Afternoon bishes.

So I’m walking back to work from lunch break and I’m smoking a cigarette as usual. I smoke one to and from walking to work. It’s a literal walking contradiction, but I don’t give a shit. I love it. My neighbor runs 5 miles smoking a cigarette while he’s running. I’m not bullshitting. I saw him doing this like 5 miles from where we live over near downtown Birmingham a couple weeks ago. He was running full sprint with a lit Benson and Hedges hanging out of his mouth. He is a hero of mine by the way. Anyways, back to me walking back to work a few minutes ago….

I walking toward this heavy duty beauty minus the beauty dressed in a nurse’s uniform. An ugly one at that with weird pastel patterns and shit. Something like Kanye would wear when he whined about not getting a Grammy again.

As I’m walking past her, I say hello with a mouthful of Marlboro medium puffed into her face. The bitch “shhhhed” it away from her and looked disgusted. I laughed. I hope she dies of lung cancer. We were in open air for fuck’s sake. In Birmingham….it’s smoggy. Not like Los Angeles, but compared to the rest of this church-diseased hellhole of foothill mountains, trees, and majestic beauty, Birmingham’s fucking polluted like a crystal meth bird bath.

And I don’t just smoke Marlboro mediums. I’m like a cigarette crackhead. I’ll smoke any fucking kind of cigarette that’s made in the planet. If it’s buy one, get one, then that’s what I’m smoking. I’ll buy a carton’s worth of the buy one, get ones and hand them out to everyone i know that smokes because I fucking love smoking. It’s true I can’t hit high notes while singing anymore, but I couldn’t hit them that well when I could at all. Who the fuck cares? I’m not Pavaratti or whatever his goddamned name is. I’m Clint Jones. I’m a smoker. I’ll be smoking when my wife is riding the back of my motorized wheelchair with the sidecar for my oxygen tanks as we’re waiting in line at the predominantly black strip club.

It’s not that I think not smoking is a bad thing. It’s just that my will is not wavered by your distaste for my actions. If it were, I wouldn’t have done 90% of the shit I’ve done in life. So the next time you smoke a cigarette, think of me and know…I probably am too.

Furthermore, if I die of lung cancer or emphysema, I want this blog read at my funeral. Or my kids can pitch it as an anti-smoking commercial. With ending being,

“Our Deddy Smoked? Fuckin Right He Did And He Loved It”