Really? I never would have guessed that you’re neurotypical.

For starters, you don’t look neurotypical. I should know, after all, what neurotypicals look like. I saw one on TV once. And my cousin’s dog-walker’s kid sister is extremely neurotypical — she cracks her gum and wants to be like Paris Hilton when she grows up. Her poor mother.

You’re too well-adjusted to be a neurotypical. You alphabetize the contents of your closet. Neurotypicals can’t even find the will to put their laundered underwear in their dresser drawers. They’re that cognitively damaged.

You sound nothing like a neurotypical. You’re succinct and honest, and not once have I ever heard you gossip. And, sure, you like to watch the occasional chick flick, but that’s a human thing, not a disability thing. If you were really, truly neurotypical, you’d blubber incessantly and inconsolably over trivial things like 10 Things I Hate about You or the entirety of the E! Channel.

You can’t read anyone’s mind. And everyone knows that neurotypicals are so afflicted that they can tune into others’ thoughts. They’ve got these savant-like cognitive powers that border ESP sometimes, yet they can’t even round off Pi to four digits. Fascinating, but so tragic.

I know you have three official diagnoses and all, but I think you need a fourth opinion here. I mean… you… neurotypical? Seriously? I read a WebMD article on neurotypicality once. These people are socially deluded. Your team of “board-certified” and “world-renowned” neurologists probably have some ins with big pharma or something.

I saw this television documentary on the neurotypical “spectrum” last week. All these poor little kids, suffering horribly. The fact that you don’t want to drive a metal stake through your skull in order to end your horrific existence means there’s absolutely no way that you’re neurotypical. Goodness knows that real neurotypicals want to be cured.

I saw you wearing an IEEE t-shirt once. Neurotypicals aren’t even sentient enough to pronounce “engineer,” never mind understand what an engineer does.

Do you really want this label? Labels have stigma. They create their own realities, and you might get trapped in the process. Do you really want to become an addled hairdresser, or worse, a politician? I mean, sure, some neurotypicals have found monetary “success” — e.g., Fran Drescher, Adam Sandler, or Dick Cheney — but they’re the exception, not the norm. Most neurotypicals end up in trailer parks, saddled with 40K in student loans, 30K in credit card debt, a closet full of “nothing to wear,” two ex-husbands, and 2.5 children to boot. I’m really afraid that this label will set you on the path to destruction.

You’re a guy.

Don’t you know that all neurotypicals speak? In fact, they don’t shut up. You and your PDA-mobile-text-machine thing just don’t fit the NT mold.

If you were really a neurotypical, you would have been diagnosed as a toddler. Such a severe cognitive handicap would be obvious, not something that would be misdiagnosed or overlooked. It doesn’t matter that neurotypicality wasn’t included in the DSM until four hours ago — people would have known. NT children are the pretty-in-pink brats running around with fake telephones, the kids who pester their poor autistic siblings to play “dress up” and “let’s go to the mall.” They bring the whole family down with them. The disease is just that bad.

Neurotypicals crave romance and affection. They have constant desires to be held, to be told how wonderful they are. You’ve only had one partner, maybe two. Really, you’re just not that “severe” when it comes to attention-seeking and sexuality.

Did you know that one NT child costs the average school district about $25,000 annually? Imagine all the non-NT kids we could be helping with that money. So, how dare you claim to be NT! I think you just want to mooch off the system. You and your excuses.

But, honestly, you can’t be NT because I, as an autistic person, say so. The sheer fact that you would risk putting yourself in a (dis)abled position endows me with the power to name and claim (dis)ability — or lack thereof — for you. Don’t you realize that (dis)abled people cannot name themselves, cannot label themselves, cannot enculturate themselves, cannot take pride in themselves? Don’t you realize that those who are deemed normative will always know more than those who are deemed non-normative?

Don’t you realize that everyone else will always know more about you than you?