Arrr, matey! In Chicago, them smokes be taxed so high, even King George’d blush like a scallywag!
2024-08-20
Arrr, matey! The only plight I can liken to the scallywag treatment o' smokers be those cursed days o' COVID, when landlubbers from afar would bellow, "Mask!" like a parrot spottin' a swab who forgot his eye patch! Aye, the seas o' madness be ever treacherous!
Ahoy, me hearties! 'Twas a folly of me own makin' when I laid down six doubloons fer a treasure of smokes in West Virginia but left ‘em in me vessel—er, car. The winds of fate blew me to San Francisco, where a mere pack cost fifteen pieces o' eight! But when I set sail to Chicago, the scallywag cashier demanded forty gold coins fer just two packs! Blimey, why not a hundred? Why not a million?"Aye, nobody pays that here," the concierge told me. "We be buyin’ from the underground, like true pirates!" I knew the game from New York, where every bodega sells those Virginia treasures fer less than a king’s ransom. Yet, the laws o’ taxation be as pointless as a ship without sails—smokin’ rates remain as steady as a ship on calm seas.
They treat us smokers as if we were rottin’ fish, while no one dares to scold a landlubber munchin’ a Big Mac. T'were an affront, like shoutin' "Mask!" during the plague times! But I digress. Us smokers, we share tales fer a few precious moments, while the world taxes our pleasures as if we be the scourge of the seas.
So let ‘em tax us! We be fierce, and our lighters shall never surrender! This be America, and we’ll puff where we please. And if ye need a smoke, I’ll be at the corner, keepin' the pirate spirit alive. Arrr!