Robot Monkeys

I bought a pack of cigarettes (Camels) tonight. It’s only the fourth pack I’ve ever bought. I’m not a smoker. Of the three previous packs I bought, I think I’ve smoked a total of 1.5 of them. When I’m in a contemplative mood I have the urge to smoke. When the mood passes, so does the urge.

It’s Wrong™ just how Right™ it feels to smoke.

Take the cigarette. It’s the perfect size. not too small where you can lose it, but not so big that it gets in the way. It has obviously been made for the human hand to hold for long periods.

When you hold it, you have something to do with your hands. You no longer feel exposed or awkward when your arms are straight down. You have something to point with when talking. You can take a drag off of it for visual puncuation. You feel somewhat cooler. You feel empowered.

Sure you can do these things with something else like a cup of tea or coffee, but lets face it, cigarettes are dangerous; and since they’re dangerous, they have alot more cachet.

Some people say that the Marlboro Man or Joe Camel gets people to take up smoking. They’re wrong. The man that made me fall in love with the act of smoking was Liam Neeson in Schindler’s List. There’s a scene in a cabaret where Schindler is watching the stage. He holds a cigarette just off from his mouth, like was just about to take a drag, and he just watches the stage lost in thought. There’s something about his expression and how the smoke gently snakes up from the end of the cigarette that just looks…well…sexy.

If I love the smoking so much, why don’t I smoke? It’s not the cancer (well it’s not just the cancer). It’s the smoke. I hate the smoke. I hate how the smoke seems to permeate everything around the smoker. His skin. His hair. His clothes. All his posessions reek with the smell.

If there was a noncancerous cigarette whose smoke didn’t leave an odor, I’d be a smoker tomorrow.