You Stink

I had a cigarette smoker tell me today that my cigar stunk. Somehow my odoriferousness had managed to repel he who is most mephitic and that got me thinking.

What have cigarette smokers done to deserve being put on the Most Wanted list? I’m a bit tired of seeing them swarming around buildings like ill-behaved locusts in time out.

I don’t like cigarette smoke either but is this really necessary? I’m typing this entry on a laptop. This marvel of modernity certainly contains enough technological evidence proving that we should be able to figure out a way to properly ventilate a room so as to not have to send away our nicotine laden neighbors scurrying off to grab another fix. I can’t accept the fact that something other than forced retreats is not a viable and more humane solution.

I saw a man riding down the street on a motorcycle with no helmet on his head. Some seem to be willing to fight for the right to watch his cranium bounce down Hwy 49 after being hit by an impatient pickup truck, yet they are adamant about shoving Ms. Martha onto the porch to inhale and wheeze.

And then I began to think about flatulence and obnoxious perfumes and the incredible amount of longsuffering that must be exercised towards those who consume methane producing meals and who have little to no sense of what a dab is suppose to mean.

And what about supercalifragilisticexpiahalitosis where otherwise endearing and visually stimulating denizens become noxious dragons, shaking even the most firm follicles from one’s olfactories. Are these malodorous folk to be banished into their own stench corral?

Oh, I hear what you are saying now. There’s no such thing as cancer causing secondhand halitosis. And if that easy rider wipes out having his brains instantly becoming couscous my lungs will still be preserved.

I suppose it simply boils down to “I know you are but what am I?” yet once again.