Thursday, November 15, 2007


I am disabled.

As a matter of fact, I was disabled long before I went to Iraq.

You see, according to the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), drug addiction is a disability. Nicotine is a drug, which as we are all aware, is in those beloved little stick of sunshine I carry around and occasionally puff on.

It's obviously illegal do discriminate against someone who is blind--"We don't serve you Magoo's in here!" And no employer would ever say "I'm sorry Mr. Gere, but we don't hire people with AIDS." But try to light up in a public place (like a bar) anymore, and BAM! You are the new leper. ("Excuse me, please don't blow your filthy smoke all over MY self-destructive drug use.")

I just never thought that my chemical dependence--a choice I once made that I cannot seem to unmake--would qualify me as disabled. Interestingly enough, disability by a choice someone
else made two years ago doesn't qualify me as disabled until I retire. I can still work, until I can't (or won't) and then I get benefits.

I don't really want benefits, after all I am pretty much still physically/mentally fit. But I think it funny that the ADA covers addicts.

Well, the point I was going to make here has suddenly left.

I'll leave you with a cartoon instead. Move along.

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