Back at the two fucking propaganda rags we read in boredom on the bus each day...
the "local" shitrags that speak with the voices of moral authority
I gotta wipe, so maybe that'll muffle their cackling for a sec.....
There's no place inside for smokers to smoke.
And there's no fucking goddamned ashtrays
that's why butts are appearing on the ground
not because smokers are ignorant
but because this fucking
prohibitionist mind controlled docile herd of mindless sheep we call a society
can't learn from the past and continues to try and outlaw anything that creates cohesive groups that aren't under the fascist control of our blue eyed leader
There weren't butts everywhere when smokers could sit somewhere and have their fucking cigarettes.
There weren't clouds of smoke where the non smokers were when people had smoking rooms in major buildings.
There weren't hordes of people outside huddled shivering and smoking
when they could fucking sit down somewhere warm and talk to each other like fucking humans
but really, we aren't fucking humans anymore
we're either fucking sheep, bad dogs, or vicious fucking wolves
that's what happens when there's too much moralist control of what we say do eat drink think and feel.
Am I the ONLY fucking human in the world that thought it was righteous Sly bought the damned ratburger in Demolition Man? How many cautionary tales will we flock to in droves, only to forget the lessons learned as we eke out our minimum sleep for the next days wage slavery...
Edgar Friendly was the fucking anti-hero for a reason in that sterile idiotic happy-happy-joy-joy world of the super clean freak future.
Edgar Friendly: You see, according to Cocteau's plan I'm the enemy, 'cause I like to think; I like to read. I'm into freedom of speech and freedom of choice. I'm the kind of guy likes to sit in a greasy spoon and wonder - "Gee, should I have the T-bone steak or the jumbo rack of barbecued ribs with the side order of gravy fries?" I WANT high cholesterol. I wanna eat bacon and butter and BUCKETS of cheese, okay? I want to smoke a Cuban cigar the size of Cincinnati in the non-smoking section. I want to run through the streets naked with green Jell-o all over my body reading Playboy magazine. Why? Because I suddenly might feel the need to, okay, pal? I've SEEN the future. Do you know what it is? It's a 47-year-old virgin sitting around in his beige pajamas, drinking a banana-broccoli shake, singing "I'm an Oscar Meyer Wiener".
And honestly, smoker's won't really smoke in the fucking no smoking section as long as you give them a fucking legal place where they can smoke that isn't in the cold, the rain, and the fucking outside bad dog ...... fuck!!!
you don't get the bullet in the head until you BELIEVE in the righteousness of Big Brother.
