Luigi's Tire Tower Is Not A Designated Smoking Area

Luigi's Tire Tower Is Not A Designated Smoking Area, a photo by hbmike2000 on Flickr.

Trapped by herd of people in Cars Land at Disney California Adventure, I needed a familiar puff on a ciggy. I reached into my pocket and grabbed the cancer causing rolled stick of insectacide laced tobacco out of its smashed box. Then I reached into my other pocket and grabbed the flame thrower to light it with. With the familiar click of the flint the fire shot up. Bumped from behind I dropped the gaseous tube before I could light my cancer causing rolled stick of insectacide laced tobacco.

With a startled scream, I reached down to pick it up and as my fingers brushed the top of the scratched up plastic, a tiny foot rocked by and kicked it, sending it sliding down the pavement of Route 66. With cancer causing rolled stick of insectacide laced tobacco withdrawals, I chased it down the street, dodging in and out of the heavy traffice of people. When I got close to it, I made a dive for it, fearing it would be forever slid around like a hockey puck across the hot asphalt of road. Just as I was landing, a big dirty unlaced shoe slid by and I saw my poor lighter shoot off out of sight.

I stood up, frustrated and moody and my eyes happened upon a vision from heaven. A tower. A tower of tires. And it went all the way up to a giant lighter in the sky. Quickly I ran to the marvelous tower of treads and started climbing. At the top, I put the cancer causing rolled stick of insectacide laced tobacco in my hand and reached with all my might to the giant lighter in the sky. The tip barely making it, lit up.

Happy and joyfull, I brought the lit cancer causing rolled stick of insectacide laced tobacco down to me and just as I was about to take a puff, I lost my grip and began the free fall back down to earth.

I lay on the ground, arms spread out, cancer causing rolled stick of insectacide laced tobacco dangling from two fingers still lit. Smiling, I was about to take my first puff when a well polished shoe of the familiar Disney Police appeared out of nowhere and stepped on it, extinguishing it for good. The big booming voice from above explaining to me that this was not a designated smoking area and that I had to pay for the new cracks I made in the road from my fall.

Sad and now poor, I started to get up when I noticed laying next to me was my once lost lighter. I grabbed it fast and stood. Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed my cancer causing rolled stick of insectacide laced tobacco and pulled it out. Smashed beyond repair. I gabbed another. Split at the filter. Another. Obliterated. One after the other till the crushed pack was empty, not one good one.

Hunched over, with one hand on my aching back and my left foot draggng behind my, I wobbled off.

And that is why smoking is bad. Mmmm K