Süchtig - Addicted

Thankfully, I’m not that addicted to anything particularly pricy, harmful or socially frowned upon. Smoking is expensive and doesn’t really do much other than slake, yet simultaneously build a nicotine dependency I can’t be bothered to nurture. But just because I’m a non-smoker doesn’t make me an anti-smoker. Nonchalance is my prevailing feeling on the issue. People can do what they want to their bodies, and as for passive smoking, it’s just another of the trillion things that can lead to a painful and premature death. If not smoke it could just as easily be a speeding bus, collapsed building, a psycho killer (qu'est-ce que c'est?) or giant squid monster from space. Far too many people think living for eternity is not only possible, but a basic human right. The Oldtopians dream of a place where billions of decrepit and frail bodies live, struggling to move for fear of snapping their twig-like limbs, but are, most crucially, completely free of terminal illness! Because that’s all that matters. Well meh to them. We’re not special, and have no more right to survive as all other animals on the planet, including those we regularly mass murder to happily chow down with a spicy barbeque sauce. Anyway, before this entry veers even further off topic, booze next. Being physically addicted to alcohol doesn‘t seem like that much fun, unless of course you‘re a member of one of those little hobo cliques - you know, the cheery beardy guys who hang out in small groups necking white cider and special brew. They laugh, they joke around, they nick the occasional handbag. They’re a Robin Hood-style band of bit-too-merry men, except they steal from all socio-economic groups and give mostly to the off-licence. I do drink a fair amount, but can’t ever see myself needing to get horrendously wasted. Especially on a daily basis. It really can’t be much fun. Finally, hard drugs seem like far too much work to bother with. Hiding a heroin habit from friends and family is probably almost as much effort as nicking and flogging all of their stuff. Funding the relentless quest for dragon-chasing supplies must be even harder during a recession. I’d guess those any-purpose loans aren’t quite so any-purpose nowadays. No more ten-grand loans to buy ’a big bunch of smack’. But before this gets any sillier, I have to go. The lack of Chocolate Fingers and Tesco’s Finest Triple Chocolate Cookies in my system is starting to give me the shakes, making typing and any wittiness increasingly difficult. And before you judge me, let me say I’m skinny and can easily afford them on my wage. It’s a victimless crime. So get off my back.