Nearly two years of nicotine free life. Except for the secondhand crap that I swim in occupying my post in barfly life. Indubitably, suckin back other smoker's exhaust fed my addict gremlin hibernating in one of the folds of my brain. Feelin quite chumpish that I let leaves wrapped in paper get the better of me. Every morning since I've started up again I've cussed myself out in the mirror.

Peeps are freaking. Shrieking paradox! Don't call it a comeback! A spanky thats currently not sucking from the nipple of Pan, yet blowing the filtered cock of big tobacco. Apparently, visually alone, its hard on my homies senses. The kung-fu grip ain't occupied with a rocks glass, yet it has a butt danglin from it? Smokers that thought one day they would quit, at one time could uphold me as a paradigm, now see their lungs dashed on the craggy shoal. Drinkers believing no cocktail was man enough to make me my bitch, questioning their own intake as I sip on a pint glass of seltzer.

Beautiful time to start up again. Movie ticket and a packet of cigarettes burns through half my wallet. Eight bucks a pack!?! Round up ya bastards, its more financially sound, round up dammit. Translates to about sixty bones a week. Two forty a month. Somewhere in the hood of three large a year. Thats some pricey death.

Gotta pay extra for sin in NYC. Even during these times of war and want. Back off the sin bitch.

That reminds me though. NYC is a bro. What I mean to say is, muthafucka, I gots NYC's back, a'ight. Talk smack about your own habitat ya herb. Don't bring your stankin euro trash, hillbilly, tight sphincter bible belt, left coast fake internal sunshine, outsider erronious superiority gushing over here. Cause, I don't necessarily want to speak for all New Yorkers here, but we've had a bit of a rough time of late, not a bunch of whiners, but we've just about had it. So if you think you are being clever or have some "right" to voice your grievances of Gotham loudly, think twice. Again, not sure about other New Yorkers, but I'm ready to make interlopers lose teeth with the next wisp of insults towards my main man, New York, New York. Ya want a smack? Seriously, shut the fuck up.

Apparently an explanation is in order. Fifth base. Alright if first base is heavy petting, second base is getting your fingers in there........fifth base, which is after homerun, is.............taking a trip up the hershey highway. Anal sex kids. Admittedly the term fifth base is somewhat confusing. The natural progression after a homerun is the dugout or the showers. But fifth base just sounds more impy pimpy than headin to the dugout or showers. Plus, nappy dugout just means pussy to my old school gangsta hip hop ears. And, the showers, well if that term is connected to the poop shoot, makes it sound like too much love gravy seeping out. So rear entry = fifth base. Learn it, love it, live it.