(no subject)
I just pulled a beautiful red-gold hair out of my head, which is always a pleasant surprise.
Speaking of which, cigarettes.
Don't sit in front of me, smoking a cigarette in the loungeroom, and try to talk to me about common courtesy.
Don't get annoyed with me for making it known that I really dislike it when people smoke in enclosed spaces. No, it's not my house. No, it's not my car. But, it is my body, and you have absolutely no right to molest my health. Period.
Do you want to know why you buy cigarettes? You buy cigarettes so that some billionaire can make a few more dollars. I don't care if you're my best friend. I don't care if you're a nice person who's a great musician and a beautiful girl and I'm in love with you. There is no reason you can give me for smoking that displaces the fact that when it comes down to it, you buy cigarettes because some rich man wants to make money off of you.
Let's think about it literally. Yes, cigarettes calm you down. Yes, not having cigarettes for too long puts you on edge because you're addicted to them. Some of you are chained so securely to them that the longer you go without them, the more difficult it becomes to think about or concentrate on anything but cigarettes. Other people who display this trait are heroin junkies. Sometimes I think the only difference between heroin junkies and cigarette junkies is that heroin is cripplingly expensive.
I'm tired of being nice about cigarettes. I am overjoyed that bars shall be 100% smoke free in July. But I'm not particularly excited because people everywhere ignore non-smoking areas in pubs anyway. When I try to think about the person who crossed off the "non" on the "non-smoking area" sign at ric's, I generally think about them dying in a hole somewhere.
And, no, the outside tables at ric's are no better than inside. You just don't notice how searingly full of smoke the place is because you're already drenched in it.
Instead of using my bowl as an ash tray, stub it out on your arm. At least you'll be able to see the damage it's doing to you. Light another one with your yellow fingers and strain the ash through your yellow teeth. Yeah, you, sexy.
If I offended you with this little rant in any way, I advise you step off your self-righteous little pedestal and open your eyes to the billion-dollar cancer that's worked it's way so far into our collective consciousness that those who are offended at having to smoke with you are considered the weird ones.
Speaking of which, cigarettes.
Don't sit in front of me, smoking a cigarette in the loungeroom, and try to talk to me about common courtesy.
Don't get annoyed with me for making it known that I really dislike it when people smoke in enclosed spaces. No, it's not my house. No, it's not my car. But, it is my body, and you have absolutely no right to molest my health. Period.
Do you want to know why you buy cigarettes? You buy cigarettes so that some billionaire can make a few more dollars. I don't care if you're my best friend. I don't care if you're a nice person who's a great musician and a beautiful girl and I'm in love with you. There is no reason you can give me for smoking that displaces the fact that when it comes down to it, you buy cigarettes because some rich man wants to make money off of you.
Let's think about it literally. Yes, cigarettes calm you down. Yes, not having cigarettes for too long puts you on edge because you're addicted to them. Some of you are chained so securely to them that the longer you go without them, the more difficult it becomes to think about or concentrate on anything but cigarettes. Other people who display this trait are heroin junkies. Sometimes I think the only difference between heroin junkies and cigarette junkies is that heroin is cripplingly expensive.
I'm tired of being nice about cigarettes. I am overjoyed that bars shall be 100% smoke free in July. But I'm not particularly excited because people everywhere ignore non-smoking areas in pubs anyway. When I try to think about the person who crossed off the "non" on the "non-smoking area" sign at ric's, I generally think about them dying in a hole somewhere.
And, no, the outside tables at ric's are no better than inside. You just don't notice how searingly full of smoke the place is because you're already drenched in it.
Instead of using my bowl as an ash tray, stub it out on your arm. At least you'll be able to see the damage it's doing to you. Light another one with your yellow fingers and strain the ash through your yellow teeth. Yeah, you, sexy.
If I offended you with this little rant in any way, I advise you step off your self-righteous little pedestal and open your eyes to the billion-dollar cancer that's worked it's way so far into our collective consciousness that those who are offended at having to smoke with you are considered the weird ones.