What the #$&%!!??: “Lighten Up!”

Rants by Michael Greenwood
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I'M NOT ASKING YOU TO LIGHT UP - JUST LIGHTEN UP

If this piece comes off a bit gruff and angry it is only because I have just spent the last few minutes huddled outside in sub zero temps with the other tobacco addicted outcasts of society madly puffing away at a Chesterfield king, shivering and trying to collect my thoughts. Smoking helps me to do that. When I can't smoke on a whim I get confused, brain addled and downright cranky.

O.K.- I admit it. I've crossed the line more than once. Elevators, hospital waiting rooms and yes, even at the gas pump. To the best of my recollection, I have never blazed up in church (though I'm sure I've considered doing so). No matter. I like to smoke. I enjoy it. And in the ultimate state of denial I'm not concerned about what it's doing to me. And as the saying goes, if I'm not worried about it's adverse effects on me -I'm sure as shit not concerned about it's adverse effects on you. The awful truth is that I don't care much about you at all and furthermore, it is incredibly presumptuous of you to think I should. And just so you know, ninety-nine percent of the other occupants of this orb don't care about you either - unless you're famous or connected to their pocketbook.

So welcome to smoke-free Illinois. The latest in a long line of legislation courtesy of the wise men and women in Springfield designed to mandate how we should live. The same men and women who, incidentally, get elected by lining their pockets with hundreds of thousands of dollars in campaign contributions from corporate donors who make a career out of poisoning the four corners of the globe in the constant battle to give us better cleaning products, greener lawns or the odd space saving table saw. I find it interesting that the programs’ marketers chose to call it “smoke-free". Smoke-LESS is a more appropriate moniker. Free implies freedom. And one of my freedoms has just been taken away - for safety’s sake. And there indeed is the rub - as the terrorists close in and the dreaded illegals eye our jobs and country club memberships, we as Americans have been far too willing to trade freedom for security. Quantity over quality. Laxidavia over liberty. Here's an idea: You, as the finger pointing non-smoker or (even worse) ex-smoker, have the freedom to walk away from my smoke. I'll even split the turf with you. You can have the restaurants (I can wait that long) the pro wrestling and Disney World. I'll take the bars, casinos and strip clubs. If you are not prepared to give just a little, then you and your tribe should at least be required to stay indoors away from all that harmful smoke - for your own good.

Cancer is indeed a killer - a killer with many causes -not all smoke related. It ranks just behind heart disease- the #1 cause of death in the U.S. Maybe we should ban Big Macs - for your own good. And when people go around telling me what I can and cannot do it pisses me off subsequently, raising my blood pressure and putting me at risk for stroke and heart attack. Any chance of a Don't-Piss-Me-Off bill in the near future?

Doctors (the standard bearers of the smokeless life) check in at #3 on the hit parade of leading causes of death in this country either directly or indirectly responsible for approximately 250,000 victims a year on average. Guns take out another 25-30,000 of our citizens annually, 16,000 or so of them suicides - choosing a quicker demise than choosing the slow method by cigarette. Too bad there's no second amendment for smokers. I guess Jefferson, Hamilton and the boys never figured we'd need one.

One hundred and fourteen people will die today on U.S. roadways - and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. And I can pretty much guarantee that when you plow your globe warming Escalade into my diminutive Focus because you were distracted by the DVD player while on your cell phone, it'll be me (not you) who will need the blindfold. I already have the cigarette. Are you putting me at risk?

Hell yes. Do you care? I don't expect you to. I mean, what the @%**$! - something's gonna get me. Maybe me -maybe you.

When I fork over the dollar thousand that a pack of scags sets me back these days I am well aware that an overlarge percentage of the sale price goes to state and local taxes. Collectively, smokers in this state pay enough in taxes each year to buy all the real estate that you won't let us smoke in. The next time the state comes up with a new and ingenious program designed to keep your little "Johnny" off the pipe or to stop him from wanting to spray paint the word “fuck" on the school wall, instead of tacking on an extra half a buck to my L&Ms to pay for it, why don't all you “smoke-free" advocates kick in to the kitty. Call it a clean air tax.

Well, that's it. Anyone who has a problem with my rant will find me outside at least fifteen feet from the door with my rising blood pressure. Oh, and by the way - with all the people who have been killed in the war -shouldn't The President be required to stand fifteen feet outside the country?