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Tuesday, April 08, 2003
Been too busy to blog lately, but see here: NO More will I head into New York to see friends and socialize in bars. This smoking ban has RUINED the one fucking thing New York was good for: night life. I've long avoided movie theaters for the same reason. The fact that movies SUCK makes the boycott easy to stick with. And joining a bunch of boring ass nonsmokers, sitting around dainty taverns sipping one or two glasses of lite beer while shit music blasts away is about as appealing as jonesing though some 2 and a half hour moronofilm in a scummy multiplex full of obnoxious teens and interminable, overloud "NO SMOKING" trailers before the shittin' feature begins. NO THANKS. Here at home it's videos and viceroys, and nobody to tip.
Stepping to the street to puff is bad enough in Los Angeles, where the usual climate is room temperature. I will not do it in NYC, where it's either freezing or boiling outside and every move in the open invites the attention of fecal panhandlers …who themselves are preferable to the passing nonsmokers who direct exaggerated, hand-waving-the-air-to-clear-the-smoke disdain and fake "koff koffs" at anyone enjoying this LEGAL product anywhere in a 2 mile radius. If anyone ever wants to see me again, HOST ME at your APARTMENT. Wait… most of you don't allow smoking there either. Well, fuck you then. You can get on the goddamn train, ride for 2 hours to my house and visit ME for a change, where I'll graciously serve you my fine single malt scotch, politely blow my smoke toward the window screen and ask you what you'd like to listen to. You won't, though, so sayonara.
The governor of New York State, George Pataki, is a born weasel with the permanent worried brow of a Basenji. The mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, is a billionaire catamite who closes firehouses as a hobby. They've ruined everything. Everything. I hate these two cunts with a fervor. Lot o' good it does me. Not that I'm saying you SHOULD smoke, either. Most of my friends don't smoke, and I couldn't care less about who does and doesn't… I've always been a polite smoker anyway. This whole thing probably amuses most of you who think my habit is disgusting and déclassé, and who have no sympathy at all for this predicament. Well, fuck you twice then.
Sure the French are a bunch of ingrate shit heels, but at least they let a person drag a public bogue. Vive le France! I'd rather sit in a Parisian dump listening to leftist blowhards insult America than sit in a New York dump listening to the same crap, because at least I'd be able to savor a Gitane with my drink! Did you see those G.I.s in Baghdad smoking away in Saddam's palace? FUCKING A, soldiers! Bring the tanks to Manhattan! Here's one oppressed citizen who'll greet your liberating arrival with hurrahs and hosannas! I'll lob one of those penetrating missiles at Gracie Mansion and fire up a straight as I piss on the charred bones of billionaire Bloomberg.
I can't WAIT to see what these puritan pricks take away next. Times Square is already a fucking shopping mall, and now the whole town is as appealing to visit as Branson Missouri. There's NOTHING left. Nothing. No reason at all to leave my house. Forgive me if I don't go to your band's gig, attend your birthday gathering or participate in any more occasions of convivial congregation. Pffft. Kaput. From now on, if something's happening, unless I receive assurance that accomodations for my addiction are available, I cannot promise my presence.
BUT: if anyone can come up with any scofflaw saloons civilized enough to overlook this draconian decree, establish terms with any "private membership" loophole lounge, or in any other way arrange for, enable or discover an alternate means whereby A GUY CAN FUCKING RELAX INDOORS WITH A COCKTAIL AND A COFFIN NAIL, let me know and I'm there.
Yeah, let me know. I'm there with bells on and Zippo blazin'. The first round's on me. Meanwhile, I'm here. Smoking and drinking if I want to. Choking on the exhaust fumes all you fucking drivers spew out into the air as your Japanese cars burn off the fossil fuel that finances the terrorists. Me, I support American tobacco farmers. And the medical professionals who'll vainly try to save my life. And the undertakers. And the local liquor store / smoke shop / video store.
Bye.
Stepping to the street to puff is bad enough in Los Angeles, where the usual climate is room temperature. I will not do it in NYC, where it's either freezing or boiling outside and every move in the open invites the attention of fecal panhandlers …who themselves are preferable to the passing nonsmokers who direct exaggerated, hand-waving-the-air-to-clear-the-smoke disdain and fake "koff koffs" at anyone enjoying this LEGAL product anywhere in a 2 mile radius. If anyone ever wants to see me again, HOST ME at your APARTMENT. Wait… most of you don't allow smoking there either. Well, fuck you then. You can get on the goddamn train, ride for 2 hours to my house and visit ME for a change, where I'll graciously serve you my fine single malt scotch, politely blow my smoke toward the window screen and ask you what you'd like to listen to. You won't, though, so sayonara.
The governor of New York State, George Pataki, is a born weasel with the permanent worried brow of a Basenji. The mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, is a billionaire catamite who closes firehouses as a hobby. They've ruined everything. Everything. I hate these two cunts with a fervor. Lot o' good it does me. Not that I'm saying you SHOULD smoke, either. Most of my friends don't smoke, and I couldn't care less about who does and doesn't… I've always been a polite smoker anyway. This whole thing probably amuses most of you who think my habit is disgusting and déclassé, and who have no sympathy at all for this predicament. Well, fuck you twice then.
Sure the French are a bunch of ingrate shit heels, but at least they let a person drag a public bogue. Vive le France! I'd rather sit in a Parisian dump listening to leftist blowhards insult America than sit in a New York dump listening to the same crap, because at least I'd be able to savor a Gitane with my drink! Did you see those G.I.s in Baghdad smoking away in Saddam's palace? FUCKING A, soldiers! Bring the tanks to Manhattan! Here's one oppressed citizen who'll greet your liberating arrival with hurrahs and hosannas! I'll lob one of those penetrating missiles at Gracie Mansion and fire up a straight as I piss on the charred bones of billionaire Bloomberg.
I can't WAIT to see what these puritan pricks take away next. Times Square is already a fucking shopping mall, and now the whole town is as appealing to visit as Branson Missouri. There's NOTHING left. Nothing. No reason at all to leave my house. Forgive me if I don't go to your band's gig, attend your birthday gathering or participate in any more occasions of convivial congregation. Pffft. Kaput. From now on, if something's happening, unless I receive assurance that accomodations for my addiction are available, I cannot promise my presence.
BUT: if anyone can come up with any scofflaw saloons civilized enough to overlook this draconian decree, establish terms with any "private membership" loophole lounge, or in any other way arrange for, enable or discover an alternate means whereby A GUY CAN FUCKING RELAX INDOORS WITH A COCKTAIL AND A COFFIN NAIL, let me know and I'm there.
Yeah, let me know. I'm there with bells on and Zippo blazin'. The first round's on me. Meanwhile, I'm here. Smoking and drinking if I want to. Choking on the exhaust fumes all you fucking drivers spew out into the air as your Japanese cars burn off the fossil fuel that finances the terrorists. Me, I support American tobacco farmers. And the medical professionals who'll vainly try to save my life. And the undertakers. And the local liquor store / smoke shop / video store.
Bye.
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