Look, I’m not one to complain. For the past sixty years, I’ve been a proud American who’s enjoyed exactly two things: my freedoms and my smokes. Science took both of those joys away from me. Now that modern medicine isn’t real, I have one request: let’s bring back the golden age of cigarettes.
Think about it: if we’re learning that vaccines are a government conspiracy, seat belts don’t work, and drinking raw milk straight from the cow is safer than what’s on store shelves, then why are we still acting like smoking is bad?
Back in my day, doctors prescribed a pack of Camels for a scratchy throat. I used to be able to light up in a hospital room without the nurse asking me to stop blowing smoke in my newborn’s face. Now my kid can’t go buy me a pack until he’s 21? There’s no point in even being a father.
Nowadays everyone is “tobacco-free” and in therapy. These younger generations are all hooked on SSRIs when they should be solving their issues with a Newport and a lighter. Take mental health out of the health industry and put Big Tobacco back where it belongs. Let’s put a Surgeon General’s warning on nicotine cessation products that says, “You’re embarrassing your grandfather.”
Men need role models that will teach ‘em how to roll their own cigarettes at a young age to avoid succumbing to the so-called masculinity crisis. This never happened when we had the Marlboro Man. You think he worried about his lung capacity? No, sir. He lit up, took a deep drag, and kept being a damn American. He didn’t go to drag shows and complain about the environment, he polluted the world as much as he saw fit. Let’s remind today’s youth that a real man doesn’t sip kombucha — he breathes in pure, unfiltered freedom.
So, until we start treating cigarettes with the respect they deserve, I refuse to quit. My body, my choice, right?