There is nothing better than flicking a match to life, and putting it to the business end of a fresh Marlboro, sucking in the relaxing, heady smoke and tipping your face back with eyes closed to exhale the vapors.
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Mmmm...if I had a dick, I'd get hard just thinking about it.
I smoke like a motherfucker. If I had it my way, I'd do nothing but smoke all the time. Curl up with a book and smoke. Smoke while I work. Smoke while spread out on my bed with candles and Zeppelin. Smoke while unwinding in a steamy bubble bath. Smoke while watching the morning news or The Daily Show at night. Smoke in my damn sleep. Smoke in a motherfucking bar in downtown DC. Bitch.
Everybody should smoke. Because it is awesome.
But, no. You're trying to take that away. Well, I guess I don't blame you - after all, there's nothing more pressing going on in the world to crusade against. Except maybe that abhorrent gay marriage thing.
In case your dumb anti-smoking ass didn't pick up on the sarcasm right there, I was being facetious.
It's also cool that you're trying to dissuade me from chilling with that sexy Marlboro cowboy by campaigning to get prices to rise to $28 a damn pack. Which is a win-win situation for you, because it'll either:
a) Force me to stop alltogether, standing firmly by my moral opposition to shelling out that much cash for my little habit. Or;
b) I'll continue to smoke, paying obscene prices and taxes which, in the end, come back to you in the form of better schools for the grubby little maggots you call your children, or will undoubtedly go towards the production of more of those ridiculously idiotic anti-smoking/anti-drug commercials. You know the ones I'm talking about. With that moron in the tights and cape who can't save the world because he's too fucked up from smoking. Yeah right. Ya'll know Batman and Superman were lightin' up fiendishly much.
I'd like to address some of your imbecilic arguments. Because they're really dumb. Also because I'm bored at work.
(Enter anti-smoker #1, an overweight soccer mom with bleached-to-shit mall hair. She settles her blowed-up ass onto a barstool next to mine and her cell phone comes to life with an obnoxiously loud, midi-sounding version of 'God Bless America'. She answers it and tells little Aidan that, no, he can't stay over at Jeffery's tonight because Jeffery's dad only makes five figures and Jeffery's mom drives a used Camry. Which is devilish. Now go home and keep your daddy company while he chugs an imported lager or five and dreams of a life less dismal than the one he wound up with. She hangs up and goes back to pretending to watch the basketball game flashing on the tv screen above the bar to impress the buff black guy sitting next to her, because she gets no validation from her husband anymore and needs to seek it elsewhere by flirting and getting a response from strange men, and all black guys love basketball so it'll totally work, and I light up a cigarette, horror of horrors, and she turns to me with a sugary smile and asks me to put it out. Why?)
"Oooh, well, second hand smoke kills, didn't you know?! I don't want to be breathing that shit in while consuming copious amounts of the health-promoting wonder-drug Jose Cuervo and eating chicken wings fried in synthetic whale blubber with a side of processed ranch dressing! I'm trying to keep young and virile, here!"
Listen, you needle-dicked motherfuckers who pollute the living hell out of our air by driving in your ugly, lumbering SUVs in the middle of a FUCKING OIL CRISIS!
You hypocritical shit sticks who work knowingly - and without the tiniest of moral qualms about it - for companies who dump toxic waste into our water, who pump out thick clouds of inky smoke into our skies twenty-four hours a damn day. I don't give a fuck if my second hand smoke kills you. In fact? I hope it does, because apparently, the process of natural selection is running out of energy trying to keep up with all you morons and could use a little nudge. Yuppie idiot.
"They're my lungs, and I have a right to want to keep them healthy!"
No, seriously. Fuck you.
Or how about this guy?
"Ewww, I don't want to go home with your satan smoke clinging to my clothes and hair!"
Pussy ass tea-bagging homo. Fuck you too.
I read recently that there's an amazing new product that'll clear that shit right up for you. It's called 'Shampoo,' you cunty little crybaby. Also? Some Tide will take care of that singed Garth Brooks Tour, '96 T-shirt you're so worried about. I know that shit's irreplaceable.
I mean, I hate to make you have to do a load of laundry just because I want to be self-indulgent and light up in a BAR, because I know you usually don't have to wash your clothes. People who don't smoke don't produce any sort of offensive bodily odors or ever spill anything on themselves or come out of a restaurant smelling like 30 different kinds of meat. Also? Their shit doesn't stink. So, I apologize, sincerely, for adding another chore to your pure, clean, minty fresh life...but, seriously? It's not that difficult. You don't even need a river and a washboard anymore.
You've all met this soulless, braindead numbfuck:
"I don't care if you kill yourself, just leave me out of it!"
Oh, for real? Cool. And I don't care if you have a problem with smoke. Just stay the fuck out of my precious few pro-smokin' bars.
"You know you're shredding up your lungs, right? You know that's going to kill you, right? My dad died of cancer..."
You know what else is hazardous to one's health? Pissing off a smoker.
A lot of shit can kill you. Running too much can kill you.
Jim Fixx died of a heart attack at 52. George Burns lived to be 178.
So shut up.
I probably have a better chance of getting run down by a bus full of dumbass Floridian tourists than dying of lung cancer.
And you know what? I'm gonna have a lit cigarette in my hand when that shiny greyhound hood ornament is embedded permanently into my dead ass. And it's gonna be sweet.
I feel pity for you non smokers. Not all non smokers. Just you closed-minded, boring fucks who are too self-righteous to even think about having a good, post-coital cigarette after fucking your wife's sister doggy-style without a condom. Because smoking is disgusting and immoral and unhealthy. Also, Jesus hates smokers.
Am I right, you bland, fundamentalist stumpfuckers?
Anyway, back to my original point; smoking. is. awesome. I love it more than my own children. (Whoa, settle down. I'm just kidding - I don't have any children! I can't stand those crusty-nosed, noisy little shit-factories. I've had more hangers in my cunt than Pamela Anderson's has had dicks. Abortions are also awesome. But that's another rave/rant all together.)
Cigarettes are great. They add character to already highly entertaining monologues. Smoking is alluring, it's sexy, it's mysterious. It enhances moods. It's artistic. It's tortured.
And it feels really. fucking. good.
In conclusion: keep your anti-smoking rhetoric the fuck away from my DC bars. If you want to breathe "clean" air, go the fuck to lame-ass Maryland.
this is in or around Get the fuck out my bar, bitch.