Hey, Thanks for the Ciggy Hit Fucko!

Walking to work this morning from the bus drop off.  Feeling pretty, pretty, pretty fucking sprightly this morning if I do say so myself.  For maybe the 5th time since her glorious birth, my daughter awoke only once in the night, allowing me nearly 7.5 hours of sleep.  5-6 has been the norm.  I had a nice workout at the gym.  Even did a weight check, and my fat ass has dropped a couple of pounds of baby weight.  I know I didn't carry the baby, but I've been eating for two regardless.  So I'm fairly well prancing east on Adams toward the office.  Then, much like the randy teenagers who have been fucking like rabbits with reckless abandon for several months only to see a + sign appear on an at-home pregnancy test, my perfect world came crashing down around me.  Positioned in a most lazy, partially-standing pose, was some fat, bearded, stenching vagrant.  Due to the tendinitis in my foot and my innocent nature, the fight-or-flight message being blasted out from my brain was lost in translation.  End result was my taking, full on broadside, a giant ciggy smoke exhale.  Right to the fucking Chevy Chase brah.  I coughed and stumbled to the side as if shot.  I cast a menacing glare in this crumb-bum's direction, but he was oblivious to anything occurring in the world outside of his cigarette and the Bachman-Turner Overdrive concert from 1974 that plays continuously and loudly inside his head.  Just this dirty, shit-eating grin, staring right past me.  I was just a cunt hair away from beating the shit out of him right in front of rush hour pedestrian traffic.  And by "beating the shit out of him", I mean "storming away furious, fantasizing that I was one of those guys who just punched people in the face".  At some point during those fantasies I usually remember that I'm 5'6", and a pussy.  But c'mon bro, you've got to be fucking kidding me???  A heater blow right in my grill at 08:15 in the a.m.  What a fucking penis.  Ruined my whole morning.  I don't intrude on your morning routine by spraying you with Lysol and hitting you in the face with a bar of soap, so why you gotta fuck with me?  And great way to spend your pan-handling money dude.  A $10 pack of nutritious, delicious, refreshing cigarettes.  I don't understand cigarettes.  It is well documented that I am a great hater of cancer-sticks.  I have many friends and relatives who smoke, and I've got nothing against them personally.  I just don't get it.  Cigs don't get you high or drunk, they are expensive, they taste like shit, they are hot, they make your mouth taste like cat hair, and turn your fingers yellow.  Oh, and they kill the fuck out of you.  I think that covers all of their many attributes, all positive.  Anyway, fuck that vagrant and the invisible horse he rode in on.  It made me wish my friend Gerald still lived in Chicago.  He was a famous bum pugilist.  Just because you shit in an alley didn't protect you from his fists.