As I’ve mentioned before, there’s a cigarette smoking ban in Massachusetts. You’re not allowed to smoke in bars here. The state legislature has decided that every bar patron has the right to clean, pink lungs when they get their liver transplant. And God forbid that any bartender or waitress be exposed to a substance that could get them more easily winded while having greasy, sweaty, drippy sex on top of the Bud keg. Let’s just say I order my Sam Adams in bottles for a reason.
Whenever you ask ugly little questions whether the ban amounts to discrimination against smokers, the government’s quick to point out that exposure to secondhand smoke costs about 63 bucks a year per person. And by banning smoking in bars, they have passed those costs on to me, who now hands out about a hundred bucks a year in cigarettes to winos passing the bar, so I can avoid exposure to secondhand urine.
In the year that I’ve had to smoke outside under the auspices of lowering health care costs, I have found myself in one fight with a drunken passerby (He claimed I was looking at his girl. I claimed I was looking at a drag queen) and countless unwanted propositions from predatory townie chicks who think that the smoking ban has turned the bar door into a cattle chute for drunken guys going outside to trigger the pleasure centers in their brains. So every cigarette’s like taking a little trip to Flavor Country, getting caught with drugs by Flavor Country Customs and being sentenced to Flavor Country Oz.
So rest easier knowing that you can go to a bar and drink yourself stupid without facing the risks of secondhand smoke, fuckers. I’ll be drinking at home, where at least I’ll know I’m not being exposed to secondhand Chlamydia.
[tags]smoking ban, secondhand smoke, Massachusetts, cigarettes, tobacco, dark humor[/tags]
