Hometown Pie

Friday, Oct. 23, 2009 - 12:13 a.m.

Well, phooey. We lost Soupy Sales.

Everybody else will speak of him with more elucidation than I can muster at the moment, so I'm gonna just say how much fun this man looked like he was having.

And hope that we take something good from that notion.

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Yesterday was pleasant; we had discussed visiting the parks, but my leg injury is still a little more challenging than I'd like it to be, so that's been postponed another day.

The heat is also proving to be annoying. Dave says I brought it with me.

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I went to the online version of my hometown newspaper.

Yuba City is in the process of voting on whether or not to ban all smoking materials from parks and public buildings.

The people who want to protect the rights of smokers are making a grievous mistake when they say that to choose to smoke is solely up to the individual.

That's a crock of shit.

I lived with smokers for almost twenty years, and by the time their ignorance and neglect put me in the hospital at the age of seventeen, the medical people initially thought I was lying when I said I didn't smoke. Even my bloodwork resembled that of a smoker.

Prior to my lifesaving surgery, they waited for a little while in the hopes that my weight would improve (super caloric IV) and that my lungs would clear out from all of the second-hand smoke I had been ingesting all my life.

Finally, there came a day where their care and feeding and quarantine from my parents' habit was effective enough, and the surgery could proceed.

Dear Smokers:

No matter how clean and careful and considerate you believe yourself to be, you reek. And if you have children, you are killing them.

If I've pissed you off, it's because you fucking know I'm right.

So, basically the people against this law have their heads up their asses if they honestly believe that their own smoking habits don't affect others.

My mother died of breast cancer in 1995, at the age of 56. Dad died of a heart attack in January of 2003 right before he turned sixty-six.

In other words, both of my parents were dead before I was forty, due to diseases proven to be exacerbated by smoking.

If you think that hasn't affected me, then fuck you, you fucking fuckwits, because I wasn't supposed to bury my parents until *I* was in my sixties.

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Whew. There. I feel much better.

That's it. Have a good Friday.

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