Retreat to an authorized smoking area, and smoke it
Call me a throwback, but I have an appreciation for the way things used to be. When times were simpler. When a gentleman could hold the door for a lady without risking a gender discrimination suit. When everyone wore hats, and you could trust your neighbor. And even if you couldn’t trust your neighbor, you knew why, because everybody knew everybody’s business from the endless, vicious gossip sessions at the Post Office or general store.
Back then, there were only four haircuts to choose from: Men’s Fancy, Men’s Plain, Women’s Fancy, and Women’s Extra-Fancy. Nowadays a trip to the barber is so confusing!
In my day, basketball players never showboated, because back then the game was about the fundamentals. And besides, how much showboating can you really do while shooting underhand in scrotum-revealing shorts? Basketball was humiliating back then, as it should be.
Kids coming up now, they’d never believe there was a time when you could discharge firearms on your own property without some pinhead from City Hall getting his shorts in a twist. They can’t imagine the freedom of being able to leave your front door unlocked, or your baby outside overnight, without worrying what might happen.
That’s what’s lost today: The basic pleasures we took for granted, but which went out of style somewhere along the way.
Like simply smoking a pipe.
Or going apoplectic with rage about the changing times, and screaming, screaming at the hippies on the television news until you have a stroke from hypertension.
Wear this shirt: with your smoking jacket. You know what, though? You’re smokin’ in ANY jacket.
Don’t wear this shirt: in airplane lavatories.
This shirt tells the world: “I’M MAD AS HELL AND I’M NOT GOING TO TOKE IT ANYMORE.”
We call this color: Asphyxialting
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