Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Dear Dr. Chuck,

Dear Dr. Chuck,
I am an adult baby.  I am thirty and a half years old.  I am being told by adults that being given money by the government for my condition is wrong.
I wrote to the Washington Times the following letter:
“You wanna test how damn serious I am about leaving this world, screw with my check that pays for this apartment and food. Try it. See how serious I am. I don’t care,” the California man said. “I have no problem killing myself. Take away the last thing keeping me here, and see what happens. Next time you see me on the news, it will be me in a body bag.
I cannot believe that they would put my diaper and formula money in jeopardy.  Where would I and Nana Sandra go if our disability checks were to go away?
Can you offer suggestions to make them take me seriously?

PS:  I have also sent a picture of me and Nana Sandra while I was having an afternoon snack.

Dear Stanley,
I am so glad that you've reached out to me in your time of need.  Normally, I would have to research the intricacies of Paraphilic Infantilism, and might even consult with a social worker who has a handy copy of the GSM-IV with which to explain just what. the. fuck. your problem really is.

But like you, this isn't normal.

But don't blow-out your pampers just yet, Stanley.  I have a list of solutions for you:
1.  Probably the fastest way to solve your problem would be through the appropriate use of chemistry.  No, I'm not talking about getting your lithium dosages increased to the LD 99 dosage--babies need hugs, not drugs!  No, I'm thinking that the best chemistry for you would be

4 KNO3 + C7H8O → 3 K2CO3 + 4 CO2 + 2 H2O + 3 N2

with a Pb chaser.  Apply liberally behind the ear, approximately 1/2 oz at a time.

2.  If chemistry isn't your thing, there are other ways that you could try to find a suitable solution for your problem.  Perhaps Nana Sandra would permit a 94th trimester abortion?  I am sure the good folks at planned parenthood would have no problems spending my tax dollars on that, too.

3.  If Nana Sandra isn't really up to the free medical care, maybe you could find a nice dry cleaning bag to play with?  Or maybe you could find a nice planer in your woodworking kit and trim your obese ass into something that can sit center-mass on the john, so you don't have to wear pull-ups your whole life.

4.  If none of these seem suitable for you, I suggest you have Nana pick you up a new bedtime story called Final Exit.  I am sure that somewhere in its pages you will find *just* the right way to stop sucking on the teat of publilc benefit, the way you obviously weren't allowed to do with your mother.

Finally, please consider others when you do decide.  Be sure to figure out a way to take your Nana Sandra with you, as she will certainly be at a loss until she can find someone else to enable.  Please consider making a donation of your worldly goods to the nice firemen--see their big truck!  Woooo Wooooo--that are going to have to cut  hole in your wall to get you out of the apartment.  Maybe you could even build your own coffin.  Just be sure to reinforce the handles and the bottom with, I don't know, titanium to support the weight of you fat ass and to put a big eye bolt in the center so the crane can lower you into hole in the potter's field.

Thanks again for seeking me out,

--Dr. Chuck

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