Smell Ya Later, Smoky

Something else happened at the Birthday Party of Ill-Advised Backbends and Secret Blabbing last Saturday night:

I quit.

Yes, yes, I know. You've all heard that one before. But this time it's different. I'm ready. No patches, no gum, no Margot Tenenbaum inhalers, no whining, no moping, no loitering outside trying to get a secondhand thrill, no drama, no "aw, all the other smokers get to smoke, no fair!" no "just one puff." Just ... no. I'm done. I quit, and I'm clinging to this quit like Catholics clinging to a cold, dead Pope. I'm holding onto it like Paris deathgrips her new Blackberry, protecting it like it's a feeding tube and I'm schtarving. This is the quit that sticks, people, and all you doubters can get bent. Come on, Pete, let's bounce. I need to hit the Jewel for some Juicy Fruit.


Consider yourself dumped, cowboy.

Venus in Cancer - "Amusement Parks on Fire"
"My Lighter and Strings" - Decibully
"It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish" - My Chemical Romance