Anti-smoking Nazi bastards!

When some genius told me that passive smoking is far deadlier than normal smoking, I was relieved. As a regular smoker I had a lot to be grateful for: imagine if I only inhaled second-hand smoke …

I mean, with my form (Derby County and Pirates), what were my chances of making the right choice? I could have abstained and been killed by some wenner blowing smoke at me during Lent (or should that read borrowed — when you beg money from your bank manager?).

Mind you, I shouldn’t make fun of my bank manager — he’s a lovely man, ex-military. He’s one of those guys who achieved rank sufficient to retain; I’ve seen the board on his table: Oberstgruppenfuhrer Lombard … but I digress.

I dunno about the rest of you, but I am so sick of hearing that I have to give up smoking or die. For anyone interested, I have a plan in place for the day I give up smoking. At my funeral my rabbi will toss the last carton and lighter into the coffin — then I quit!

My worst fear: waking up in a pine box without a smoke!

And each day it gets worse. First you couldn’t smoke in a building, then it was in some public places; now it’s about to include any place whose name includes a vowel.

FFS, these laws have lawyers and magistrates hanging out of windows. Is that what you want? Because that’s what you’ll get.

And if you think we’re bad, read this story from the Daily Mail (UK).

OK, let’s get Nicole out of our system first. Out of 10, how would you rate her? Me, I would say one — genuine, I’d like to give her one.

Anyhow!

The point is that the anti-smoking Nazis have got us using smoking dildos. I mean, what is the point of lighting up using that gadget if your face is going to glow redder than the tip of your cigarette?

It’s bad enough watching those ex-smokers walking around with the patches, chewing the gum and telling you how they’ve all but forgotten about smoking. It’s an afternoon of: “Ja, it’s been three months, six days, three hours and 16 seconds since my las … wait! Three months, six days, three hours and 27 … wait!”

Sod off!

During my last check-up, the doctor listened to my chest and started going on about me being a Springbok smoker — like it’s a bad thing. He told me that if I didn’t give up I was going to get one of a gazillion diseases, and that was if I was lucky. I mean, I went in for a bout of flu and this genius is hucking me to death about smoking.

In fairness, despite my rising anger I was very tolerant. I told him that the current crime stats seem to indicate that hijackers are targeting doctors — hardly an MD out there who hasn’t been hit yet and those were the ones they were leaving for last, during what the underworld were calling the “hijack and kidnap swansong”.

Even with my flu the Nazi bastard was sweating more than me when “the government” yanked me out of there — he started!

I want Manto to know that I can forgive many things, but this uncalled-for attack on smokers is something that will linger. Do I come to your house and start criticising the things that you like because they’re unhealthy?

Let me conclude by saying this: “Let he who is without sin, too many cooks spoil the broth and has a silver lining.”