Flick of the Bic, a lungful of toxins, and calmly, blissfully, exhale.
With potential Armageddon on the other end of the line, a steady hand is preferable to twitchy fingers.
The senator from Illinois, still favoured to scoop the Democratic nomination, has apparently kicked his "dirty little secret'' habit. Said so himself, recently, on The Ellen DeGeneres Show, same venue where Obama had earlier proven he can't dance a lick.
A commander-in-chief, ain't got rhythm, is no threat to global peace. But a leader of the free world, last superpower on Earth, denied his fag fix at a moment of crisis, is a scary scenario. Loneliest job on the planet, I'm thinking a guy deserves the particularly satisfying and non-judgmental friendship of a cancer-stick crutch.
To hear Obama tell it, he was never a smoking fiend, partook of only three or four Marlboro Reds a day, prior to the primary campaign. I'm not really believing this. Bet you, at parties, he was good for a pack, just like so many of my own pals, who think that not buying cigarettes, merely mooching from others in a social setting, is proof of a life puritanically tobacco-free.
It says much about the stigma of smoking what is a perfectly legal product that Obama seems more abashed about this narcotic history than the cocaine and marijuana experimentation of his teenage years.
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