The Politically Incorrect Show - 19/03/2001

[Music - Die Fledermaus]

Good afternoon, Kaya Oraaa & welcome to the Politically Incorrect Show on the free speech network, Radio Pacific, for Monday March 19, proudly sponsored by Neanderton Nicotine Ltd., the show that says bugger the politicians & bureaucrats & all the other bossyboot busybodies who try to run our lives with our money; that stands tall for free enterprise, achievement, profit, & excellence, against the state-worshippers in our midst; that stands above all for the most sacred thing in the universe, the liberty of the human individual.

[Music up, music down!]

This weekend, I did something very Politically Correct, & I'm ashamed of myself. I'm good & mad about it as well. I did something that would win applause from po-faces, killjoys, & neo-Puritans. I quit smoking. I didn't want to do it, but I couldn't help myself. I couldn't help myself because of all that advertising, all the pressures, blatant & subtle, that assail us everywhere. You know what I'm talking about - the glamourous coolness of not smoking is laid out seductively before us wherever we turn. Huge billboards feature voluptuous models NOT savouring a cigarette between their lips. Beautiful film stars go the entire length of a movie without ever caressing one of those smouldering pleasure-sticks between their loving figures. What sort of message does one take from that? The Black Caps & the Pakistanis - all weekend they played cricket with not even ONE Shane Warne equivalent taking a furtive puff when he thought the cameras were off him. How could one see THAT & not experience a serious sense of alienation? The rugby sevens - did they repair to the sidelines for a fag? They'd kick your head in at the very suggestion. Then there were the ads - ads for drugs & patches paid for by our kind government to help us overcome our squalid addiction. By the time we got to view these, the pressure was well-nigh unbearable. If they don't work, it is now suggested that photos of Annette King herself will be placed on cigarette packets. This has to be the straw that would break any camel's back, if you'll pardon the pun. But here's the scoop on all this: the relentless pressure not to smoke FORCED me to quit when I didn't want to. It turned me into a Victim.

So I'm going to make sure someone gets sued. Sued on the grounds of Post-Nicotine Stress Disorder Trauma Syndrome. And boy, should I make a bundle from this. Trauma?! During this weekend of nicotine withdrawal my head repeatedly parted company from my body. In fact, my whole body repeatedly parted company from my body. My lungs alternately exploded & imploded. My scrambled brain had all the lucidity of a serial killer's, combusting in the Electric Chair. I became a volcano, spewing forth great gobs of molten sputum, convulsing & rumbling uncontrollably, thundering to a terrifying crescendo as I upturned tables, shredded drapes & dismembered babies in my hysterical quest for just ONE used cigarette butt with which I might assuage this cosmic craving. My apartment block had to be evacuated - in fact everyone had fled BEFORE the authorities arrived - & surrounding streets cordoned off. I - moi - placid, harmless little me - had been turned into a Godzilla, a natural disaster, a state of emergency. And it was NOT ... MY ... FAULT.  Did *I* decide to quit smoking of my own free will? No. The ads made me do it. And the movies & the posters & the role models. Together, I believe these amount to deomonstrable genocidal intent against that hapless, endangered species: smokers - & I propose a class-action law-suit against ad-makers, movie moguls, ASH, the New Zealand Government & the United Nations accordingly.

Just think, my fellow-Victims - we should be able to make enough out of this to keep us in Benson & Hedges for the rest of our blighted, truncated lives.

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