SMOKE

FUMES, CARBONACEOUS CARCINOGENS, FIRE'S SISTER

God, I Love The Smell Of Napalm In The Morning...

Well, not so much napalm, as the stuff it burns. I've always loved a good fire. Not enough to start one, mind you, like the pyromaniac kid from our gang who grew up to be a Fire Chief. I prefer to let nature take its' course. And nurture, as long as it involves ba-ba-que.

Chicken, beef, pork, fish, crab, sausages, burgers, dogs, corn, veggies, spuds, steak, oh baby babaqued STEAK! Really, the only excuse for American civilization. Smoke. The smoke of our enemies' villages, the cries of his women and children. It's Miller time.

And tobacco, of course, Hiawatha's revenge: That first toke on the piece pipe, after that first piece of inter-racial American ass. Three cheers for the red white and blue balls, Baby! Cigars, cigarettes, pipes, chaw, snuff, dip, nicotine gum ferchrissakes.

The New World's first drug. Still controlling the body politic after five hundred years. Aaaaahhhh. Oh, you don't smoke? You don't know what you're missing, Bubbie. It's a whole new sensual treat. Like eating air. Breathing water. Imbibing the ghost of a plant. Sucking a cloud's face.

Mmmmmhhhmmmhhhaaaaahhhhh.

Sure, its bad for ya. Most things worth doing are. Sex'll kill ya. Drugs too. Rock'n'roll, well, that'll just BORE ya to death, these days. But, boy it sure killed Jimi and Janis and Jim in style! Better to burn out, than to rust away, ay, Neil?

Nobody really wanted to see a very special Brian Jones Christmas on NBC every year, anyways, right? And howl one for me, ya werewolves o' London. A-oooo! In memory of Warren Zevon, the smoking lamp is lit. Fire 'em up, smoke 'em if ya got 'em, take five.

It's such a venerable tradition, smoking. You stand outside the herd for a few long, necessary minutes, contemplating life and death, breathing smoke in and watching it billow away. A rare opportunity for thought, in our thoughtless culture. I wonder if Bush could have been elected, if we all still took time for a smoke, and a few private thoughts. PRIVATE THOUGHTS??? Is that still LEGAL???

But we're so prissy, now. So careful of our precious health, as if we had a golden ticket for a hundred years each, signed by Willy Wonka. While The Powers That Be contrive to nuke us, just for fun. I'd rather die of cancer, may it please thee. Couldn't we make a healthy cigarette? Nah. Probly be like pussy that don't stank. Ain't worth it.

I can't smoke at all now. I'm getting a cold, or flu or something. Gotta beat it before it turns into pneumonia, again. Western Civilization might not survive without my blog. The World, As We Know It, can't afford to go even one day without my wise and sage counsel. Gotta... fight... the... bug.

It sucks. So, I'm woofing voggy Korean BBQ, hot hazy links,SMOG-EEE-Burgers, huli-huli chicken, and shooting up Liquid Smoke. And there's this chippy in Alburquerque with my name on her, name 'a' Brume. Or maybe it was Bruja. Seriously, she tatooed Nostradamus on her ass. Alburquerque means smoky butt, ya know.

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