Take a good look at your Tom Waits album covers, kids. You see all that smokin' and drinkin' goin' on in there? Well, that's all about to go the way of the dinosaurs and Mr. Rogers. NYC's smoking ban is up and running, and Boston's isn't far behind. Personally, this pisses me off to no end. I'm sure I'm taking an unpopular stance here, but seriously. If there is one place in the world where people should be allowed to smoke, it's The Bar. Cigarettes and alcohol go together like peanut butter and chocolate, cookies and cream, oil and vinegar. Face it, when you go to a bar, you're not going there for your health. They serve ALCOHOL there, which rots your liver just like smoking rots your lungs. This ain't exactly a health spa we're talkin' about here. If you can't take a little second hand smoke, then you shouldn't be in a bar anyway. Smokers are one of the few demographics left that society can discriminate against and come out looking justifiable. We're the bad guys, smokers. We exhale toxic fumes into the precious air breathed by everyone. Our smell annoys you. Our yellowed fingernails give you the creeps. Our "reckless attitudes towards health" gives you the impression that we just don't give a damn about anyone or anything. You drove us out of everywhere we went. Now you've driven us out of our one last remaining sanctuary. I hope you're happy. I think smokers should somehow unite themselves with the NRA. Both groups feel like the government keeps trying to take away their rights -- whether it's to smoke or to possess firearms. We need a kick-ass and take-names, no nonsense fearless spokesperson. Someone like Charlton Heston. I could just see the ad now... Charlton Heston smoking a big ol' Old Gold 100, with the words "From my cold, dead hands" plastered above it. Hmmm... Maybe that's not the best pro-smoking slogan, but you know what I mean. Charles Bronson. He should be our spokesperson! Yeah... Charles Bronson. Who'd mess with him? Anyways, long story short, here: I'LL stop polluting your air with MY cigarettes when YOU stop polluting MY air with your goddamned SUV. You can't have it both ways.
Girls and Crap
Okay, I'll admit it. I'm getting a little bit lonely. It's kinda tough when you have no single friends. They can't really hang out whenever you want 'em to. Sometimes you're just left alone in a cold dark room in a big ol' house. Next thing you know, you're waiting for your friends at the bar, only to realize that it's Valentine's Day and they ain't comin'. So let's see... I've had a big ol' (I keep saying big ol'. But hey. This is my space, and I'll say whatever I feel like, dammit!) crush on one certain young lady for a little while now. Things keep getting messed up, or whatever. Then one day I just decide to go for it, BLAM, let it all out, put myself on the line. And that seemed to be okay. We were supposed to get together or something. Everything seemed hunky dory. That was like, geez, a month ago. I keep tryin'. Got nothin'. But it's not like she's going away or anything. I still see her a bunch. But, like I said, got nuthin'. Then the other night I was hanging out with some peeps. This girl was there... she's pretty and funny, and she kinda started hanging on me and the like. Of course, this is always good for the ego. It's nice to know that ya still got it. So she finally gets me alone, and it turns out she has a crush on a friend of mine. Go freakin' figure. Using me to get to him. I was not pleased.
Wacky Dream
I totaled my parents car one night at 1 AM or so. Completely smashed the front end of it. Don't know how, don't know where. The dream started with me coming in the front door after my accident. For some reason my little brother is awake, watching his three TVs and listening to the radio while blabbering on incessantly about whatever's going through his head. Lots of noise. Lots of chatter. Lots of totaled car. My mother is exasperated. She doesn't know what to do. So she pulls out an indigo blue bowl from her purse and starts smoking pot. "Mom!" I shout. "What are you doing?" "I need to relax!" she says. Now, mind you, this is my mom. It's rare that I ever see my parents even drink a beer. But now mom's smoking up. "How often do you do this?" I ask her. "Oh, at least once a day. How else do you expect me to put up with all this crap?" Dreams, man.
