They always seem deeply unhappy to me, fellas. They really do. Degenerate addicts living their horrible lives cigarette-to-cigarette. Trying to go about their daily routine, but constantly being distracted by the thought of inhaling that next fix. That flavorful goodness. Always lurching outside of buildings, lingering in the grimy darkness of the dim city lights. Just miserable human beings. Miserable addicts. A life of pure misery, boys. Not just miserable within themselves, but they seem to gain a sick pleasure from spreading their misery to others. That smokey misery. Wafting their nasty fumes around everyone. Attending a nice dinner and ruining everyone's appetite with their smokey jacket. Every smoker seems to have that one jacket they always wear. That smokey jacket that has absorbed decades worth of second hand smoke. They never wash it either. They reach into their pocket and a dark grey cloud puffs out into the fresh summer air. Everywhere they go smells of their stinky cigarettes. Like one big cancer cloud. One big cancer cloud raining on everyone's bright sunny day. I've grown to despise these miserable addicts. I truly have, fellas.

People like feeling morally superior to others.

You remind me of some f*ggy vegan lecturing others that they murder animals.