Bondage Chicken (Poulet en Cocotte Bonne Femme)

Sunday it was time again for me to cook something from Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. This being the second time I was to cook one of her recipes I was slightly better prepared. This time I decided to prepare a chicken dish, a dish that I thought would be rather straightforward. But like all things Julia Child, nothing is ever that simple.

Saturday morning was spent searching the pages of the French Cooking Bible. I was looking for a chicken recipe that would not take me two days to prepare like the Boeuf À la Monde I cooked last month. After pawing over a few recipes I finally committed myself to the Poulet en Cocotte Bonne Femme. The choice was in part because our pantry was stocked with all the spices and herbs I would need and the only ingredients I had to buy was the chicken, baby potatoes and small onions. The dish would take 2 hours to prepare and the only thing that seemed complicated was the trussing of the chicken – something I had never done before.

Sunday morning the chicken was taken out from the fridge and washed thoroughly. I’m not sure why I had to do that, as the chicken looked pretty clean, but hey if Julia tells you to do something it’s best not to argue. After bathing the hen she was towel dried and left to reach room temperature. Apparently I become quite moody with the onset of each Julia recipe I cook, as hubby and I had a small argument about work space in the kitchen – a silly argument now that I think about it. By noon I was ready to start the dish and my nerves was calmed with a chilled glass of Durbanville Hills Chardonnay 2008. Never attempt a Julia recipe without it!

By means of some liquid courage and Julia’s detailed instructions for trussing a chicken I was ready to bondage the hen. With a large needle and string I approached the unsuspecting chicken with caution. There is something quite macabre about trussing a chicken, and for someone who can’t even sew a button onto a shirt I am proud to say that I managed to successfully complete this gory task. However, one thing I learned is that knowing the anatomy of your project is most definitely recommended as it took me a good 8 minutes to locate the correct second joint of the drumstick. I also learned a funny new trick and that’s to tie the chicken wings akimbo for which there was no illustration in the book (thank you Julia) and I had to Google it!

With the chicken tied and sewn up, I was ready to proceed. Peeling 15 small onions is not fun! There are many old wife tails on how to peel onions without crying and none of them works. Believe me I tried them all and by the time I reached my tenth onion I made peace with my tearing eyes and runny nose. With the onions peeled and boiling away I had ten minutes to peel 25 baby potatoes. Needles to say it took me more than 10 minutes and I learned the hard way why it’s important to use a blunt potato peeler.

Potatoes and onions prepared all that was left was to lightly brown the bacon and chicken. This is the part where cardiologists all over the world will have heart attacks. Julia Child was once quoted as saying “butter makes anything taste better” and she wasn’t kidding. The amount of butter that she suggested I add to the dish had my arteries clot up even before tasting anything. But once again I didn’t argue and added all the butter against my better judgement.

As I was assembling the dish for the oven I realized that nowhere in the recipe did Julia mention anything about adding any stock to the casserole. This made me a tad worried as I couldn’t help but wonder whether the chicken would be dry. With the hen, potatoes, onions, herbs and spices in the casserole I added the last few tablespoons of high blood pressure and heart attacks and then did something that could piss Julia off. I added garlic. This was not part of the recipe, but no French dish is complete without garlic. As I added it I silently prayed that it wouldn’t screw up the dish and that Julia would forgive me.

With the dish assembled I placed it into the oven to cook away for 1 hour and twenty minutes. Half way through I basted the chicken once and the aromas that filled the kitchen was both delicious and comforting. When the oven sounded that the Poulet en Cocotte Bonne Femme was ready I rushed to the kitchen very excited to see the end result. There is a sense of accomplishment when you take the lid of a casserole and catch your first glimpse and whiff of a successfully completed master piece.

Naturally as I placed the chicken, potatoes, onions and bacon on the serving plate I did wonder whether it looked anything like Julia’s and what she would say about my attempt and the garlic. Proudly bringing the meal to the dinner table hubby was wowed and a photo was promptly taken of it to add to my Julia Child album. The meal was scrumptious and I did feel slightly guilty for not inviting guests over for lunch. This is a dish I will definitely cook again and share with friends.

My confidence is slowly improving when it comes to Julia’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking. With my second recipe successfully completed I’m thinking that the next one should be bolder and more challenging. Whether I am setting myself up for a potential nervous breakdown, only time will tell...

Till next time.

"The Ring of Truth: Atoms" featuring Julia Child

Hunky Man Meat Pageants

What’s up with all these damn gay pageants? One would swear with the rate they are occurring the world doesn’t have enough Queens already. Do we really need more, aren’t just being a regular queer queen enough? Do we really need to justify our queerness with crowns, tiaras and sashes? Or do queer folk just really love shiny jewelry and titles?

I recently read some harsh comments about the Mr. Gay South Africa competition and I must admit they really made me think. Most of the comments were rather unflattering and probably written by some jaded bitch queen with mommy issues, but with that said most of the comments do hold some truth. The gay community can be rather bitchy, spiteful, backstabbing and overly dramatic and none of this is better portrayed than by gay pageants. Put a bunch of queens together on a stage, tell them they are competing for a crown, a title and some cheap ass sponsored prizes or booze, and make sure the whole competition is rigged then sit back and watch the sparks fly.

For some bizarre reason if a queen is on a stage, even if he was never competitive in his life, some switch is flipped. This switch puts blinders on the poor dear and the whole competition becomes extremely important, a matter of life and death where winning is everything and losing means your whole life is a complete and utter failure. Most of us who have been around a few dodgy night clubs and their “beauty” pageants know that these competitions are almost always rigged (well at least in South Africa they are). The queen that is the most popular and loyal amongst the upper echelon of that particular night clubs always wins, no matter what the judges score sheet say.

Apart from these pageants being rigged I also find the whole concept quite queer. You see in my mind the idea of gay pageants must have been conceived amongst a group of old fat queens who one day were sitting around debating how they could get some tight, young gay ass. And VOILA gay pageants were born. What a shrewd way to get a bunch of young hunks together in one venue, have them strip down to their underwear and have them strut their stuff while they are being ogled by old men with nobody thinking it’s weird. Add the fact that these old farts also have some authority over who will win and you have the perfect recipe for them to get blown or laid or at the very least some attention.

When the queen finally has her title what happens next? It’s simple, she will strut her fagalicious ass around that night club for exactly one year, being the club’s “ambassador” and the envy of all her minions and that’s pretty much where it ends until the whole cycle repeats itself the following year. With bigger competitions where the doting queen competes for a national title the story differs slightly. Now she can go on to compete for a global title and take over the world and become the earthly ambassador of all queens everywhere!

Like Miss World you will read about these winners on a side bar of a web page somewhere, think he/she is pretty, check which country they represent and then go about your business. Even though they professed world peace, feeding hungry children, bathing and clothing the homeless and finding a cure for dreaded diseases, none of them actually accomplish any of these things. I still see dirty homeless people, hungry children and wars. So what’s the point? Are they nothing more than a pretty face to represent a charity or two, hunky man meat to grace benefit dinners or a nice magazine cover when an actual celebrity cancelled? Are they really making a difference? You decide for yourself.

I don’t get the point of pageants. Yes the guys are hunky and the drag queens are funky but do we really need them? Honestly I think we kind of do. It’s a great form of alternative entertainment as long as we are truthful about it and don’t try and fool people into believing pageants are something they are not. These queens will not save the world but they could save you from a dull night at home.

Till next time.

And we all remember Miss Teen USA "Such as"

Lady Gaga, Adam Lambert and a Fat Fairy

This past weekend I attended a fabulous star studded birthday party and had the most fun I had in a long time. Rubbing shoulders with the likes of Lady Gaga, Adam Lambert, the Kardashians and John Galliano (to mention but a few) the evening was filled with laughter, booze and 430 paparazzi photographs. Yes as all parties go with “celebrities” the paparazzi was a tad overly eager when it came to the pictorials. And it is these pictorials that opened my eyes to a few not so small changes I urgently need to make before summer.

Saturday hubby and I attended the 40th birthday party of a very good friend of ours. It was a theme party and the brief was to come as your alter ego. Quite a challenging brief and many of the attendees were in a panic a few days prior as discovering your alter ego is more difficult than it may sound. Luckily Google, costume shops and creative makeup techniques lend a hand and came Saturday evening everyone left their homes and arrived at the venue as someone else, much to the delight of the other guests.

The guest of honor arrived as the Absence Fairy and her husband as Jack Sparrow. Other guest included Gary the Tooth Fairy, Zorro, a French Maid, a Playboy Bunny and various representatives of the Armed Forces. With a punch potent enough to be considered illegal this social lubricant did what it was intended for and the group was soon relaxed and all were in a party mood. As the drinks flowed and dancing started Gary the Tooth Fairy and his boyfriend Zorro decided to be the unofficial paparazzi for the evening. While sitting across from Adam Lambert who was gnawing at his nails like a squirrel a nut (to get the Paris Hilton nail polish off) the paparazzi was happily flashing away.

As the evening progressed the party became livelier and the flashing of cameras seemed less intimidating. To say that the guest of honor ended up dancing in the Jacuzzi should suffice in describing the extent of our inebriation, and the fact that all our shenanigans where documented by the paparazzi without any objection, at the time, should further support in this explanation. At around 2am and several coffees later hubby and I headed home and the greater part of Sunday was spent nursing our massive hangovers, swearing of tequila, absence and whatever other alcoholic beverages we have ever had in our lives.

As our heads cleared the faint memory of flashes soon stirred some concern. “Oh my God, did we do anything or were we at all embarrassing?” I worryingly asked hubby to which he responded “If we were I am sure there are pictures!!!” With great apprehension I logged onto Facebook (the portal for mass and immediate embarrassment) and to my relief at 2pm on Sunday no damning photos. Relieved I conveyed the good news to hubby and then his phone rings – it’s the Absence Fairy! “430 photos you’re kidding me, is it going onto the Internet? Oh Nooo!” was the words the almost stopped my heart.

Being pretty sure, but not convinced, that we behaved I had to wait until Monday before the first batch of party photos found their way onto Facebook. Somewhat concerned I opened the party photo album and was horrified!!! You see there are some photos that’s far worse and more embarrassing than any drunken, puking or passed out picture – there were fat photos that make me look 3 months pregnant!!!

“OK, so I haven’t been to the gym in just under a year, but I have been busy and I have had some stress and I am an emotional eater” I whispered to myself in a quivering voice with my cats staring at me with concerned eyes. Looking at some of those photos my denial that I have been packing on some winter blubber was utterly obliterated and I had to face the ugly truth – I got fat! Gaining weight is evil; it’s a gradual process of which you and those who see you often hardly notice until one day. A day your pants no longer fit, you notice a second chin instead of one, a day you see yourself in a photo that not even excessive airbrushing can fix!

With the shock of my weight gain and spring in the Southern Hemisphere of this lovely planet only 7 days away I decided to pull myself together and start a transformation. Today I had my face botoxified (again) and my frown lines filled. Saturday I will have my winter fur ripped out of their follicles and on Monday I will be returning to the palace of torture and I will be sweating and toiling my fat away until till I am ripped again. I will not be like Oprah, and this time I will keep the weight off. Now all that’s left is to get rid of the evidence of this my second fat phase.

Till next time.

ALEJANDRO PARODY! 

Words of Wisdom

Take 11 minutes and 42 seconds of your time and watch this video.

This man is truly an inspiration and the world needs more people like him.

Lie To Me

This week was spent being trained to become a Truth Verification Expert. It has been quite an interesting week as our rather quirky Belgian Professor taught us the nuances of the psychophysiology of lies, the reasons people lie and how to detect and counter them. Additional to this we were also taught to operate Israeli technology that borders on science fiction. During this fascinating training the Professor stated quite gallantly that society could not function without lies, which led me to wonder, is this really true.

I have written about lies before and mainly focused on the kind of lies that hurt, deceive and generally are told with malicious intent. Never did I actually take a step back and contemplated the idea that lies may also serve a positive purpose. How could this be, you may ask yourself. From a young age we are taught that lies are bad, lying is wrong and honesty is the best policy. However, this is not always true. I would like you to imagine a world where no one lies, a world where every person is brutally honest, a world where you have to be careful of the questions you ask as you may not like the answers. This is the world I would like to share with you today.

In the world we live in today we are all so bitterly polite. Because if you’re not you are considered to be a bitch. Every day we arrive at work and greet our colleagues with a “Hi, how are you today?” when we are not in the slightest interested and would quite possibly be annoyed if they responded with more than one sentence. Naturally, after the rehearsed “I’m fine, and you?” we are forced to respond with “I’m fine” even though some asshole scratched your car, your cat coughed up a fir ball on your new shirt and your neighbors dogs have been barking, none stop, since 11 o’clock last night and you didn’t get any sleep. Yet we plaster on a smile while inside you're screaming.

Being sleep deprived and pissed off you start your day. It’s not long before your phone rings. It’s some person that’s yet again unhappy about something and believes that you control the universe and in your "godly wisdom" caused their problem and only you can fix it. Instead of saying “Listen bitch, stop screaming! Have you ever considered that the universe does not revolve around you and bitching in my ear is not motivating me to help you? Go fuck yourself!!” promptly followed by hanging up. NO... instead we grind our teeth and bite our tongues and only think these devilishly entertaining thoughts with their accompanying visualizations.

By lunch time you are drained and are wishing for a time machine to take you to 4 o’clock. Facing reality you decide to sooth your emotional distress with some comfort food. With your shopping carton full of fattening goodies you unpack it for the cashier to ring up and then you notice that she looking at you strangely. Without a word your lunch is scanned all the while the cashier is thinking “This guy’s pants are a bit tight, but looking at what he has for lunch I really shouldn’t be surprised. When will he come out of denial and buy larger jeans, honestly is he waiting for all circulation to his legs to be completely cut off?” Instead of saying this to you the only words that she utters while taking your ATM card is “Cheque or Savings?”

After the day at the torture castle, that pays your bills, draw to an end you drive home in peak hour traffic. Your phone rings and it’s your friend. Your genuine delight from hearing from her soon turns into trepidation. “Honey, J and I want to go for drinks later, do you and hubby like to join us?” Hating J, who in your minds is a social retard, and you’d rather spend your evening at the dentist getting a root canal than spend it with him you politely respond “Sorry babe, hubby and I have other plans”. Not wanting to be pushy your friend responds “Oh ok, rain check then?” While she’s secretly wanting to ask “Like what other plan? Why is it that whenever I mention J I’m blown off? I don’t get those queers, you’d swear they don’t like my boyfriend!”

Arriving home and semi exhausted hubby greets you with the standard weekday question “How was your day?” Not having the energy or the desire to relive it you respond “It was ok and yours?” To which he entertains you with the one and only funny thing that happened at his office. You both have a chuckle and he starts dinner. As you start eating the lightly burned vegetables, overly salted and under cooked potatoes and bland meat, hubby asks you “So how is it?” Fighting your first reaction of saying “I have had better” your appreciation for not having had to cook dinner yourself forces you to respond “It’s lovely thank you” while you wash it down with some wine.

Without white lies society would indeed not function. If my husband would have to respond to “Does this jeans make my ass look fat?” with “No it’s that fat in your ass that makes your ass look fat” we may just need marital counseling. We all tell white lies, sometimes to be polite and other times to avoid awkward social situations. Yes, this is something that we all do daily and if we were to stop it just could lead to chaos.

Till next time.

Fagney & Gaycey - Episode 1

Fabulous Queen of the Month Award

I have decided, starting today, to award a Fabulous Queen of the Month Award.  This award will go to any person (homosexual, heterosexual, in-between, or confused) who have made us Queers proud, smile or made to feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Without further ado August's Fabulous Queen of the Month Award goes to

Steven Slater! 

He Finally Did It!

How much attention do you give to your simple old keyboard?

These made me giggle, so I just had to share it!

He finally did it!

Keyboard for Blonds.

And my favourite!

Be Careful What You Wish For!

Be careful what you wish for. This is something I learned the hard way this past weekend. After complaining on Friday that my life is boring, I had no idea how ominous that statement would turn out to be. You see I started off my weekend, on Friday afternoon, rather peaceful and completely oblivious as to what was to come. Then at roughly at 5pm my weekend took a turn for the worst. During the last 72 hours I had to endure an influx of hate mails, my blog was deleted, then almost hacked and to top it all off, hubby and I witnessed a friend have an car accident.

Entering the long weekend I was rather hopeful for a quiet, relaxing and revitalizing time. Arriving home, Friday afternoon I decided to unwind with some therapeutic gardening work. After the flowers were watered, the hedges trimmed and the weeds pulled, I decided to have a quick look at my blog and to check my e-mails (something I usually do twice a day). Opening my e-mail I was delighted to see that there were 28 e-mails downloading. With the first couple of mails showing in my inbox I was rather intrigued with their subject lines “Go to hell fag”, “Turn or burn”, “God hates queers”, “You’re sick and depraved”, “Filth of humanity”, “Hope you get Aids and die” and “If I find you I’ll kill you” to mention but just a few.

As the e-mails downloaded and I perused the subject lines I didn’t need to be a brain surgeon to realize they were hate mails, or so I thought. Normally I quite enjoy receiving them as they can be entertaining as hell (excuse the pun) to read. As I opened the first couple I was disappointed to discover that the content was exactly the same – Bible verses wrapped nicely together with angry words. My excitement at reading the insulting subject lines, hoping for some new and creative diatribe was soon replaced with boredom and disinterest. This was not hate mail, this was hate spam! “How utterly rude!” I thought. If you want to send someone hate mail the least you can do is make an effort and generate your own content! Well over 50 hate spams later, being irritated, I decided to respond via my blog. By midnight the hate spam eventually stopped totaling 135. An eerie silence followed.

Saturday morning I checked my e-mail and no hate spam. Relieved at the thought of whoever was behind hate spamming me lost interest, I continued with my day. At around 4pm, I was due for a heart stopping shock. Trying to access my blog, the words no blogger ever wants to see appeared on my plasma screen THE BLOG YOUR TRYING TO ACCESS HAVE BEEN DELETED! Sure that this must be a mistake I refreshed the page and in a different window tried opening it again. The same message appeared in both windows. My heart sank and it felt like someone punched me in my stomach. It felt like I was going to pass out, then I realized I wasn’t breathing. “Oh my God! 20 months worth of articles are gone! What the fuck am I going to do?! I can’t start over!!! What the fuck!!!!!!!!!!”

It’s not easy to operate a computer that just gave you horrific news while hyperventilating. In full crisis management and disaster mode I frantically clicked away while my mind was racing with questions that were hurting my brain. I eventually accessed my Google account and received another shocker. My account was suspended due to suspicious activity and my account had to be verified which I did. As I clicked on Blogger, with bated breath I was praying to be successfully diverted to my blog dashboard which would signal that my blog had been recovered. It was an agonizing 5 seconds and the relieve I felt when the webpage finally opened was indescribable. However, my relief soon turned to anger as I was asking myself, who or what almost destroyed my blog. Was this a glitch or was it the work of the hate spammers? I still don’t know.

With a disaster averted hubby and I decided to go out for a night on the town. I needed to forget about the hate spam, the cyber terrorist attack and just needed to go and have fun. We went to a relatively new gay bar not for from our house. The bar was fairly quiet for a Saturday night and I wasn’t expecting to necessarily bump into anyone I knew but I did. As we were heading to order drinks I saw an old friend sitting at a table. I had take a double take, as I haven’t seen him in just over a year and he gained a few pounds, but was looking good nonetheless. We did some catching up, some dancing and we were having a gay old time. Eventually we decided to go to another club nearby which hubby and I also have never been to. We left the bar, got into our cars and we followed our friend.

Almost at our destination, our evening of laughter abruptly came to halt. As our friend was turning into the parking area a woman driving at a fairly fast speed skipped a stop street and crashed into him. I was in total disbelieve watching this happen and it took me a few seconds to get over the shock. We immediately pulled to the side of the road and I rushed over to my friend’s car to check if he was ok. He was in shock but luckily not injured. His car wasn’t that fortunate and was a total right off. As the passengers from the other wrecked car freed themselves, police and emergency workers were arriving at the accident scene. We were there for what felt like hours. At roughly 1am the accident scene was finally cleared and we drove our friend home. On our way to his apartment there was silence in the car. We were all tired and shocked at how our evening had ended. The silence was eventually broken with our friend mumbling “And it’s my birthday today” and I responded with the only words that came to mind “Happy birthday, you sure have started you year with a bang!”

Yes, be careful what you wish for. This weekend I wanted some excitement and wasn’t prepared for what I got. Hate spam, almost losing my blog and a terrible car accident was not on my planned itinerary, but like the saying goes “all’s well that ends well”. The hate spam once more reminded that I am probably doing something right with my blog, having my blog deleted for 4 hours reminded me why having a backup is so all important, and finally my friend’s car accident reminded of how quick an accident can happen and the importance of friends in my life.

Till next time.

Sam Harris takes a gay walk down Lesbian Lane comedy routine

Thanks For the Hate Mails

Who would have thought republishing the "God Hates Fags" post on Facebook would create such a backlash!

Honestly haters, get a new hate mail spam template.  Your regurgitated Bible versus are getting redundant. Please come up with something new, interesting and (god forbid) CREATIVE!

If you don't like FAGS,

don't like my BLOG, and

don't like ME

YOU 

CAN 

SUCK 

MY

Fuck you

Iranian Teenager Ebrahim Hamidi Faces Execution

Every time I come across news alerts like this my heart drops and my eyes water up. It’s hard to believe that there are still countries in the world that kills gay people, sometimes based just on allegations which often times are baseless. Ebrahim Hamidi (18) is facing possible execution due to a false allegation of homosexual assault. Even though his accuser made a formal statement withdrawing his charge stating that he made the whole thing up, Hamidi still faces the death penalty and he needs your help.

Iran is notorious for its human rights abuses of homosexuals and the public floggings and executions of gays, lesbians and bisexuals. In Iran homosexuality is still punishable by death, and they still carry out these executions. The public execution in 2005 of Ayaz Marhoni and Mahmoud Asgari are still fresh in my memory and I am outraged that this may happen again.

Please help support Ebrahim Hamidi by writing to your politicians, diplomats and local newspapers. Make them aware of this atrocity and ask them to intervene. Please spread the word of Hamidi’s dire situation, show him your support and maybe a global campaign and awareness could halt his execution.

• Click here to sign the USA Petition
• Click here to sign the Global Petition
• Click here to join the Facebook Group

It's That Time Again!

Yes, it’s that time of year again. The most glamorous non-televised, non-publicized and largely unknown event of the year. And if you’re not a Blogger, or more specifically a South African Blogger, chances are good you have never heard of it and don’t really care. Yes, it’s time for the 2010 SA Blogger Awards. It’s like the Oscars of the Intrawebs but only without the glitz, the glamour, the gift packs and the celebrities. OK… so it’s nothing like the Oscars, not even close.

As some of my loyal readers know, last year I made it to the finals of the 2009 SA Blog Awards in the GLBT Category. And no, I didn’t win (sigh). This year the GLBT category is no more (double sigh), but this does not preclude me from entering (victorious scream). There are many other categories this queer blog of mine could kick ass in (and in a good way).

So my queers and queer lovers, if you have nothing to do for a couple of minutes, nominate this faggy blog. All your little gay fingers have to do is click on the link below, Ctrl C & Ctrl V my blog url (gaywarfare.blogspot.com/) into the nomination section, select the categories you want to see our gay flame shine in, submit & verify. Let’s kick some hetero blogs' asses!

PS: If you have a favorite article you can nominate that too. Now get clicking!

click here to

NOMINATE GAY WARFARE

I May Quit Fags!

It’s official. Smokers have become social outcasts. We are not allowed to enjoy our fags in the privacy of our own offices, while drinking a beer in the pub, while dinning out or even in certain night clubs. We are being kicked to the curb and I, for one, am taking it personally! Where are the days of the Marlboro Man, the advertisements of young people jet skiing while lighting up and the days when our packets of cigarettes didn’t have hateful and threatening messages on them? These days smokers are confined to designated areas on pavements outside our office buildings, huddled together under umbrellas in the soaking rain, cramped together in glass boxes at airports or shunned 20 foot away from the nearest entrances or exist. Smokers are being ousted from all places that are fun and this made me to wonder – isn’t it time for me to try and quit smoking again.

Having been a smoker for the last 15 years, I can honestly say I have been enjoying sucking on my fags. Yes, I know it’s not the healthiest habit in the world and that’s why I don’t smoke crack or heroin. During the last 15 years I did try to quit on more than one occasion and all attempts failed, some more miserably than others. I tried the sprays (tasted like shit and tested my gag reflex and not in a good way), the patches and gum (it's fine until you reach the lowest doses), the medication (gave me insomnia and eventually a rash) and the most torturous techniques – cold turkey (I only lasted a week, almost killed someone and don’t recommend it). 15 years and four failed attempts at quitting later and I am still happily sucking away on my fags.

Why is it so damn difficult to quit? The obvious reason is the fact that nicotine is highly addictive and any attempts at quitting will inevitably lead to cravings and withdrawals. Carving and withdrawals then leads to bitchiness, bitchiness to rudeness and rudeness to unpleasantness; and in my case, a nice psychotic combination of all the above. You see, some people don’t turn into monsters when they attempt quitting smoking, I, on the other hand, do. I turn into a raving mad bitch. If I am not on the verge of screaming at someone I am on the verge of breaking into a self pitying crying mess. My emotions during the first few days usually would be limited to irritated, angry, sad and don’t fuck with me. Over a couple weeks (if I make it that long) I would slowly mellow out with the exception of a few unexpected visits from the craving bitch monster.

They say that you should never attempt to quit smoking if you are not ready. For some smokers not even emphysema is enough to persuade them to quit. My husband’s grandmother, for example, happily puffed away alternating a cigarette and her oxygen mask for many years before she eventually passed away. So how do you know when you are ready to stop smoking? Is there some light bulb moment when Oprah Winfrey visits you in your dreams and says “It’s time for you to stop smoking! Also don’t text and drive because both can potentially kill you!” If Oprah can’t convince you the government and their public health campaigns sure as hell is trying to give it their best shot. No more nice dreams courtesy of Harpo Productions bring on the state funded nightmares!

The newest tool in the world’s fight against smokers is the warning labels on our cigarette packets. DANGER: SMOKING CAUSES CANCER. I know it does but so does air pollution, some chemicals in our food and water. Does this now also mean I should stop breathing, eating and drinking water? Seriously, I am not making fun of the dangers of smoking, but realistically do people really believe these warning labels are deterring any smokers. I think not! If they are anything like me they will just opt to by the “PREGNANT? BREAST FEEDING? YOUR SMOKING CAN HARM YOUR BABY” packets, because I am neither pregnant nor breastfeeding and don’t have a baby and it makes me feel so much better smoking from those packets – away from babies off course.

Another fad in the fight against the puffers is the new electric cigarettes. They are said to have all the benefits of smoking real cigarettes but none of the bad cancer causing toxins. Many of my friends have bought these phallic looking nicotine dispensers during the last year. The first ones looked more like small dildos than cigarettes. However the newer ones more closely resemble real cigarettes and looks less like sucking on a sex toy. For some these new gadgets seem to be working, even though none of them have actually completely stopped smoking but at least they are smoking far less. For others these phallic fag substitutes soon became redundant and were retired to the back of the closet with all their other “it seemed like a good idea at the time” items. Supposedly another added benefit of the electric cigarettes is that you can smoke them everywhere, or so they say. People can’t smell them so they can’t complain but I am sure it’s just a matter of time before the Anti-Smoking Nazis ban them too.

I am still undetermined whether I am ready and willing to completely give up smoking. Deep down I know I really should and if for nothing else for my health and that of my passive smoking husband. After 15 years of slowly poisoning my body with the fags I love so much I am willing to take the first step. I shall get myself one of those dildo nicotine dispensers and see how it goes. Who knows, the electronic cigarette may just be my unique stop smoking miracle cure. Only time will tell, now let me go suck on my dildo.

Till next time.

Bill Hicks on Tennessee Waffle House & Non-Smokers