There’s nothing like being the child of parents with this particular vice for being able to understand the power of addiction. The state of their own health pales into insignificance. The irreparable damage their dealing out to their offspring, while lamentable, is a sacrifice they’ve weighed up and are willing to make. The material cost of the delicious death sticks becomes perfectly reasonable when ugly withdrawal symptoms come knocking.
It just so happens to turn out that growing up in such an environment does you the power of good. Of course the poor little guy’s lungs are shot, his skin’s got a distinctly yellow tinge to it and he’ll never be as tall as he might once have become but there are more important things at play. This is a learning experience that no one will ever dare replicate (mainly because of the disgusting health implications discussed earlier).
The flash of inspiration came to the lad when he was burying yet another hamster. The wheel (as brilliant as this child is, I’m not quite claiming that he invented it). It’s a totally brilliant way of generating power. Put smokers in a giant replica of the rodent leisure item. Promise them a pack of cigarettes at the end of their shift and watch them go. And stop. To cough. And start again when they remember the enticement. This will definitely cut down greenhouse gas emissions. Probably. We might have to do some number crunching just to check.
No one’s saying that nobody should be allowed to smoke (I definitely haven’t written it once today. I’m thinking it as loudly as I can but that’s another matter) but, to quote the infinite wisdom of Helen Lovejoy, won’t someone please think of the children? Find some other way to screw them up (I have no doubt I’ll inadvertently come up with six ways of doing so before breakfast). One that doesn’t involve nonstop inhalation of carcinogens.