I hate kids and tobacco opponents
(Photo caption: If not smoking makes my arms that hairy, give me a lifetime supply of Newports. ... Please.)
Subject: [Insert 30 seconds of thinking up a vapid subject line.]
I had a good childhood. My parents were cool, but not “cool.” I had limitations on what I could and couldn’t get away with. They instilled in me a good work ethic, and they encouraged intellectual questioning of authority and reading all kinds of books.
This spilled over into my teens. I could talk to my dad about anything. He didn’t flip out when he had to come get me from jail, or when the house appraiser found my bong when he was surveying our house, or when ... this could go on for a while.
Essentially, what I’m trying to say is that I have no reason to feel like I do, alluding to my hatred of kids and teenagers. They are not the fucking “future.” Of course they’re cute when they’re babies. But as soon as they learn how to talk back, that’s the cut-off time for “cute.” My hate ranges roughly from ages 4-16.
One reason I decided to write about this is because one of the punk-ass kids at my niece’s elementary school gave me pink eye two days ago. I’m still recovering from the illness, or infection, or whatever the hell it is. If you haven’t had pink eye in a while, you should get it. It will humble you considerably.
When it was in full effect, people walking by that saw my eye would look at me like I just killed Bambi and ate babies for breakfast. It’s not fucking herpes on my face. It’s pink eye. Chill out.
You know who else I hate? Non-smokers. Well, maybe that’s a little too broad. I hate non-smokers who look at me with their deprecating expressions because I have a goddamn Newport in my hand. I really don’t think you understand what it’s gonna be like when we can’t smoke, well, pretty much anywhere. You know what my mood is like when I can’t smoke? OK, look at it this way: I’m on the edge already. When I haven’t had a cigarette in two hours, my feet are getting calloused from skipping across rock-bottom. And I am not alone.
I’m not one of those rude smokers, though. If someone (politely) asks me to move or put out my cigarette because it’s bothering them, I usually will. If I’m dating a girl that hates cigarette smoke, I won’t smoke around her. But I just absolutely love it when someone hints that they want me to stop smoking. You know, the fake or exaggerated coughing, the hawk-eyes ... Don’t make me laugh. Actually, it’s good if I laugh because, if I’m not laughing, I’m seriously pondering the repercussions of kicking your ass and deciding whether or not it’s worth it.
The World Health Organization recently announced it has stopped hiring smokers as part of its commitment to controlling tobacco use. “WHO has taken a very public lead in the fight against tobacco use,” spokesman and ass pirate Iain Simpson said. “As a matter of principle, WHO does not want to recruit smokers.”
Well, excuse me Mr. Ass Pirate. That is racism. I don’t like being discriminated against. If I ever see you, A. P., there will be a problem.