Wednesday, September 15, 2010


I am so sick of you telling me not to smoke.
Fuck off.
Dont you dare extend those decrepid fingers that have been knuckle deep in some blonde wench with big teeth and take the cigarette out of my mouth.

Your not doing me any favours, you prick.

Your opinion doesnt matter to me, if you hadn't noticed when I shot you "that" look, and you reply with "ohhhhhh seeetttllleee dddooowwwnn!"

I dont tell you to get your fat ass on a treadmill. Or for that matter, anyones fat ass on a treadmill. I dont give a fuck if you ordered the complete Yum Cha banquet to yourself and watched How to lose a guy in 10 days over and over again in the vain hope that you will achieve a boner/girl-on over kate hudson/matthew mc-however you spell him last name.

When Im standing out with my marlboro gold in one hand, and my vodka pineapple in the other I dont appreciate your health advice.

Just like you wouldnt appreciate me telling you that those high waisted jeans dont even make it look like a camel toe, it has actual formed into the outline of Gary Coleman's face (R.I.P.).

Its not fair that smokers get cautioned about their impending doom by knob jockeys at every corner, whilst obsesies live on in their happy cupcake worlds, scarfing down whatever the fuck they feel like.

No one approaches these people and tell them that the way and the amount their eating will eventually kill them, with about as much chance as the smokers will have carking it early.

You know what, i love the fatties and the smokers.
The people I REALLY have a problem with are the people doing Emazon.

Especially the dude who came out of Fitness First the other day, sat down in the middle of the courtyard and spewed for around 15 minutes while Jess Moss and I stared in impressed disgust.

You know what, FUCK EVERYONE!

Im going out for a cigarette.

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