Love Stinks, Offseason Sunday Etc. Etc.

Hola beautiful gente. I read somewhere that if you write about your love, words will flow like a riverbed: continuously, along mushy or rocky edges. And in this time of solitude, unimpeded by pro fitbaw, I can’t help feeling overwhelmed by melancholy and yearning about

In good times and bad, I have called you many names—playful names: garets, cigs, darts, enfisémicos… You steadied my nerves, brought me warmth and made my insurance premiums soar because I could never lie about us. How could I deny your tender embrace of nicotine? My yellow teeth and fingertips confessed my devotion to you and your maker, tobacco companies. Dios mío; tobacco companies are even more evil than pro boxing promoters and music industry VPs. In their defense, I turn to the obvious: malevolence attracts and can even bewitch. However unjustifiable the company, Philip Morris truly has a place in my vulnerable heart.

We were married a long time, about 25 years of one pack a day. After that, came the trysts during very particular situations: tense workdays and playoff games, stepping outside a bar to talk shit about non-smokers in our group, being intentionally off-putting before saying a single word… Cigarettes make you focused, the most obvious of its benefits.

When among folks, smoking also gives your hands something to do when you have fuck-all to say and don’t want to appear apathetic (i.e., the correct impression). And cigs always allow smokers a break from every awkward interaction indoors. Hell, if the irritant(s) are smokers, that would be even better. Ask for a timeout to smoke, a pause of about 4 minutes to pursue a common passion / affectation / crutch. Then, outdoors, as the clean air floods with second-hand smoke, you and the irritants can bond, over succulent tar, about favorite brands and the infantilization of society at large. Like,

-Have you noticed the Smoking warnings before movies and series? There’s violence, nudity… Smoking?! I mean [“What is this shit?” hand gesture according to ethnicity]

Where there’s love there’s attachment, and brand loyalty is yooge for smokers. I’ve hung around smokers all my life, as both peer and air purifier, but don’t recall meeting a polyamorous smoker EVAH. Even the menthol cats are monogamous and can detail at length the chasm between Kools, Newports, Bensons, etc. etc. I love my menthol brethren and sisterens, and would never put down their nicotine mores and traditions. But it’s not my bag because menthol feels medicinal, and a big part of cigarette smoke is the toxic taste that reminds: you’re doing something rrrrllly bad for you on purpose—which is an act of pure freedom. Which must be exercised in public only near dumpsters or back entrances, yes, but freedom nonetheless!

I gave cigars a try. Getting hot fiyah down the gullet is my kind of smoke, so no cigars. Won’t put cigar smokers down; dig the smell and I appreciate the pollutin’. Last century, for almost a semester, I went only roll-your-own Drum (great-tasting tobaccy, even greater outlet for pretentiousness). Still, Malboro menG. They have the right amount of exhaust fumes flavor mixed with pleasant chemical sludge tones. American Spirits, however righteous, can’t deliver the delicious toxicity required to compete. Plus you gotta puff them every four seconds to keep them lit. Folks, I hate to repeat myself, but tar is the shit. Plus Marlboro reds are sold everywhere cigs are sold. Yes, often more expensively, but nobody ever said self-sabotage comes cheap.

NFL NEWS

Still February. End of section.

2026 WINTER OLYMPICS

The Closing Ceremony is tonight at 8 Central. Haven’t seen the events for work reasons, but the coverage in the comments has been dynamite.

/Checks to see if pandering worked

FINALLY,

I’ve quit smoking about 36 times, surely 37 by tomorrow. But I love garets, deeply and thoroughly, which is how loves should be. Ladies with a raspy voice make my knees shake. Hell, I even enjoy second-hand smoke. It’s tragic: smoking is terrible for me, but no activity can substitute the delight from burning your throat and blasting your lungs with smoke. Maybe weed is the answer. It gets you high even, I’ve heard.
I draw the line at blunts. That smell… 😖

Banner via pexels.com