do the words "quadruple bypass" mean anything to you at all?
Standing in front of my place of employment smoking a cigarette yesterday, thinking about exams and work and generally minding my own business, when the elevator-repair guy that was in that day walks up to me. He is unkempt, looks like he hasn't showered or washed his clothes in two weeks, smells of fast food, and was heavily overweight. His face was bright red from the strain of hypertension, even though he only looked to be about 35. This guy that hasn't moved over 2 mph in his life then proceeds to lecture me about my cigarette. See, his grandma or somesuch had cancer, and emphazema, and black lung or the bubonic plauge or something and only lived to eighty because she smoked three packs a day; and this fellow feels the need to go on. and on. and on. about the evils of cigarettes, all the while wheezing himself from the strain of repeatedly pushing out his man-boobs to expand his lungs. I explain to him that I used to work EMS, I've seen people dying from the cancer, I know smoking is bad for me and I don't plan to do it forever. I also point out that i've seen gangrene eating someone's foot becuase they're badly diabetic (due to poor eating), and picked up the corpses of forty year old heart attack victims, and all other various lifestyle-choice casualties. But that dosen't stop him, on and on he goes, rubbing his greasy hair with greasy fingers, not letting a word in edgewise, still talking at me when I turn my back and walk into the building.
My relatives do the same thing to me. Here's a thought: unless you think you can beat me in a race, don't lecture me on what smoking does to your body. And if you can beat me in a race, shut up about it, nobody wants to hear your goody goody opinions anyway. Go eat a salad or something.
I hate when people tell me smoking is the leading preventable cause of death. Newsflash: Death Is Not Preventable. You want to die for 99 cent cheeseburgers, knock yourself out. I'm not going to go up to you in Wendy's and show you pictures of blocked arteries and start wailing about premature quadruple-bypasses. I am assuming that, unless you are a total 'tard, you know that the biggie size fries are not particularly good for you. You don't need me to tell you that over and over and over, and I don't need you to tell me my coffin nails are bad for me, either.
Reminded of this little tirade by Michelle