Smokey Joe's Monologue

Hi, my name's Joe. I thought I'd introduce myself, 'cos I've been
watching you watching me. Ever since you got in here, in fact, and
asked the waiter if they had a "No Smoking" area in that foghorn voice.
Well, they don't, not yet. Curry places never do. Actually, come to
think of it, I'd like a "No Farting" area, even though I haven't got
much sense of smell any more. And a "Beard-Free Zone". Plus an area
banned to any woman over size 16 wearing leggings. In fact, instead of
tables we should all have individual soundproofed air-conditioned
cubicles so we can't see, hear or smell any customers we personally
find unattractive. Just joking!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the lentils. It was lentils, wasn't it - I can
still see some in your beard, and your fat wife has spilt a few on her
enormous bosom, and those farts of yours were certainly pulse-related.
You look the lentil type; social-conscience pale pink libertarians when
it comes to your own vices, but with secret jackboots for grinding down
people like me. Well, let me tell you, I voted Labour last time. That
surprised you, didn't it? And I support a child in Africa, and give to
Comic Relief and stuff. So I don't want to be told that I'm also
supporting perjured criminals who are trying to kill off Third World
babies even quicker by selling 'em the cigarettes which you people
won't buy here in the West. I mean, if their president's stolen all
their aid money and transferred it to the Bahamas and the rebel
militia's just driven off all their cattle and the witch doctor's given
them six months to live, why the hell shouldn't people in
Bongo-Bongoland enjoy a ciggie or two before they snuff it? If they die
of cancer they're bloody lucky, 'cos that means they lived long enough
not to die of dysentery or malaria or typhoid.

And anyway my granddad smoked all his life and lived till he was
eighty-three, which your wife's got no chance of doing if she shoves
cream cakes down her gob at that rate. Maybe there should be a health
warning on the side: "Government Warning: Being A Lardbucket May Harm
Your Unborn Child." Oh, she's expecting soon, you say - sorry, but I
don't think anybody could have told - well, maybe the sprog's
well-cushioned for now, all I'm saying is, when he (or she) comes out
your missus had better be careful where she sits or the little 'un'll
have no chance! Yeah, I've got kids of my own and I tell you what, I
don't bother about 'em having a cig behind the bike sheds or a beer
from the off-licence, it's all them bloody drugs what worries me -
crack and smack and weed and blow and purple hearts and what have you.
I mean, I try to talk to them about it like the adverts say but all
they do is point to my fags and call me a hypocrite; too bloody clever
these days, it's them teachers what puts 'em up to it, they're always
having 'em design anti-smoking poster campaigns instead of learning 'em
their tables. Yeah, I thought somehow you might be one. Sociology?
Well, what bloody use is that when half of 'em can't write a letter or
tell the time properly? Then the other half manage to turn up for the
exam, write their name at the top and they've half the points for
university already.

No, I didn't go to university, nobody from our estate did, university
of life we went to. Mind you, when we left school we could all read and
write and had some bloody manners knocked into us, that's what this lot
want. No, I didn't start smoking at school, it was the army; tuppence
for twenty in Cairo, they were, and it kept the mosquitos off. Course,
it's not the same now, if you want to see the world you go to the
travel agent these days, and in any case the only bits of the world I
got to see were rat-infested shitholes with darkies trying to blow your
head off ? no thanks, mate, I don't want any Indian sweets, just the
bill ? anyway, you went out a boy and came back a man, though nowadays
with all this equal equalities stuff you go out a girl and come back a
lezzie ? sorry for my language, missus, but I can see you're not one
anyway.

Mind you, it's everywhere now; you go to the football, it costs you an
arm and a leg, you have to sit down all the way through, you can't even
have a smoke any more and then you have to watch grown men kissing each
other, especially with all the fancy foreigners ? that's fine, keep the
change, mate ? if I wanted to see that sort of stuff I'd go to the
bloody ballet. And you can change your sex on the National Health these
days but you can't change your glasses, we're in a right state in this
country, I'm telling you, and it'll be worse still once we get them
Euros.

Bloody hell, is that the time? It's my last bus in ten minutes, and if
I leave now I can get another ciggie in before it comes, you can't
smoke on the buses neither unless you're a big black guy with
dreadlocks and a reefer, and then they have to let you because it's
part of your religion, although the driver's probably got his prayer
mat out anyway and wondering what direction Mecca's in from Willesden.
Well, it's been nice to meet you, I hope you don't destroy too much of
that ozone layer you go on about when you drive all the way home ? you
too, Abdul, give my love to your missus!
Bye all!