You ever quit smoking? For a year? Five years? A decade?
No. No you didn’t. Because if you ever smoked, you still look at a cigarette in front of you like it’s the other guy on the deserted island turning into a talking hot dog in those old Looney Tunes cartoons. You walk past one of those tall outdoor ashtrays with a nice long butt in it and you turn your head as you walk, track it with your eyes. And your heart beats a little faster. You imagine it– the feeling, the tickly rush over your limbs as you take that first deep drag, hold it in; your head takes off with sparkles and stars and suddenly everything’s going to be just fucking fine. You will never feel that again. You will never even feel “OK” again. If anything remotely adversarial happens you will ascend into an ever-escalating paranoid freakout and blame everyone around you for everything bad that ever happened until you want to murder your own children with your bare hands. And you will never, ever be able to do anything about it. You didn’t quit smoking. You’re just waiting too god damn long for your next cigarette. Fiending for decades while your mind slows and your soul turns into a hard flinchy thing that only knows hate. Friends, family, society, helping people– who gives a fuck. I need to glare out the window and mutter about those who done me wrong. Gonna get them back some day. Once I get the energy.
Remember how when Barack Obama used to speak, you felt something? Holy fuck, this guy sounds like Martin Luther King. I can’t believe I’m interested and engaged in what a politician is saying. You flipped out for him. He was smart, sure, but he also had real fucking passion. Go watch an old clip of the guy. Watch him talking to those black college kids in that speech that Fox news is reheating to freak out old racists. He moved people. This is the same guy you could believe was a star athlete and a panther in the bedroom and etc. Neighborhood organizer going door to door in some forgotten post-apocalyptic shantytown out of THE WIRE, and getting people whose only experience with government was the business end of a police baton taking out their teeth– getting these people engaged in city politics. He moved people, and he loved what he was doing. It showed.
He smoked back then. All the way through the ’08 campaign. And then he quit. His medical report in ’08 said “continue smoking cessation efforts.” He was chewing Nicorette. Which, I fucking love Nicorette, but only when complemented by a nice healthy Camel Filter at the beginning and end of the day. You need that stabbing in your lungs, that burning, a hit of pain that lets you know the medicine went in. But since he was on a doctor-supervised medical program, he would have quit the Nicorette too. He would have staggered it down slowly over several months, six pieces a day, four pieces a day, two pieces a day– from the auspicious beginning of his presidency to the long drawn out months when it became clear he couldn’t get anything through Congress. He never picked up the phone and called legislators to push shit through, even Democrats. He hated socializing, Washington parties– that’s where you get shit done. That’s where you have a brandy with John Boehner and have a laugh and talk about old pussy and golf or fishing or whateverthefuck and in your heart you realize this guy isn’t so bad, let’s get something done together. Have a shared legacy. Even Bill Clinton and Newt Gingrich did this. But Obama said he had to spend time with his daughters. Mr. President: first of all, fuck your daughters; they’ll live. But also: they want to spend time with you, not this crabby worn out simulacrum of you. The real you that they love is the you who smokes.
And then he didn’t smoke with chainsmoking John Boehner during the budget negotiations. This is what killed the historic compromise that the normally intransigent Congress was ready to make. If they had had a cigarette together, that deal would have been made. Because of that secret bond that smokers have in this uptight sewing circle of a society. Us against the world.
Had to be Michelle who made him quit. Her and whatever candyass square they hired as White House Physician. Barack, we want you to be around to see Sasha and Malia grow up; the country needs to you to be healthy. Bullshit. Lung cancer is determined by genetics, smoking accounts for about ten per cent of the variance*, and the country does not need you running a four minute mile. The country needs you mentally healthy and quitting smoking temporarily shatters and permanently saps your mental health. You will never not be dumb, short-fused and miserable if you once smoked and now you don’t. You will always be cruel and hostile and paranoid. That’s why they give nicotine to patients with Alzheimer’s. It’s a god damn miracle drug that keeps your mind working, keeps the juices circulating. If you have ever tasted this feeling, then forevermore… the spice must flow.
Now Obama is just lame. Andrew Sullivan was right about the debate– he got his ass handed to him. But it’s not just the debate. Every time the guy opens his mouth you can tell he hates being there, hates what he’s doing, just wants to go home and glare out a window and mutter about all the people who fucked him over and how he’s going to get them back. He’s turned into Nixon on Benadryl. Listening to Barack Obama now inspires the opposite of hope. Of passion. He makes you cringe. He makes you wince like a cold hand on the back of your neck and you feel like if you went up and talked to the guy his face would be trying to lift his smile like Jared struggling to lift his baggy fat pants around his newly skinny frame. And his eyes would tell you that he hates you. That he just wants to go home. Fuck this “president” and “America” shit, I just want a motherfucking cigarette.
Mr. President: for yourself, for your family, for our country: pick up a nice fat cigarette and smoke that shit down like it was Karl Rove smoking some poolboy’s cock. Feel the burn; feel the pain; feel the damage ravaging your lungs. Then feel the bliss, the super speed, the confidence trickling into your brain and lifting your heart to the heavens. Our problems aren’t so bad. Congress isn’t so insurmountable. The Middle East isn’t so crushing. Let’s get out there and do this, America. Hope. Change. Tobacco. Mr. President: for the love of fuck, go out there and burn one. Otherwise you’re just the walking dead.
* Not an actual fact in any way.
delicioustacos 
“Candyass” 4chan says hello!
I’m getting old enough to where I’m looking at all the vices I skipped in life. Playing catch-up. Lately the smoking has arrived on the radar. And now your post … makes one wonder. Am I missing out on something, being a non-smoker? I’m starting to think so.
No, you’re not. When you first start smoking you have to run a gauntlet of torturous side-effects before you get to the point where you can casually enjoy a cigarette – nausea, headaches, dizziness, coughing, your mouth waters from the acrid taste so you’re constantly spitting; all of these things far outweigh any euphoric effects at first. This is why you rarely see people pick up the habit as adults.
When you’re 14 though, you’re just curious and eager enough to endure all of that till you reach the nonchalant level of smoking all the adults around you seem to have reached. And then the next thing you know you can’t even vigorously fuck your girlfriend without losing your breath and resorting to smothering her missionary style while ramming your cock in her as hard as you can to try to make up for your lack of endurance; she feels like she’s getting fucked by an unhealthy bear. And then she takes up running as a way to deal with the pain of her father dying; she runs like the fucking gingerbread man, and she wants you to start running with her, cause she cares about your health and well-being and all that bullshit, but you just resent her for fucking with your life’s work, which is killing yourself as slowly and as pleasantly as possible. But then you promise to go on some 5k run with her for ovarian cancer, because you watched your grandmother die of ovarian cancer so the cause is close to you, but it’s on a Saturday morning and you wind up getting so fucking drunk the night before that you can barely drag yourself to the methadone clinic, let alone run 5 kilometers – of course, once again you have proven yourself to be selfish and unreliable, Jake. She starts to realize that you two are just not in the same place emotionally, or any other way, so that pretty much spells the end of your relationship.
Before you know it 15 years have passed since the first time you smoked a cigarette, and now it’s the only vice you have left. You sit in front of your computer drinking cups of coffee and chain smoking while typing out novella sized comments on relatable internet blogs, you smoke like a pack and a half of Marlboro Reds a day, and it starts to have this weird reverse effect on you to where you can’t even fucking breath in the morning UNTIL you’ve had a cigarette; it becomes a needed expectorant.
But it’s okay, because you sent this gorgeous, emerald-eyed, raven-haired 21 year-old girl that looks like a young version of Cher a comical message on OKC about how you would eat a handful of extremely powerful painkillers, and risk fatal injury skiing down a nearly vertical, heavily wooded mountain slope if you knew she was gonna be waiting at the bottom of it for you. And even though the reference went right over her fucking head – she’s 21, she has no fucking clue who Cher or Sonny Bono is – she still messaged you back and agreed to meet you tomorrow for breakfast at a local diner. So, it’s okay, Jake. Like Naughty by Nature used to say, “Everything’s gonna be alright”… she wouldn’t get that reference, either.
Hey pffffffftttsssssssiimmbllllllddddddnnnnnnnnn, where can we read more of your writing?
I wouldn’t really call it writing, more like stream of conscious scribbling. But you can read more of it in the comment archives of this blog. That’s about it. I don’t have my own blog or anything like that, I just dump my bullshit in here when the mood strikes me. DT doesn’t seem to mind, or if he does he’s never said anything.
Anyway, date was a great success… well, not really, but it was alright. I didn’t get laid; I never get laid on a first date because I don’t drink, and I’m not about to go sit in a bar and drink fucking Shirley Temples while I watch some chick get hammered; I would rather go on a date to a fucking Guantanamo Bay interrogation simulator than do that. Had a nice brunch, though. Unfortunately the two Bloody Marys she had with her blueberry pancakes weren’t enough to get her to blow me under the table. I explained to her who Sonny Bono was: “you ever see Groundhog Day? Sonny Bono sings the song that Bill Murray wakes up to everyday in that movie, ‘just put your little hand in mine, there ain’t no mountain we can’t get killed on.'” Then I took her down to the Bocce courts at the park and taught her how to play with all the oldheads out there. Nice relaxed Sunday.
Haven’t you had fun with better things? Smoking is only fun when you’re too drunk to care about the smell. Other than that it just gives you a reason to take a five minute break instead of shooting death rays out of your eyes at irritating people.
Do you ever respond to anything within context? Who said anything about fun? People don’t smoke because it’s fun; they smoke because it relieves stress and anxiety. ACTUAL smokers – not the ditzy bitch at the bar that wants a puff off your cigarette after she’s had one too many sea breezes.
Fuck yo’ couch. I don’t know if you’ve caught on yet but, I do what I want. It was a measely four years that I served in le navy but I’m going to go ahead and use that little freedom of speech thing I have going on for me. Get off my ovaries.
ha.
She’s obese, give her a break.
You guys think you’re making me feel bad but really I just feel like if DT’s blog were a tv show, I’d be the short lived spin-off. Obese or not, you’re feeding me attention! mwahahahahaha.
😦 If I could edit I would change that to something like, if I’m obese it’s only because you guys are feeding me so much attention. Just pretend I wrote that instead.
I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, I really do think you’re obese. shrug.
Oh. Well, according to Heartiste I’m still within range to not get laughed at. I’m also not medically obese but that’s just if you follow the guideline very strictly. But that probably is something an obese person would say.
Do you dislike eating in a healthy manner and exercising?
I feel dirty. No more trying to steel readers. Unless you ask me things that require long explanations that have nothing to do with the DT’s post.
Lol, you cray-z. I’ll do that as a blog post. Oct 22, I’ll have a post up explaining why I think I’m fat and you can socialize me into a world where being fat is not acceptable. Though, I can’t promise I’ll care. Email me more questions. Let me steal you!
If I were DT I’d hate me right now. He comes back from a week off and instead of having all of his readers froth at the mouth waiting for more gold, there are a select few who give me the spotlight. That’s cold, bro. Preemptively, I don’t think DT actually cares, I’m just saying, if dt.com were written by me, it would not be the case that I would be happy. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he’s not a ditzy chubbo with no life, blah, blah, blah, other expected negativi-tie.
I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about a theoretical ditzy drunk girl at a bar.
Really? So you did not mean to infer a link between my comment on smoking being only fun when you’re drunk and your comment about a ditzy bitches at bars? I accept. I do tend to think everyone is talking about me. In the conceited way, not the crazy way.
It’s sad that the highlight of your life is the “attention” you get as someone who writes insipid commentary.
Dude, she’s fat and ugly – that’s he shittiest life for a female – at least let her feel like she’s smart and interesting somewhere..
And I never said I felt smart and interesting. I’m not the one running around talking about IQs as if it meant anything. And, in the grand scheme of things, being fat and ugly isn’t the worst. My vagina could be forcibly sewn shut or I could have had a female castration. Being fat and ugly in the good ol’ US of A is still a first world problem I don’t mind having.
You misspelled “the” you dumb cunt.
Whatevs, my cunt has a genius IQ. And isn’t this about that fat chick?
What is up with everyone’s focus on fat. Fatfatfatfatfat. Maybe a person is more than the bags of fatcells under their skin.
All this love because I left a comment about smoking. And I’m the one that has no life.
Oh, and way to do something completely unexpected Cahy. Also, just saying, being on ‘their’ side doesn’t mean they accept you. No matter how much you kiss their asses, you’re going to be a dumb cunt. At least they stick together. And thank you for visiting my blog. You must have seen some of my pics in order to justifiably call me ugly, right? Or did you mean like, I have an ugly soul or something?
Lest you high IQ havers should all correct me, the ‘t’ of Cathy was left out on purpose.
thoroughly agree.
post-INDUSTRIAL shantytown. I believe that aspect was covered in season 2 – the gutting and gentrification of Northeastern cities like Baltimore.
Hey, how come the videos don’t embed anymore?
just testing something out.
DT knew that guy in collge.
Hahaha! IBS…
Well, the ILA sure as hell wasn’t gonna authorize the use of their name for a show depicting crime and corruption on the docks. Half of their fucking locals are under the supervision of the DOJ as it is; they don’t need any more bad publicity.
😦 I miss bmore