CLICK ME to read the news article that inspired this rant.
What is it about smoking that gets every granola eating stair stepping holier than thou pencil dick's panties in a wad?
I smoke. I like to smoke, and I'd smoke more if I had enough time between fits of hacking. In fact, I like it more and more as every self rightous prick in this country decides they need to wage a personal crusade to save me from myself.
This is America by god. Carved out of nothing by a motly group of meat eating, chain smoking, snuff snorting, hard drinking, contrarians tossed out of every civilized country on Earth.
People don't come here to be told what to do, say, or think. They come here to be the freaks they wanna be and make a load of money doing it. If it wasn't for the three martini lunches, countless pots of shitty drip coffee, and pack after cancer laden pack of filterless Lucky Strikes our forefathers killed themselves with, we wouldn't be the workaholic powerhouse of a society we are. Granola didn't get us to the moon, cappuccino didn't help us build the bomb, treadmills didn't make us into the world's greatest economic powerhouse, and high fiber diets didn't help us kick the shit out of all the countries that ever dared look at us sideways. We are the badasses we are because we are the freest society on earth, hands down. Free to disagree, make mistakes, fuck up, take chances, and give the finger to anyone we want to.
And then you get little Weyco Inc. deciding what it's employees can do with their lives outside of the office. A self righteous corporate nanny telling grown adults where and when they can shit. Sure, they say it's all about economics (for their reasoning click Here), but if that truly is their rational why aren't they firing employees who speed, bungie-jump, drink too much, eat too much, have a family history of serious illness, have a strange lump on their breasts, engage in risky sexual behaviour, ride motorcycles, lick lightsockets for fun, etc?
I'll tell you why, because the company is obviously run by a man whose mommy didn't hug him enough so he has to compensate by pushing people around and figures in todays world of global pussification this is one he can get away with.
Hey, this isn't some pre-coldwar communist workers paradise where you march the party/corporate line or get shipped off to some frozen gulag for a corporate retreat and hot-poker up the ass attitude adjustment. Here in the good ol' U.S. of A. a company only owns our asses for 1/3 of our lives. The other two thirds still belong to us, and during that time we can smoke as many cigarettes as we want, drink as much booze as we want, and eat as much red meat as we want with whatever group of deranged and drunken future convicts we want.
What's going to happen when science gets to the point where we can spit in a cup and see all the bad shit our genetics have in store for us? Cancer, heart disease, MS, depression, extreme flatulence, anal fissures, baldness, and maybe even, god forbid, vegetarianism?
Where are we going to draw the line in the sand and say, hey my fucking body, my fucking business! If you wanna spend your days sucking algae smoothies and checking your feces for fiber, that's your business. But when you're 90 years old and drooling on yourself in some dank state run home for the unwanted elderly, I'll be partying with J.C. and the boys in the afterlife with a double burbon in one hand, a greasy burger in the other, and a smoke planted happily between my smiling lips.
You wanna live forever? You think bran flakes and 90 minutes a day on that treadmill are going to get you there? Fine, but it ain't my bag baby. There's a difference between livin' and breathin', and for me living means chasing the occasional dream, taking the occasional risk, sometimes staying up too late, sometimes drinking too much, and yes, sometimes smoking too much.
When I'm sixty years old, sitting in a bar with my friends sharing crazy stories of all our misadventures, mistakes and successes, hopefully I'll look out the window just in time to see the CEO of Weyco Inc get hit by a bus on his way to the gym. 'Cause, kids... life is short and uncertain, and the best you can hope to do is live it as true as possible.
So when one of those Starbucks slurping, prune popping, treadmill humpers starts giving you static about you and yours, blow a nice cloud of smoke in his face and tell him to fuck off. Cause this is America by God, where's it's live and let live and the only reason you're not kicking his skinny ass all the way to Canada is cause you got to get home, light up a Lucky, and read The Strangelands...