Choose Freedom

I was sitting by the old computer thingy, gently musing over the odd snatches of Kipling and Betjeman, when my eyes happened to idly pass over the ever present packet of twenty, strategically placed in front of the keyboard. ( I must stress for any older readers that I no longer have any use for a pack of three if, indeed, they are still sold in that quantity. At the risk of digressing I remember that three were considered sufficient for a complete weekend. I suppose that nowadays they copulate at the same rate as they drink, so the modern request would be for at least fifty. I can't imagine how the barbers get the drawers big enough to contain the demand. No bloody sense of proportion the modern society)

Anyway, back to the ciggys , I noticed that the statutory notice plastered over the back of the packet made the following statement in block lettering.

Choose Freedom ring 0800 161 etc. etc.

Now if thought for one minute that the medical facists who demand such labels had a sense of humour I would actually smile at such nonsense. But no, they don't, and what is worse can't even see the irony in that particular slogan. I suppose that there is some junior grade doctor who, in between

licking the halfwit Donaldson's fundamental orifice, actually sits in an office somewhere writing out these supposedly intimidating slogans.

Just picture the scene.

Minor female M.D. sits picking it's nose whilst searching for inspiration in a textbook of various foul illnesses. ' Ah', it thinks, gazing at a lurid picture of a syphillis riddled penis. ' I can twist that and use it as warning that smoking hinders mens sexual activity'. A quick, semi literate scribble, and we are warned that ' Smoking can cause loss of erections'.

What a dork. The only things that can make dear Percy refuse to rise to the occasion is an over indulgance in decent cask ale or, the sight of a sour faced female doctor who would be better employed as Medusa's personal hairdresser. The type who, everytime they venture out in public, cause the sun to set, drunken sailors to flee back to their ship, and, don't realise that the strange noise they can hear is mens zippers welding themselves shut. ( To be fair the male doctors are equally disgusting)

So, prat face warning writer, I will take your advice. I will choose the freedom to smoke, drink, fornicate, think for myself, and do any other damn thing that I, personally, find enjoyable and also things that I hate doing, just as long as you disapprove of them.

Furthermore I sincerly hope that your trained lickspittles waiting by the telephone help line all die an excrutiating death from extreme boredom or, get beaten to death by a rampaging horde of floppy penis's newly released from your deranged imagination.

I