Tuesday, 24 March 2009

Too Mental for me!


Are you enraged, insulted at these signs?

Smoker Apartheid has arrived via Dick Puddlecote's Blog

8 comments:

  1. Well, yes, because I smoke heavily...

    In the street these days...

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  2. I'm a smoker too. Loads of Spanish smoke, my Spanish Doctor smokes, all the pubs and cafe's here are smoking!

    Isn't this discrimination on the grounds of health or future health?

    It's ridiculous to think that YOU or I are not allowed to enter that room because we are a smokers!

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  3. I didn't realise it was contagious!

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  4. Christ I miss smoking, and every time I see some finger wagging health nazi wittering about it I want to take it up again, partly to calm myself down but mainly to have something very hot to poke the bastard in the eyes with. Strength through joy.

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  5. I would have given it up by now if it weren't for the continuous lecturing. I just have this rebellious streak in me that says "Fuck You, if I can't smoke, then you'll not get my tax money. I'd rather pay a government that doesn't treat me like a child or a retard"

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  6. I lost a sister to lung cancer through smoking. I never have but I still demand the right to feel aggrieved at the interfering shit that comes from our Nazi EU. You won't be seeing the G20 circus outside having a puff. Nope, they will be fugging up the most luxurious rooms available. Just as they gorge on duty free in Brussels, EU staff only, booze shops for themselves. Vive la revolution!

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  7. Additionally, smoking rooms in pubs were a good idea from the past. Mind you the destruction of social meeting places is seen by Labour as a good thing. Phrases like "well, the word down the pub" soon to be lost.

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  8. I do believe that your average politician (look on the sole of your shoe or on the dog's bottom - there'll be an example there, doubtless) has utterly forgotten what makes a life worth living. Worse, they've forgotten that it's my friggin' choice regarding what I think makes it worth chewing through the straps and escaping from my cage every morning.

    OK, I probably could live to be two hundred and fifty three if I squatted in a white, fluorescent-lit alcove in one of Nanny's institutions, eating five pureed veg a day through a tube and watching re-runs of Herr McBrown's speeches on 3D goggles.

    But no thanks, Mr politician. I insist on living from day to day, eating the best food I can get, "speeding" if the road's deserted and safe, drinking every alcoholic beverage under the sun (in what I consider to be moderation) and, six times a day, actively and deliberately not worshipping any god, gods or idols.

    Furthermore, Mr Politician, one step further, one more word out of you and I will reserve the right to start introducing your nose to the flat end of a shovel.

    My contract with politicians specified that their sole purpose was to keep the streets clean and well lit, the paperwork done and to fend off the not-we, gently, but firmly. You're fired, herewith, for incompetence.

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