We smokers are a hated, put-upon folk. We are bombarded daily with anti-smoking messages, berating us from every facet of our culture.

Billboards across the country are emblazoned with obnoxious messages, not-so-subtly hinting that our favorite pastime, cigarette-smoking, is an unacceptable, disgusting, and even deadly habit. My personal favorite remains the Marlboro Man example, with cowboy #1 leaning over to cowboy #2, saying (in the thickest Southern accent possible, of course), “Bill, I’ve got emphysema.”

Though some (such as that example) employ humor to disguise the cruelty of their goal, other messages have none of this veneer of civilized wit. The most oppressive of them, by far, are those small-print, unassuming little Surgeon General’s warnings which scream that “quitting smoking now greatly reduces serious risks to your health.” That’s all fine and good; maybe quitting smoking would be healthier, but how the hell did the non-smokers infiltrate even the holiest of holies of smoking, the pack of cigarettes?

And why? What is the point of putting a message there, of all places? As if it’s going to make you change your mind… I mean, regardless of the risks to your health, if you have twenty cigarettes in your hand as you read that “smoking causes lung cancer, heart disease, emphysema, and may complicate pregnancy,” you’re still not gonna quit until that pack (at least) is gone.

But I believe that they’re wrong, seriously, dreadfully, fatally flawed in their self-righteous, anti-smoking thinking. Cigarettes are beautiful things, and I feel more people should argue on their behalf instead of mindlessly joining the ranks of socially-accepted “non-smokers.”

For example, there is nothing so absolutely rewarding as a cigarette. You have your goal and destination all in one nicely wrapped and well-presented little package. It’s comparable to a gourmet dinner, except with zero calories. And speaking of food, how on earth can anyone digest their dinners (especially if it was from the Guilco cafeteria) without three or four cigarettes to aid the process?

Also worth attention is the flexibility of smoking. What else lends itself to such a wide array of emotions and activities? Smoking complements every life event; it is, indeed, an integral and unquestionably necessary part of many of them. You smoke a cig when you’re angry, when you’re happy, when you’re depressed, when you need to wake up, when you want to go to sleep… A deep, philosophical discussion absolutely requires a cigarette, but so does the most inane, slap-happy, trashed giggle-fest.

And all those so-called “health risks” of smoking? Yeah, right. Those brainwashed proponents of non-smoking are obviously viewing this far too one-sidedly. They neglect to take into account the exercise involved in smoking. Bad for your heart, hah! Far from it-this is actually a cardiovascular activity.

I mean, to procure your cigarettes, you have to get up off the couch, find a couple of bucks, and walk your lazy butt over to Wilco and back to buy them. (Some people might skip the whole ‘walking’ part and drive, but that still requires them to walk to and from their car.) And then, there’s that whole finding a lighter ordeal, not to mention the incredible effort involved in lifting the cigarette up to your mouth and stretching to reach the ashtray…
In addition to these obvious health benefits, there are the simple effects of what I like to call the “breathing meditation” of smoking. How many of us breathe shallowly and quickly, never filling our lungs with the maximum air possible? Well, for the length of a cigarette, at least, you breathe slowly and deeply, savoring every last molecule of the air entering your body. You can center yourself, and finish the cigarette feeling refreshed and rested.

An offshoot of this benefit is the ingenious idea of a filter. As First-Year Eva Clement explained, “See, there’s so much pollution in the air already that breathing through a filter is obviously better for your lungs. At least you know what you’re breathing in. If you just breathe regular air, you just never know how dirty it is.”

“Health risks,” my black lung! I scoff at your Surgeon General’s warning, you sanctimonious non-smokers. And, moreover, we smokers can win this little ‘holier than thou’ game. Smoking is an act of prayer, a glorious offering up to the party gods. We smokers should be praised and exalted as religious devotees, sacrificing our virgin lungs on the hallowed pyre of tobacco and lighter fluid. We ought to be worshipped as demi-deities and aspiring communicators with the heavens, our psalms carried upwards with the curling smoke.

We are the few, the proud, the Smokers. And you too can be one of us, a part of our Zippo-forged community. I invite you to worship at the blessed altar of nicotine; may the doors of the Church of Philip Morris and R. J. Reynolds never be closed to you. Go forth and prosper, my aspiring little smokers, but forget not to tithe. As your priestess and/or deacon (whichever title you prefer), I’ll accept donations in the form of cash or Marlboro Reds.