I don’t know whether to throw up, throw my arms in the air, pass out, laugh, cry, or bang my head against the wall. So I’m doing them all — at once. After 30-odd years of being a heavysmoker, I decided recently that it just might be time to try to quit. And so I am trying. And let me tell you, not onlyis it not easy, it is as downright strange as any acid trip. Things that used to be upsetting now make me laugh out loud, and things that would normally make me laugh out loud are upsetting. Things that normally don’t matter at all suddenly matter, and things that normally matter don’t matter at all. It’s hard to keep up with this stuff! Take my favorite person, George Bush. I’ve been so mean to him all these years, and now I feel sorry for him. I saw him twice on the news this morning: once, holding a cute white turkey and the other time, getting off a plane holding his little dog. I guess it’s gotten so bad for him that he thinks that as long as he’s holding an innocent little animal no one will throw anything at him. And what about that look on his face when he tried to sneak out of that press conference in Beijing through the doors that were locked. Dear Lord. Then I heard a report that the Vatican released a new document stating that gay men and those who support or condone the “gay culture” are officially banned from the priesthood but that “ex-gays” who have not been gay for at least three years may start the process of becoming a priest. See, normally this would make me puff all up and be angry with them for discrimination, but now I can’t stop laughing. The men who control one of the largest religions in the world actually think a gay person can be ex-gay for three years? Again, dear Lord. Those wild and crazy Vatican Catholics! Perhaps if they would stop running around in floor-length robes and sparkly hats they wouldn’t worry so much about this and could go on with what religious people are supposed to do: help people. But it doesn’t really matter. They’ll still never have a chess club because they’ll never be able to tell the difference between a bishop and a queen. Besides, who cares what they do when I can’t have a cigarette? Well, I get to have one a day. I probably shouldn’t have read the little book that came with my patches because there’s a section in there that tells you that you have to reward yourself for not smoking. So at the end of each day, I reward myself with … a cigarette! It doesn’t say not to do that! But one a day, compared to I won’t tell you how many packs, is certainly a step in the right direction. Only now, I can’t watch any television commercials. I guess I’ve been on the front end of bullshit so often that I can see it 10 miles away, and let me assure you that any company that “promises” you anything in a television commercial is flat-out lying to you. Swiffers will not make your life perfect. Ambien will not solve all of your problems. All of the low-interest loan companies that claim they will take away all of your debt and all of your problems have put so much evil in the fine print that they will own your ass for life. Despite what Dana Carvey and the rest of those morons tell you, Capital One does say “no.” And drinking a glass of Florida orange juice every day is not going to keep you from catching the occasional cold. I love it that the actor on that commercial thinks it would be a bad thing to be stranded on a tropical island away from other humans to keep away from germs. I’d give a million bucks to sling up on a beach in the sunshine for six months with no one yakking in my face and just some monkeys and pretty birds to keep me company. Yep, all commercials are lies. Vatican officials are nothing but a bunch of hypocrites. George Bush better keep holding those pets in front of him. And I’d better hope this day comes to an end soon so I can have my one cigarette. If not, I might start saying what I really think.
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