I’ve been trying to get my head round the idea of attending an antismoking talk asking Can The War on Tobacco Be Won? Because that’s exactly what Dick Puddlecote and Chris Snowdon did a few days ago, it seems.
That’s about the last thing I can imagine myself ever doing.
Unless of course I could bring a flamethrower and a 10-gallon tank of napalm. I’d sit quietly and unobtrusively in the back until someone said something that enraged me (i.e. about 10 seconds into the talk), and then I’d hose down the whole place with purifying fire.
Or maybe I’d just incinerate each speaker, one by one, with a carefully-aimed 50-foot stream of boiling flame from the back row, just as the applause for them was dying down.
DP said that that there were about “100 aspiring young bansturbators” in attendance. But how did he know that? Since at least three of the audience were actually on their way to Boisdales for some smokers’ party, maybe many of the other people had just dropped in out of similar interest?
Certainly the audience member who said that “A coalition of socialist movements is needed to tackle *all* business,” would seem to have gone to completely the wrong talk. You wanted the Can the War on Capitalism be Won talk, love. It’s upstairs in room 306. And you can borrow my flamethrower if you like.
And if most of the people attending the talk were actually smokers, intrigued to hear real live antismoking nutjobs gabbling their nonsensical drivel, clearly hosing the whole place down with purifying fire would have been a bit counter-productive. It would have to be the well-aimed stream of boiling flame instead.
Anyway, the idea of attending something as horrible as an antismoking talk before going to a Boisdales party seems like attending an execution before going to the opera.
Particularly in my case, as I would arrive at the party with my clothes charred, and smelling strongly of gasoline. And with a 10-gallon tank of napalm strapped to my back. Unless it was now in use in room 306.
I could do with a flamethrower ap on my computer. You’re sitting watching a video of some pundit or politician – like, say, Nick Clegg -, and when you’ve Had Just About Enough, you press the F button, and a river of fire erupts from out of the bottom of the screen, and gradually fills the entire window, before fading to leave only a charred, smoking remnant of the offending pundit/politician. Something a bit like this, but with pundit/politician in background:
I could have hours of fun with one of those.