I’ve been catching a lot of flak lately about how I’ve lost my edge, that my blog isn’t nearly as funny or offensive as it once was. Well too bad, naysayers. Ridiculing ethnic groups and hippies gets old. I got tired of it. Anyway, it’s only natural to mellow out over time.

So from now on, WHEN BLOGS ATTACK! will no longer feature offensive material. In essence, I’m PG-rating it. If you came here for the usual dose of depraved humor in the form of anti-immigration rants or barbs aimed at “dirty, lazy hippies,” look elsewhere. No more tickling the spleen for me. From this day forward, the only stimulation my blog shall provide is the intellectual kind.

Oh, and one more thing. I want to state for the record that I have NEVER composed, or published, anything that could have been misconstrued as racist. I’ve been accused of racism before, and the remarks wounded me deeply. I vehemently deny being a racist. As far as I’m concerned, we’re all simmering together in this little crock pot called America, and the only way to keep afloat in this briny broth is to grab hold of the potato floating beside you. And yes, by potato, I mean an Irishman.

And now, on with the show…

DEATH TO THE CHIMNEY CHINKS!

What is happening to our society? A few days ago, these two chimney chinks—sorry, that’s so offensive, I meant smoking chinks—stab a bartender to death for enforcing Mayor Bloomberg’s new smoking ban. I turn on the radio this morning, and what do I hear? They’ve been released from jail. Seems no weapon turned up, so everyone concludes that the bouncer must have died from belly stigmata, not a stab wound. Surely that’s reasonable, right? Belly stigmata? Didn’t Jesus take a nail in the stomach at some point? The Romans had to affix him to that cross somehow, didn’t they?

That’s the only reasonable explanation I can think of. Let’s review what happened: Bouncer victim sees these two Chimney Chinks lighting up. He goes over to their table and asks them to extinguish their cigarettes. The two Chimney Chinks insult the man, because fuck you if you’re only doing your job—What do you expect me to do? Move a whole ten feet out to the sidewalk? Bouncer, whose merely enforcing a law that, if he does not enforce it, will bring fines down on his establishment, drags the Chimney Chinks out to the curb.

Before moving on to the devastating and unnecessary stabbing that occurred out on the sidewalk, I’d like to address the smoking lobby’s bullshit argument. Bullshit argument: If I enter your restaurant/bar/tavern, and order food or drink, that makes me a paying customer. As a paying customer, I should be allowed to smoke a cigarette if I choose, because without me, your restaurant/bar/tavern goes out of business. Smokers make up a substantial percentage of customers in New York City, and our economic power as a sum must be represented. In other words: I in your place, I smoke in your face.

FUCKING WRONG, MARLBORO MAN! Let’s take a peek at your buying power through the other side of the looking glass. In our alternative reality New York City, Bloomy introduces an anti-anti-smoking ban. According to this ban, public places are now only open to smokers. That’s right. People who don’t smoke must abscond to the sidewalk. Take your disgusting clean-oxygen breathing habit outside, Rebel Without a Respirator. Now, do you think New York City businesses will make MORE money now or LESS? What, Smokey? Did you say ‘More?’ I think you’re forgetting that those little books of matches next to the cash register are generally free. Right, they’d make less money, wouldn’t they? I know this is blowing your mind, Smokey, so just sit down, put your head between your knees and take deep, clear breaths. …And judging by that wheezing sound you’re making, you obviously can’t. I’m sorry.

If New York City had to rely exclusive on the smoking public, it would fold faster than a Korean dry cleaner on amphetemines. On the contrary, I think our city’s stores and eateries can get along just fine with only the non-smoking public. And anyway, if you’re a smoker, you’ve got to give me this one: How many times has someone on the street asked to bum a cigarette off you? Need a bike meter to keep track, don’t cha? Yeah, you smokers are definitely a sector of the public just oozing with available cash.

But back to the Chimney Chinks. So out in the street, the two Chimney Chinks and their Chimney Chinkette gang up on the boxer. Everyone hits the asphalt. Chimney Chinks get up, bouncer does not. He’s busy bleeding out of a deep wound in his chest. Chimney Chinks run, which is kind of ironic because one of them is a medical student. I’m sure he explained to the cop later that at the college he attends, they taught him that the best way to deal with a gushing wound is to run like Hell. Anyway, just about every credible witness states that the only participants in the melee were the three Chimney Chinks and the bouncer himself. So, unless the bouncer somehow landed stomach-down on a shard of broken glass firmly sticking straight up from the sidewalk—Yeah, that happens a lot—or he in fact experienced belly stigmata, as I previously stated, someone guilty went free this morning.

I understand that to charge someone with murder, the weapon must be on-hand. But is it possible that, while the Chimney Chinks scurried away, they tossed the weapon aside? And is it not possible that, if they could just hold the suspects in custody a little longer, the weapon will turn up? According to the witnesses, NO ONE else was involved in the melee. The bouncer was killed by a Chimney Chink, and right now, he is as free as the rest of us. And I think I can guess at why Morgentheu or whoever our D.A. is finked out of pressing charges. Look at the public outcry over the murder. I use the word ‘outcry,’ as opposed to ‘outrage’ because no one is angry at the two smoking fiends who smoked the unarmed bouncer. No, the venom is aimed squarely at Bloomberg, at his smoking ban. The real injustice, apparently, is that these two poor Chimney Chinks weren’t allowed to light up and be left alone.

Well, I got your injustice, buttfuck! (And I think the word “buttfuck” really does apply here. What do smokers do other than perform extended fellatio on a cigarette? I’m surprised they don’t need to light up another cigarette after smoking one…) THE BOUNCER WAS JUST DOING HIS JOB!!! MAYBE THE TWO NICOTINE FIENDS SHOULDN’T HAVE GUTTED HIM LIKE A FISH WHEN HE WAS JUST DOING HIS JOB!!! And you know what? Cigarettes should be banned because they’re a public health menace. Second-hand smoke is bad for people. Test studies have proven this! I, for one, am not contracting throat cancer just so you can look suave and sophisticated handling a Camel in front of the ladies. Maybe if you threw some of that pussy my way it’d be different. But since you’re not, fuck you and your Jerry Lewis-Buddy Love impression. That camel drawing on the front of the carton is the only hump you’re getting, pal.

I know that the D.A. has habeas corpus bearing down on him like the Terminator, but this is one case where they need to bend the rules a little. Morgie, you needed to set an example. By letting these two Chimney Chinks walk free, you’ve given every smoker in the five boroughs license to tell bouncers and waitresses to fuck off, and you’ve given every bouncer and restaurant manager a reason to be hesitant to enforce the law. And bottom line: Unless the muscle is there to back up that law, Bloomy is basically fucking with a flaccid penis.

Now, is everyone sick of hearing me use the term “Chimney Chinks” to refer to the two suspects? Yeah, I know it’s a derogatory term. But I know some Chinese people, and I think it would be more offensive to put them in the same category as these two scum-and-tar suckers. Normal, decent people do not kill over something as frivolous as smoking a cigarette. And the worst part is, both antagonists are in their 30’s. It’s one thing to be a uptight 21-year old with a chip on his shoulder, who doesn’t know his limitations or the limitations of the world yet. But 30 and up? Now, one of the Chimney Ch—aahhh, scum-and-tar suckers is a banker on Wall Street, so he’s probably already too evil to ever realize the gravity of what he’s done. But the other guy is in medical school. If there’s any justice in the universe, he’ll be opening up a cadaver in his laboratory class someday. Flammable gases from the cadaver will rise up, blending with the air. Someone else in the room will start to light up a lucky.

“Hey! Stop!” the former murderer (or accomplice) will say. Then he’ll point to a sign on the wall that says that smoking is prohibited.

The other person—the only other person in the room—will shrug and smile, his thumb flicking sparks from his Bic.

“No! STOP!” the Chimney Chink will scream, the flammable gases at the four corners of the room, the man with the lighter standing between him and the door.

“Fuck your smoking ban,” says the nameless other. With another flick of the thumb, the rest is history gone up in flames.