Now, by rights I should regail you with tales of last night. Of hot pretties in pajamas, of unspeakable porridge that doth insidiously speak, of walking, breathing walls, of Stateside sweeties, of a plentitude of norkage and sapphic shower snoggery, of demon shaggery, and converse of much mirthitude.
Instead, the talk of the town is that NYC has banned smoking in parks, beaches and golf courses.
Presumably that Mayor has been told off* by his dental nurse for his yellowing teeths, and took the now legenday Extreme Measures.
Ahyhoo, smokers are all up in arms, and their fags all up in flames (at one end) at being unable to smoke as they stand around watching the incessant rapeage that Central Pork is famed for.
Of course, everyone's arguing over libery and rights, so you've got to find a happy medium.
Not Doris Stokes, though, the miserable old trout!
Non-Smokers want their fresh air, Smokers want to pollute the fresh air! And so a new, more viable solution has been put forward:
New York's a city made of islands, so why not just have smoke free islands and one smoker's island? Like a colony.
Trouble is, they already tried that. I saw a John Carpenter documentary on it.
The Founding Fathers sent Blake and his leperous smokers off to a colony, then lured them off the rocks so that Blakes gold could be melted down into a cross and buried alive in a church wall.
Now, every 100yrs, Blake and his cancer coughing coffin dodging impotent seamen return in a plume of fag smoke that covers the township and they have at the descentants with various archaic maritime tools.
I, for one, won't advocate giving them Fag Island and drowning them en-route, for fear of their return and opening up my cryonic chamber and using it as a freezer for their fisheries as they fillet me up in revenge.
Or something.
* OR, MORE LIKELY, TOLLED OFF. NO WONDER HE HAD TO SEE THAT GUYKNACKEROLOGIST ON NEW YEARS DAY IF HE'S GETTING THE AIDES OFF SOME CAMPANOLOGICAL CRUMPET GIVING HIS BELL ROPE A GOOG TUGGING!
