THE SOUL-SHRINKING EFFECT OF ASSOCIATING WITH CIGAR SMOKERS

In my present engagement (second assistant steward in a cheroot fetichery, more or less) I am fairly constantly exposed to dingos and entitled people. Consequently I may come across in these blogposts as a sour old grumpus, quite unlike how you would imagine me if you took the profile description on the right hand side of this page seriously.

["Middle-aged, but younger looking than you. And hardly any arthritis. Really ..... "]


I fear that the only thing that might bring me back to my sunny self is the frequent presence of an alluring female half my age. Well, at least that will change people's impressions of my from "sour old grumpus" to "dirty old man" (with an arthritic leg), which would be altogether an improvement.

Certainly I think it would.
I may be biased.

I do not want my image of my fellow humans to be entirely dominated by ass-hat rightwingazoid cigar-chomping vulgarians.
I used to think better of mankind.


Eh, what, the cigar crowd?

Strong but very wrong opinions, bloviation, and approving citation of dark web fake news.


One of the bastards recently said that they were living in a bubble, what with being in the Bay Area, and consequently could not really grasp what the rest of the country felt.

He was right. But not quite in the way he thought.
He lives in a bubble of mental toxicity.
He's a despicable little man.
As are many of them.



Trust me, I am actually cheerful and devil-may-care when I'm not around them. Active, and keenly interested in the world. I've got books! I read!

It's not just the blasted cigar smokers, though.
There's also that Marin attitude.
That doesn't help.

It's like being around Sméagol.
All the damned time.




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