I sat smoking a cigarette one day on a bench inside the local park, and some old, holier-than-thou type came up to me, spouting some nonsense about how "Those could **** you, you know." And I replied, concisely, "Oh, I know."
"But," I continued, "so do cars and guns and terrible puns. So does every poke, cut and scrape; every bone you break; every breath you take and glass you drink; every single thing you think; every time you blink; every scratch and ray of sunlight you catch; every pill you're swallowin' and moment of sorrow you wallow in; every religion you could be followin'; every word you speak and meal you eat-- even walking on your own two feet. So do hopes and votes, popes and sore throats, rhetoric and prose. Everything kills, my friend, though we only see it at the end-- and by then it's been too long and we can no longer sing songs of our discoveries and reveries, and treasuries and pleasure-ies, and best friends forever-ies. The way I see it, ain't no reason livin' if'n I'm givin' two ***** 'bout all that; I've already tossed in my hat."