Two Angry Men

With the recent announcement that the UK government is not through ANALLY PUMPING anybody who wants a cigarette, I thought I'd finally offer my assistance. After all, I see just as many people smoking outside after the Smoking Around Cunts Who Interfere Ban came into place two months ago. The only difference is that snobby, wine bar, middle-class cunts who don't even go to half the pubs I used to smoke in can now have the moral high-ground about smoking. Cunts.

Anyway, the recent announcement that the government is now going to have compulsory images printed on all cigarette packets of HIDEOUS, almost GEIGER-ESQUE deformed internal organs post-tobacco-related disease got me thinking. I mean, all smokers know they're going to die. We all know we're probably going to get lung cancer and spend our last futile years hacking up lumps of death tar. And not the kind that symbiotically joins your body and gives you strange new powers and a bit of a strut. The kind that, if it were to gain sentience, would probably appear on Jeremy Kyle and claim dole. So these images really don't work. I've come up with a few that might work better.

	Obviously none of these claims are scientifically proven in any kind of recognised science journal. I mean, I don't have the resources to scientifically prove any of this. I also don't have the knowledge, experience, skills or brain power to care. But it's SCIENCE FACT and there's no denying THAT level of conviction. If you smoke too much, you will turn into Chris Tucker. FACT.
	A lesser known condition but certainly a worrying one. If you carry on smoking, you may end up RUINING otherwise perfectly good franchises, pointlessly cast Vinnie Jones in roles he doesn't deserve and continue to make money out of staid, tired non-comedies. You may also have suspected paedophiles in comedy ass-rape roles. And nobody wants that. Be afraid of advanced Brett Ratner-ism as it may lead to a seriously fatal cause of Len Wiseman-itis. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
	There's nothing worse than some tedious cunt approaching you and offering to "Buy a tab off you". Imagine that but now he's not offering to buy one, he just wants one and it's not some tedious cunt, it's the erstwhile fourteenth-on-the-billing star of THE MUMMY and THE MUMMY RETURNS. I don't think he's ever given me a cigarette and I know I've given him four billion and one. I was just talking to Donna Air last week and she said he's never given her a tab either.
	Fucking FACT. And I live in the North East of England, one of the grimiest, pissing-it-downiest, most miserable places on God's green earth. So now I have to sludge my way through a foot of tabs piled outside every pub in town and then do it again every half hour when I want a fucking tab. I HATE YOU, GOVERNMENT!