Gloating

As someone who smokes more than is good for him - and enjoys the filthy habit more or less unapologetically - please permit me a moment of malicious retributive glee.

Restaurants in Mississippi may start banning fat people.

After enduring the smoking ban, that forced me out into the cold in order to have a smoke - a ban enforced by overzealous health fascists who even banned tarp-covered, gas-lamp-heated patios as being 'indoor' areas (de facto smoking areas that anyone from Toronto will dimly recall sprouting like mushrooms in the winter following the smoking ban, only to be culled by control freak health inspectors enraged that the spirit of the law was being skillfully evaded) - along with the po-faced hand-waving of non-smokers whenever they had the misfortune to walk by me on the street ... well, let me just say this:

I have for some time been of the opinion that if you don't want to pay for my emphysema? Hell, that's cool. I don't want to pay for your adult-onset diabetes. Moreover, if my smoke offends your sensitive nostrils, well, lard-bottom, your cellulite offends my delicate eyes, and there's no inherent reason why your aesthetics should prevail over mine. And as we're seeing, the health nazis seem to agree.

Not so great now that they're are after you, now is it? Worse, really. All I have to endure is an hour or so of mild discomfort and accompanying irritability, between parking my ass at the table and stepping out for a smoke. You won't even be allowed to eat in public. Enjoy your smoke-free TV dinners, butterball; I know I'll enjoy not having to look at your fat ass (I could not look, true, but let's face it: not looking is as hard as pulling one's eyes away from a train wreck.)

Oh, I know shouldn't gloat. What's being done to you fatasses is no more ethical than what's been done to us smokers. In truth, I'd much rather we could live and let live, but in the meantime, I really just can't help but laugh at your ass. Because you know what's more embarrassing than lighting up and being told that it's a no-smoking zone? Walking into the Denny's with your wife and kids, and having the manager step forward with an apologetic look on his face and a tape measure in his hand.

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