this diagnosis, to throw all my support behind this disease, is to wear it's representative color, head-to-toe. I need to know what color underwear I need to throw away, so someone get me this information as soon as possible, please.

Cancer- Ok. There are lots of cancers. Breast. Ball. Et cetera. But maybe we can just lump them all together and say "cancer is bad, let's beat cancer". Can I get a "cancer is bad" magnet? Because I would be all over that shit. And can we not make it pink? I know I have tits and a vagina, so I should be all about the lady cancers, but my personal experience is with Rodolfo's cancer, thyroid. And I'm pretty sure the color of that magnet should be "scar"... which is a brownish color in case you are wondering.

AIDS- I know this one is red. I can't say I've been personally effected by it, luckily. But everyone hates AIDS, man. And I do like red.

Besides these three big hitters, I could own the magnet game with specific diseases. My mother has heart disease. I have friends whose children have ADHD and Autism. My one sister-in-law has Lupus. The other one has kidney disease. They even make ribbon magnets to support stillbirth research and miscarriage. I could get on all those things. People would think I was mocking the magnets, I would have so many. The problem is that they would be right.

I came to this conclusion simply. I briefly considered which magnets I could not, in good conscience, have on my car. Naturally, I started thinking about the ones that are supposed to be jokes, to support weed and pimping.

And then I realized something else. MS? It's one of the few diseases where medical marijuana is actually considered a sanctioned treatment. I could support weed in all seriousness and people would have to look the other way. Even feel bad for me and shit.

I feel I need to tell you something about myself, though. I'm a bit of a freak. Or maybe it just seems that way to me because I grew up ghetto-adjacent and I might just be the only one in a 200 mile radius. So here it is:

I've never gotten high. In all seriousness, like ever. I've been in situations. I've had the opportunity. In fact, all I would have had to do would have been to stay in a room where some shit was going down and I probably would have caught some sort of buzz. But I always walked out. Because, okay, is it just me? Weed smells like shit.

I mean, that realization came later for me, if I'm being honest. Because during the sunrise of my adolescence, I was convinced that people didn't do drugs. Well, unless they were drug addicts, of course. I was truly and thoroughly horrified a few years later, to find out how many people I knew that I would classify as drug addicts.

A boy I liked and his pre-law friend gave me a good talking-to at a party once (where, coincidentally, I didn't see anything wrong with getting so drunk that I was still hammered at work the next day) about the actual criminalization of marijuana and how it isn't actually that bad or unsafe as a lot of things that are currently perfectly legal. And they mostly convinced me. Except that I still wouldn't do it because I find it so fucking disgusting.

And now I'm wondering about all the potheads I know who don't have MS. Fuckers.

I've also considered blaming all this on God's radioactive spunk. Basically I've decided that New Jersey is the epicenter of Jesus' Chernobyl ballsack and living here made neurological decline an inevitability.

And now I'm wondering one other thing: Was this even funny the FIRST time I wrote about it? I don't know, but I suspect it was not. Cut me some slack people. Holes in my brain and shit.