I was speaking to the honorable Mr. Jacob M Lopez esquire this evening, and the
conversation, as it often does, wandered into the realm of how the world should be.
More specifically, how some yuppie inbred psycho twit, by virtual of his seemingly
inexhaustible free time to work out at the gym, feels qualified to impart upon me his
idea of how I should best live my life. More specifically, these fascist health Nazis
and their anti-smoking rhetoric.
But what's even worse than these people, who may either be genuinely concerned
for me as their fellow man, or lack the cognitive skills to see how little I care, is that
faction of the business world who feints concern for my health merely for their own
gain. And, while I am not opposed to making money, I would prefer they were at
least honest about their anti-smoking policy.
McDonald's, Burger King, & Hardees all claimed to be sensitive to their
non-smoking patrons when they banned smoking from their establishments. I,
however, find it hard to imagine that the same people who just handed me a slab of
preservative laden pressed beef topped with all manner of sauces and a side of deep
fried potato splinters gives a rat's ass about my health.
Obviously I don't care about my own health. I am eating at McDonald's, after all.
Were my health a major concern, I would be watching my fiber and jogging like
every other pretentious twit. And obviously you don't care or you wouldn't have
served me a prepackage heart attack with and order of hemorrhage fries and topped
it all off with sweetened sugar water laced with uppers and yellow die #5. Since
neither of us cares, why lie?
So why can't I smoke in your restaurant? The answer is quite simple. Because I
want to. As a matter of fact, once I have masticated both of my all beef patties and
the special sauce, lettuce, and cheese have begun to metamorphose my digestive
acids into equal quantities of methane and fecal matter, the first thing I want to do is
light up a cigarette. It's like a game for me... Will the cholesterol get to my heart
before my lungs implode???
Here in lies your problem. You don't want me to actually sit there and enjoy a
peaceful moment. You want me up and out the door so you can auction my seat to
the next contestant in the rat race. It's all about the almighty dollar. And I am OK
There is nothing wrong with making money off of the indifference and stupidity of
your fellow man. All I ask is that you don't use me as an excuse.
end of rant...