So Forest – the smokers’ rights defender – has gone EU wide.
Forgive me Forest if I dance the dance of the distinctly underwhelmed.
Now the people of Forest do a great job and I admire them for that, but in my book the problem lies in their doing the wrong job. Their own tag-line illustrates one of their biggest problems – they defend the rights of smokers. While the Anti-Smokers always offend, they defend. They are reactive rather than proactive. They rarely come out on the offensive to attack the Antis on anything. The only two examples I can think of were the Welsh Poll and the Smokers Poll conducted last year, and there should be further studies both into the damage done by the Anti-Smoker crusade and its complete and abject failure to achieve anything.
My bigest problem with Forest however is that they never ask The Question.
No one seems to ask The Question these days as we all succumb to bullying and hectoring from the Nanny State. What right does anyone have to dictate how we enjoy ourselves?
The laws and penalties applied by the Nanny State are purportedly to help us live healthier lives, but what right have they to decide what is healthy or not? What right have they to “protect” me from myself? They will claim of course that I am harming others, but this claim is fallacious in that it is based on false science, distorted analysis and blatant lies. Any harm I might do to others pales into insignificance when measured against other factors in life.
I might add that the “second hand smoke” argument was initially used to implement the first bans, but was soon forgotten about as they moved on to open air bans, punitive taxations and all the rest. It has served its purpose and we rarely hear of it now.
So putting the “second hand smoke” argument to one side, there is no legitimate, moral or ethical reason why anyone has the right to punish me for my own personal choices. This is a punishment inflicted purely to satisfy the pathological hatred that others have against something of which they disapprove.
When we enter the world of the Vaper, things are even more insane. Here there is no justification whatsoever for any bans whatsoever. They can’t scream “second hand vapour” as it doesn’t exist so their entire justification is that they are “protecting” the individual against “unforseen” and mythical dangers.
So my message is simple.
Don’t argue with them. Don’t try to justify what you want to do.
Just tell them to fuck off as it’s none of their business.
I had all sorts of material for this site messing up my head today.
In fact there was too much and I couldn’t decide what subject to tackle, so in line with my new philosophies, I decided I won’t write anything. Instead I shall reproduce a little brainfart sent to me by the Blocked Dwarf [who else?!] over the weekend. Maybe it’s old age or the hangover but I couldn’t quite make head nor tail of it, but I will presume that you, dear reader, will have a cleverer set of marbles than myself.
He starts off with his own little note.
Author’s note: I’ve been off the sauce for nearly ten years now. But sometimes I wake up and can remember what it was like when my muse stripped off and bent over the keyboard. Sometimes I find I can still write the sort of alcohol fuelled pieces that would have HST thinking a reduction in ether consumption was called for. Most of the stuff I write for Grandad is easy, ‘something funny happened on the way to the Forum’. This is the sort of stuff I had hoped to write
for him. You probably wouldn’t like it and it should carry more trigger warnings than an Arkansas gun factory.
I let Slimer Wormtongue, congealed on my doorstep, get as far as ‘I hope I can count on…’ before cutting him off at the knees – fucker ought to be grateful this isn’t Texas. I’m not allowed to use ‘terminal force’.
‘BEGONE Filthy Politician, demon of the pit’ I shouted. ‘Begone, desist and depart. I have no need of your snake oil, nor your cheap tin trays and glass walking sticks! For I am a professional alcoholic and a serious writer!’
He’d caught me at a low point. I’d poured myself downstairs to find Eldest-a little more mad in the methadone- had had another one of his drug fueled wank sessions that night and left my laptop looping Japanese School Girl enema porn and a necrotic toenail in the ashtray because he’d shoved the needle in under it too hard. Give me a fulcrum and a place
Instead of Radio4’s body count, I got Reiko Shitmora releasing a colon full of olive oil and water like a fire hose, turning her white school girl knickers fluorescent orange for the 20th time when Slimer Wormtonque knocked wanting to do shit to me that even Reiko couldn’t dream of bent over that school desk. She’d now dropped her liqui-turd sodden panties, parted her pert arse cheeks and was giving the word ‘expelled’ new meaning directly at the camera man, faking her 10th orgasm.
Verbally kneecapping him hadn’t stopped Slimer.
Doorstep exorcisms, sending them back to The Pit can be tricky.
Wormtongue was still spraying verbal enema out of his top hole.
‘There’s a mong girl next door who’ll let you arse fuck her for 25g of Silver Slut but I’m not letting you
in to sully my whiskey bottle with your foul lips, and the dog is off sex for Lent‘.
Nope, Slimer was still spraying.
‘Do I look like your catamite? I’ve done more depraved and disgusting things than you or Reiko, my new love interest, can imagine and hope to do more before my liver dissolves but vote for you and your party? I couldn’t drink enough nail varnish remover to sink that low‘
That stopped Slimer mid cramp. Dribbling out of his top hole came:
‘I’m sorry to hear you feel that way‘ (you will be, you Fuck) ‘ May I ask why?’
‘Because you and your fellow nannying cocksuckers have been fellating Astel’s ghost, sucking off his nazi shade, swallowing his antisemitic spectral load. Take IT deeeep, bitch, and tell me it tastes goood. You banned smoking in pubs
because the unemployment figures were too low and no longer getting you off. Now you want to PROTECT the children in cars so their little bodies aren’t corrupted and diseased before you’ve chance to rape them with your filthy fascist ideologies‘
I am a professional smoker, I know these things.
Slimer wiped his shit stained top hole and tried to tell me that the smoking ban in private vehicles wouldn’t
come in this parliament.
I laugh at his dirty lies.
I like messing around with stuff.
I have always been like that. Give me something new and I will immediately take it apart to see how it works. Sometimes I put those parts together again and I end up with something completely different which can be nice or nasty depending on what I have come up with. Of course the last thing I ever did [or still do] is Read The Fucking Manual. RTFM spoils the whole fun of tinkering.
Sadly, this tinkering bug is something I apply to the Interwebs, and I have been at it again. Though for once, I left this site alone and hacked another to pieces and reassembled it.
I had this site which was bland and ugly, but it didn’t bother me too much as no one ever visits it. Well, actually it might get one or two visitors a month who arrived there by mistake. What I decided to do was to give it a revamp, to use exactly the same theme as this site but to make it as different as possible.
For those who don’t know, the theme is like your home’s decoration – the wallpaper, the paint, the carpet and all the furnishings – and in theory if you move all that into an identically shaped new house you won’t be able to see any difference. So I took my theme from this site [Weaver Xtreme, if you must know] and applied it to the other site, but made one or two small changes on the way.
I’m quite happy with it. That is to say I’m happy with the fact it looks different even if the content is a bit naff. I’m not much good at writing stuff.