incorect

it's my 8th day as a non-smoker, and i have resigned myself to the loss. i'm the the mother of a cigarette shaped dead baby. i expected a war would be fought over my right to cause cancer & emphysema, but apparently the cause was not so important afterall... i only find myself at a funeral where i say nice things about the corpse but can't get overly weepy. i periodically remind myself of any benefits arising out of the figurative crematory ashes of cigarette addiction-

-imagine the lack of wrinkles
-imagine the lack of frivolous expense and the excess of new frivolous expenses
-imagine that now i truly can fulfill my lifelong dream of singing lesbian cabaret out of a gigantic martini glass
-imagine the shocked aghast expressions of friends that can't picture me without a cigarette
& of course,
-imagine being able to breath properly

it's all very novel and peaceful-like... it is unfortunate that i give up cigarettes around the same time i take up a strict diet of v8, ultraset, champagne, lesbianism- not necessarily in that order...

oh fucky house, my job is ghastly... i absolutely hate it, but need it...

to all the leos, from all the virgos
we are afraid you'll crush our fragile egos...
but sure we'd find it enjoyable

my new eyeglass frames are so sexy, get me more champagne poolboy.