osgiliath burns

I think I am dying of smoke inhalation. Which, while slow and painful, probably beats being burned alive or having a heart attack on the office toilet...with your co-workers swearing at your corpse and screaming "Oh my God" and "aaaahhhhhhhh" and stuff.

The real bummer of this whole thing is that as my body crumbles and I debate becoming one of those creepy mask people, chronic smokers everywhere are having the time of their lives. It's like they were all crammed into one of those little Clark Kent spacepods and blasted off to the land of the yellow sun, where they now have superhuman strength and can see through sorority chicks' blouses with their x-ray vision eyes. Everywhere I look, I see them. They drive around town with the windows down, cigarette in hand, mocking me with every puff. "Join us, lunger," they cry. "We used to be like you...only able to breathe good air. But then we found these magic sticks and now we can breathe anything we want! Anything! Muahahahaha!"

Darwin's survival of the fittest crap is sure doing me a hell of a lot of good now.