Twenty times each day, my betters pity and ridicule me. With every cigarette, they remind me I am weak-willed, wretched, poxed, and hazardous to the pink lungs and sound minds of those forced to share my air and earth.
When not clogging my arteries with jaundiced gunk, I tar the lungs of innocents. By the grace of my filthy habit, I am an ambassador of limp dicks, clogged hearts, sooty lungs, and social filth. And those are my good points.
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