I always feel like that good voice, you know the one that tells you not to do something, is asleep at the wheel. This possibly explains my poor impulse control.
I never feel more this way then when I’m patiently waiting in line at the gas station to purchase my “go juice” and the guy in front of me stops everything so he can make the gas station attendant find his obscure brand of cancer weed. Look if you want to kill yourself slowly with those things, be my guest. I couldn’t care in the slightest.
But those extra fifteen seconds taken out of my life are draining the life out of me. After that I always feel like leaping on the back of the smoker to sink my slightly elongated canines into their leathery neck in an attempt to reclaim the vital life energy I just loss.
I don’t of course as the consequences of my vampiric attacks would be being sent to prison where I’m sure I would be traded for a pack of Cool Menthol cigarettes. I simply don’t want to deal with the irony of that situation.
…also I don’t want my bum to hurt.