President Me (24 page)

We just don't need the novelty flavors. I like piña colada, but I'm at the dentist, not a Jimmy Buffett concert. It's about the context. I also like brisket and pussy, but not when they're mixed with sand and ground into my teeth.

The thing that drives me most nuts is the fact that when I bring up these simple solutions and fixes to my health care professionals, I'm usually greeted with a blank “never thought of that” stare followed by no action, or worse, “Yeah, we could do that but we don't.” A nice dental example of this phenomenon follows.

I was at the dentist for a cleaning and was complaining about the icy-cold water they spray on your bleeding gums and battered teeth after they've gotten done cleaning/raping your mouth. The dentist has taken a very sensitive area, made it more sensitive by poking and prodding at it with sharp metal implements, and then they spray it down with a miniature version of the hose they used to clean up Rambo in
First Blood
. I said to the dentist, “You know what you guys should create? An in-line water heater, something that will warm up the water before you squirt it on my vulnerable teeth.” He gave the infuriating answer of “Oh yeah, they have those.” Okay. Then why don't YOU have one, asshole? You know the technology exists, you know it would make your patients' experience better, thus increasing your business, but more importantly it would just be the humane thing to do. Why not? Well, since I'm president now, this equipment will forever more be standard in any licensed dentist office.

And since I'm mandating around the mouth, let me throw in this last one for all the female dental hygienists reading this. From now on, when the subject of the BJ comes up in the bedroom, there are no more excuses. You spend your entire day sucking stuff out of strangers' disgusting oral cavities. You can't act grossed out when your man wants a smoothie.

MY ORGAN DONATION NATION

I'm a big proponent of organ donation. I think it's important.

In fact, I think it's so important that in my administration if you have an organ-donation sticker on your license when you get pulled over, you only get a warning. It'll be like the punch card at a Quiznos. The cop will notice you have that little organ-donor dot on your license, punch it out, and let you go. That's your one freebie. I'm not saying you're going free if you get hopped up on prescription meds and plow through a farmers' market, but if you get tagged doing forty-four in a thirty-five, you'll get a pass. In fact, I'll even extend it to the DUI. If you blow a .09 we'll knock it down to .05.

Why is there not more discussion of the need for people to be organ donors? A ton of people get killed in accidents every year and their organs could be used for the kid with the rare cancer. Why not? Why are there more PSAs for proper mercury-thermometer disposal than this? What would save more lives?

And why should you take useful body parts to the grave with you? Maybe it's just because I'm an atheist and I think when you're dead you're dead, but I have no attachment to my internal organs. Go nuts. Harvest away. In fact I'd like to know that some of my body parts are living on. I want to think that my liver continues to get doused in alcohol even though I'm gone and if I can donate my dick that would be cool. It would be like cheating on my wife from the great beyond.

I think that blood donation is important too. And like my organ-donation punch card idea, I have a plan. What blood donation needs is a little bit of my marketing magic. The Red Cross is missing an opportunity. Between the twenty-nine TV shows, three movies in theaters, and the other fourteen in development, nothing has ever been hotter in pop culture than sexy vampires. The removal of blood has never been sexier. We need to target blood donation to that youth demo. We could make a whole experience out of giving blood, like a cooler Medieval Times. The room could be all dark with red velvet curtains, the technicians can be wearing Dracula capes, the Band-Aids they put on after could be shaped like bloody lip marks, instead of lying on a table we put you in a coffin, etc. The
Twilight
tweens would be lining up around the block.

Then there are the women who say they're donating eggs. I have a problem with this. I'm fine with the gesture that has made it possible for an infertile couple to experience the miracle of childbirth. It's the part where the “donation” nets her fifty grand that bothers me. She hasn't
donated
her eggs, she's
sold
her eggs. Imagine if I sold my Audi on eBay for $30,000, and then announced I “donated” my car. Dudes would never tolerate this. You don't donate your sperm, you sell your sperm. This is like a hooker donating a blowjob for $150. Although, ladies, this
is
your chance to find out exactly what your genes are worth, like a
Kelly Blue Book
for your ovaries. Short, fat, and a GED will get you $185 and a bus ticket back to Fresno. Tall, blond, and a Ph.D. will get you $75,000 and a private jet back to Fresno (it's just a weird coincidence that they're both from Fresno).

THE AMERICANS WITH DISABILITIES ACT

This next section may get a little controversial, but like I said, I'm President Truth Teller. I don't think that half of the people that claim to be disabled actually are. I bet if you took the list of people currently getting disability payments from the government, sent them a letter saying they've been entered to win a million dollars in the Dr Pepper Cadillac Challenge at the Cotton Bowl, and all they had to do was throw a football through a hole in the
P
of a giant Dr Pepper can, 85 percent of them would be on a plane the next day. As president, I'm going to enact this sting operation and save us billions.

What I've been noticing is that it seems like half the people currently in wheelchairs don't need to be in them. When I was a kid and saw someone in a wheelchair, you could tell that was the only way they were getting around. They were missing a limb or two and had their pant legs pinned up. Now you see the obese, or even worse, just slightly overweight woman, get up out of her wheelchair and into the Lark scooter at the Costco and think, “That was a pretty smooth transition. Are you confined to the wheelchair or do you just prefer it?”

All the time, especially here in L.A., I see the guy in the wheelchair pushing himself across the intersection backward with his feet. This makes me mad, sad, and confused. Clearly your legs work, unless you have some obscure disease that renders your knees unable to function in a forward-facing position. So they can push, but if they pull they combust? I don't get it.

The only thing I've seen that is sadder and more confusing than this is when I was heading into the podcast one night and noticed a fat guy riding a bicycle built for two—alone.

But back to wheelchairs. At the turn of the century, being in a wheelchair meant something. If you were unable to walk, that meant you couldn't work at the factory or fit through most doorways. Nowadays the government has mandated I put a handicap ramp up to my bed in case a paraplegic wants to bang my wife. We make everything accessible, especially the workplace. Back in the day, not only would you not be able to work if you were in a wheelchair, but the children playing in the street mocked you by rolling a hoop down the road with a stick. Now you can go to work wherever you want if you are handicapped. Everything we do today is sitting down anyway. If your hands work you can operate a laptop in a cubicle, and even if you're quadriplegic, everything can be voice-activated.

I also feel like I've seen a million handicapped stalls but never seen a handicapped guy taking a shit. Not that I'm into that. I'm sure there are Germans reading this who are turned on by that thought. I always want to use that stall, but feel guilty about it. I know the second I sit down on that shitter Stephen Hawking is going to wheel himself in there to drop a deuce.

Maybe it's an image problem. It feels like I'm always hearing about people who achieved great things when they've lost limbs or one of their five senses. I've got both eyes and both arms and all I use them for is to masturbate. Every third week on
60 Minutes
they profile someone that has overcome adversity. “He doesn't have the use of any limbs but he pulled himself up Mount Washington with his teeth.” Fuck that guy. I'm perfectly able-bodied and it takes everything I've got to get my ass off the couch to grab some Bugles.

The worst is the handicapped guy who's still doing extreme sports. He's got the knobby tires on his chair, which is covered in cool bumper stickers, he's wearing pads and going down the vert ramp at the X Games (probably the same one he went down when he broke his spine in the first place). I guess what I'm saying is
fuck resiliency
.

Before you think I'm too much of an asshole, I'm fine with people who have legitimate disabilities, and providing accommodations for them. I just think that the system is being abused. Our culture has become so narcissistic (and lazy) that half the people I see getting out of cars with handicapped placards are younger and fitter than me.

That's why in my administration I will have a team of guys in unmarked vans patrolling handicapped parking spots, and if they see you take one and you're able-bodied, they will
make
you handicapped with a pool cue.

Maybe there's some confusion about what qualifies someone for handicapped parking. Well, let me make it clear. As far as the administration of Adam Carolla is concerned, here's the simple definition of who gets handicapped parking:

If your cock works, no special spot. That's my Mason-Dick-son line. Conversely you can be doing one armed push-ups, but if your honker doesn't work then you get to park right up front at the Home Depot.

By the way, I always notice a ton of handicapped spots in front at the Home Depot. For some reason that store seems to have a higher percentage than Kmart or Costco. Why? Are there are ton of quadriplegics putting additions on their houses? Maybe that's how they got handicapped in the first place, falling off a roof trying to install a skylight. I'm just saying we should save two of the eight spots up front for the guy dragging 580 pounds of anchor chain out to his pickup.

One last thought related to disability. We've all seen the blind guy with the long white cane. I understand the need to compact such a thing, but does it need to fold down so small it can fit up your ass? Fishing poles only break down into two pieces. Why does the blind-guy cane need to fold up into a thousand? Won't that make it harder for him to feel around and find when he puts it down on the coffee table?

In general, I miss the old canes. Canes used to be cool. They were made of driftwood and had metallic eagle heads on top or swords hidden in them. Now they're all brushed aluminum and have four feet wrapped in tennis balls. (By the way, tennis balls really have range as far as the pace of the activities they're used for. Nothing is faster and harder on your legs than the sport of tennis, but nothing is moving slower and made to protect your legs more than the tennis ball on the bottom of Grandma's walker.)

As always, I, President Carolla, have a great two-birds-one-stone solution to all of this. All blind-guy canes will now be equipped with metal detectors so they can find some doubloons as their owners walk in the park. And for the regular cane, we will simply attach a nail at the end so Granny can pick up some litter while she walks in the park.

THE TRUTH ABOUT FAT

Nowadays everyone is paranoid about gluten and trans fats. The only time you should be worried about trans fats is if it's your first day doing porn and they say the person you'll be performing the scene with is named Trans Fats.

I had a run-in with one of these assholes when I was doing an interview trying to plug a gig in Denver. From the get-go, I could tell the guy had an agenda because he kept talking about my “right wing” views. Then he hit me about my “controversial” opinion on shaming fat people (more on that in a minute).