So, I caught a cold. Like, a significant one. It's not really all that bad; I've just had it for a month now. Which annoys me.

So I had this amusing idea about that. Since I keep coughing, regardless how much time passes, I figure that one factor might be that I'm coating this phlegmatic shit with whatever's supposed to kill you instantly in cigarettes; in case that's complicating matters, I kinda quit smoking. Which is interesting the hell outta me.

First, we should define a couple of terms. I didn't intend to quit, like, for eternity. It's more of a suspension. I had four or five cigarettes yesterday; today I've had zero. Which is a bit of a change, granting that I've had four or five cigarettes per hour since Reagan was in office.

That said: I don't care.

Seriously. That I'm not smoking seems to have no particular effect. I don't think I'm any more hyperactive or lethargic than usual; that people are meaningless, annoying primates is no more or less apparent to me; things are about the same, except that I'm not lighting a cigarette every few minutes as a matter of course.

Though there is I suppose the one additional stupidity from the odd primate. I've already run into the antismokers since I 'quit'. You remember those 'tards: they were the ones assuring me for the last couple decades that, unless I quit smoking in the next few seconds, I'd be dead the next second after that. Now, instead of telling me that lie [or even my actual favourite: that I'm only six and a half feet tall because smoking will stunt my growth], they're assuring me that, cigarettes being far more addictive than water or oxygen, I'm in pure hell going without a cigarette, because no one's superhuman enough to let the pack of smokes sitting next to the Zippo in the pocket of the coat I was wearing yesterday sit there unsmoked while not particularly giving a damn whether they exist.

Antismokers are fucking stupid.

I think, to be honest, I started smoking for a couple of reasons. One's obvious: my older brother smoked, and I got used to it [I seem to have been genetically programmed to dig the smell of smoke]; the other, more ironic reason was that, while I dig the smell of smoke, the places in which I could dig the smell of smoke began disappearing in the eighties. When you could smoke in hospitals, I smoked about half a pack a day; when you could smoke in malls, I smoked about a pack; when you could smoke in restaurants, I smoked about two; now that you can't smoke where molecules are present, I smoke about three.

Except that, now, I don't. Despite the fraud with malice aforethought of the antismokers.

So. I'm not really sure yet whether this little experiment is doing a damned thing to get me over this cold. But it's easily doing a damned thing to convince me beyond a shadow of a doubt that antismokers are lying morons impersonating medical professionals, often across state lines. If you happen to be a lying moron in another state which finds itself confronted and arrested by the FBI pretty soon, there's every chance that you were stupid enough to lie to me in a chatroom about my ability to ignore an open pack of cigarettes despite the fictional addictive properties of its contents.

It's not an addiction. If it were, I'd smoke these things. Then buy more and smoke those. And so on. Until I ran out of money and had to kill people [hopefully lying antismokers] and take their money to go buy more cigarettes to smoke.

In fact, I'd maintain that, at least in my case, with my physiology and metabolism, quitting after twenty-odd years of smoking was easier than not starting in the first place. When I personally started, there was a lot of peer pressure; everyone everywhere smoked; there was no conceivable reason not to start [the early surgeon general's warnings weren't terribly conceptual]; Joe Camel was as recognisable and ubiquitous as Mickey Mouse. So, Kids: you can quit by not starting if you like; but I'm not sure it's the simplest option, to be honest.

Incidentally, my brother who smoked when I was a kid quit in about 1986. Just like that. My other brother quit a few years later. Neither, to date, has had a cigarette again. More genetics: we in my family like smoking, but can quit without going all batshit; also, we never seem to die.

I guess maybe I am feeling a little better. So, since it's warm out, I think I'll go off and throw rocks at every car whose exhaust I can smell for a while. Get in early on the next activistical bullshit terrorism.

More later....

Forgot to add tags for this stupid entry.