Laughter.
Damn, I love it.
It can flip every dirty switch inside me, set off fireworks in my mind, make my skin hum, and yeah, spark that familiar heat below the belt. Obviously it's my fetish, but it’s also something way deeper than that. Not just a trigger. Not just a kink. Something that carved itself into my survival kit.
You see, where I come from, geographically and physically, things haven’t exactly been smooth. Sure, the laws got better over time. Yay, ramps. Yay, elevators. Woohoo for symbolic accessibility. But socially? For us wheelchair-creatures? It's mostly a masterclass in being underestimated. People glance down and see a child. Or worse, someone broken. Like I'm a misprogrammed IRobot that accidentally ended up at the adults’ table.
And I’ve been like this forever. I didn’t “get” disabled. I grew up this way. I’m now an adult (fine, old-ish, you nosy mortals), and still, I struggle to be treated as an equal.
So, when I was young, I found a weapon: Humor.
I armed myself with it. Sharpened every edge. I studied dirty jokes like they were sacred texts. I learned timing, wordplay, and sarcasm so dry it could start brushfires. I turned myself into a walking (okay, driving) library of laughs, and I used it mercilessly.
Because laughter is a tool. A signal. When someone laughs with you, it means they see your mind. Your wit. Your awareness.
And when I made people laugh?
I forced them to see me. Not the assumptions. Me.
It told them: “This guy gets it. He sees the world. He belongs here.”
It cracked the ice. Burned the mask. Undid years of conditioning in a single snort.
You might think I’m exaggerating. That laughter’s just entertainment.
But for me, it’s leverage. It’s armor. It’s proof I exist.
And my arsenal? Always ready. I’ll flirt, push buttons, and yeah, sometimes I throw out: "Nice boobs, lady, but can you please sit down so we can talk eye-to-eye?" Crude? Sure. Sexist? Absolutely. But it lands. If it makes you laugh, great. If it makes you want to slap me, that’s fair too. I’ve earned a few. But either way, you noticed me. And that’s the whole point. I’m not beneath you. I’m right here. Deal with it.
So yeah, you might spot me rolling by and glance down from your tall, proud, bipedal throne. From up there, maybe I look like a Tribble, go ahead, look that one up. Small, fluffy, not a threat. Cute, maybe. Easy to ignore. But if you ever stop looking down and just, I don’t know, meet me where I am, ground level, you might find someone who's actually fun to talk to. Or someone weird. Or someone who totally wastes your time. But at least you’ll know.
Think of it like this: laughter isn’t just laughter. It’s a code. A shortcut. A way to sneak past people’s defenses and get right to their brain, maybe even their heart. It’s not just about being funny, it’s about being heard. It’s how I proved I was in the room, paying attention, sharper than they expected. And when they laughed back? That was their way of saying: yeah, we see you, we understand now.
Sure, in here... laughter gets me off. But in rl, it gets me in.
Damn, I love it.
It can flip every dirty switch inside me, set off fireworks in my mind, make my skin hum, and yeah, spark that familiar heat below the belt. Obviously it's my fetish, but it’s also something way deeper than that. Not just a trigger. Not just a kink. Something that carved itself into my survival kit.
You see, where I come from, geographically and physically, things haven’t exactly been smooth. Sure, the laws got better over time. Yay, ramps. Yay, elevators. Woohoo for symbolic accessibility. But socially? For us wheelchair-creatures? It's mostly a masterclass in being underestimated. People glance down and see a child. Or worse, someone broken. Like I'm a misprogrammed IRobot that accidentally ended up at the adults’ table.
And I’ve been like this forever. I didn’t “get” disabled. I grew up this way. I’m now an adult (fine, old-ish, you nosy mortals), and still, I struggle to be treated as an equal.
So, when I was young, I found a weapon: Humor.
I armed myself with it. Sharpened every edge. I studied dirty jokes like they were sacred texts. I learned timing, wordplay, and sarcasm so dry it could start brushfires. I turned myself into a walking (okay, driving) library of laughs, and I used it mercilessly.
Because laughter is a tool. A signal. When someone laughs with you, it means they see your mind. Your wit. Your awareness.
And when I made people laugh?
I forced them to see me. Not the assumptions. Me.
It told them: “This guy gets it. He sees the world. He belongs here.”
It cracked the ice. Burned the mask. Undid years of conditioning in a single snort.
You might think I’m exaggerating. That laughter’s just entertainment.
But for me, it’s leverage. It’s armor. It’s proof I exist.
And my arsenal? Always ready. I’ll flirt, push buttons, and yeah, sometimes I throw out: "Nice boobs, lady, but can you please sit down so we can talk eye-to-eye?" Crude? Sure. Sexist? Absolutely. But it lands. If it makes you laugh, great. If it makes you want to slap me, that’s fair too. I’ve earned a few. But either way, you noticed me. And that’s the whole point. I’m not beneath you. I’m right here. Deal with it.
So yeah, you might spot me rolling by and glance down from your tall, proud, bipedal throne. From up there, maybe I look like a Tribble, go ahead, look that one up. Small, fluffy, not a threat. Cute, maybe. Easy to ignore. But if you ever stop looking down and just, I don’t know, meet me where I am, ground level, you might find someone who's actually fun to talk to. Or someone weird. Or someone who totally wastes your time. But at least you’ll know.
Think of it like this: laughter isn’t just laughter. It’s a code. A shortcut. A way to sneak past people’s defenses and get right to their brain, maybe even their heart. It’s not just about being funny, it’s about being heard. It’s how I proved I was in the room, paying attention, sharper than they expected. And when they laughed back? That was their way of saying: yeah, we see you, we understand now.
Sure, in here... laughter gets me off. But in rl, it gets me in.
