THE SMOKER
By Marky Lazer
“Are you a smoker, sir?” asked an attractive blond girl while I was on my way to the train station.
She surprised me.
She was a very cute girl with long blond hair and a pretty face. She wasn’t supermodel pretty, but girl-next-door pretty. I always like those girls.
Her question surprised me even more though. Not because I was actually lighting a cigarette and it was therefore pretty obvious that I am a smoker, but it was more the sir that took me off my guard. The girl asking me the question was in her late twenties.
I’m twenty-one.
But I was even more surprised by the look on her face. It was a mix of disbelief and horror. She was looking at me were I a pervert. Like I had just entered a kindergarten, shooting some children with a Uzi and now she found me while I was mastur bating and coming on the corpses of the little, fresh-killed children.
Yes, I am a smoker, I replied.
“Aren’t you aware smoking harms you and people around you?” she asked.
Yes, I am aware that my smoke seriously harms me and others surrounding me, I repeated the warning sign on my packet of cigarettes. I really couldn’t care less, miss, I added.
Even though true, I didn’t say that.
I am an assassin, I’m killing people with my secondhand smoke. You can hire me, you know. Maybe you want me to kill someone for you? A neighbor, your father-in-law, an old High School friend? It’s not cheap nowadays, but I’ll get the job done for you in the end.
I didn’t say that either.
Now, piss off, when I’m talking to you, I’m wasting my time while I could be killing myself and others.
That’s another thing I didn’t say.
“Why are you smoking?” she asked.
It’s because I think they bring me luck. I smoke Luckies. And trust me, it works. I didn’t get hit by any car this morning for example. I truly believe smoking saves my life.
That’s something else I didn’t say.
“You are selfish if you’re a smoker.” she said.
I know I’m selfish, and I’m perfectly confident with the idea, but I didn’t say, thank you.
She continued telling me how irresponsible I were and how immature I were.
“Do you want children?” she asked.
I didn’t counter that question with, why, do you have some for sale?
I didn’t make fun of her, because of her interference with my life.
I didn’t start interfering with her life either.
I did set her pretty, long blond hair on fire though, something she didn’t expect.
Hair smells so bad when you light it. I think it’s even worse than burning plastic. She hit with her hands hysterically on her scalp and tried to put out the fire. She screamed loud, something I didn’t understand. Screaming doesn’t help to quench fire. She screamed louder and louder.
Soon her jacket caught fire. I don’t know what kind of fabric it was, but it smoked like hell. I even coughed when I breathed its smoke.
Isn’t it a bit immature to catch fire, miss? Aren’t you aware that this smoke harms you and people around you, miss? Don’t you think smoking like this is a bad example for the children, miss?
I didn’t actually ask those questions.
I didn’t set her pretty blond hair on fire either.
Even though I didn’t finish my cigarette, I lit another, I coughed, and I wished the pretty blond a nice day.
(c) Copyright 2005 The Smoker’s Club, Inc. Please repost with link back to this original article.
