We suburban Americans are normally a cowardly lot. We don’t really grow a pair of balls until wrapped in steel Toyotas and a horn can do our talking.
But, there are certain times when we just can’t resist making someone feel like s@&t about their personal habits.
Prime example: smoking.
Don’t get me wrong: I don’t have sympathy for smokers, and I smoke. But it doesn’t matter where you light up. It could be in the clearly marked smoking area, a corn field in the middle of Nebraska, an asbestos shingles factory in Bangladesh or the Earth’s molten core. Somebody will walk up to you and say, “You know that’s killing you, right?” Continue reading Take it from Snee: The quittening