I know what you’re thinking right now. “Oh, that DragonFlyEye! He’s always using bombastic language and humor to make a point.” True, but not in this case.

Go fuck yourself – preferably with something large and irregularly shaped – if you’re one of those guys who insists on smoking cigars at festivals, concerts, and other outside public gatherings. Go. fuck. yourself.

Statistically speaking, I know that by this point in most any article, I’ve lost about 80% of the audience. And I have a hunch that most of those who would use my comments section as a platform for scathing indictments of my “commie” hatred of “freedom” will doubtless not have read even this much. But for the rest of you (hi!), let me clear a few things up before we get started.

I smoked for about eight years of my life and quit about ten years ago. My reasons for quitting were many and personal, but when I did quit, I promised myself that I would not become one of those “born again non-smokers.” I had no desire to be one of those people who is constantly harassing smokers and making a nuisance of himself whenever friends or relatives smoke. That guy who is always fake-coughing whenever someone lights up. I was perfectly happy smoking. I’m perfectly happy not smoking. And yes, I’m perfectly happy with your right to make the same choices I did.

We clear on that? Good. Because this has nothing to do with smoking. It has to do with smoking cigars.

The thing is: if you smoke cigarettes or dope and the wind happens to carry the smoke in my direction, I’m going to smell it. I might even smell it a little bit when the wind isn’t in my direction. But not really. So, if you smoke cigarettes or dope in a public place like a concert, you’re only a potential nuisance for people a few feet around you.

But if you smoke a cigar, you cast a pall of cigar smoke in a 10′ radius around your person. A reeking, putrid, all-encompassing effluvium of burning tires and dead vegetation that will not only disgust the majority of humanity but leave them reeking for hours after your blessed absence.

And please, cigar smokers, let’s not pretend that this is news. You may insist that it’s “not that bad,” but implicitly, you’re admitting that it is bad. It is precisely the kind of “manly bad” that you like. You love to giggle when your wife is forced to leave the basement because of your stogie stench. You know it stinks; you know people hate it.

And if you’re smoking a cigar while sitting in a crowded public area, watching a concert or some other thing, you are making a decision – not ignorant of, but directly in spite of – everyone around you. If they don’t like it, then they can move. Quite literally, you are telling everyone around you to go fuck themselves. Really, I’m just returning the favour.

“Well now, Tom!” you say, “the cigars you’re referring to are obviously inferior product! If you spend the money for a good cigar and go to a reputable tobacconist who properly stores his product and turns over his inventory on a regular basis, cigars have much more pleasant aromas! Leather and spices! And so on! And so forth! Harumph.” [1. not a direct quotation]

This is certainly true as far as it goes. Cigars like any other organic product go bad over time. Fresh cigars smell less acrid and they do indeed include other aromas that are far less objectionable.

But to this, let me simply respond that, if it smells a little less like Dachshund and a little more like Doberman, it still smells like dog shit. And if you enjoy that kind of thing, god bless you… at your house.

No, I don’t think we need to pass a law. Yes, I think it’s your right to do as you please, up to and including being a giant asshat.

This however is not about public health, my health or your health; it isn’t about my rights, your rights or our shared responsibilities. This is about being a rude fucker in public. Thomas Jefferson himself blessed your sovereign right to throat cancer. Bravo, smoke away… at your house.

In public, cut it the fuck out, already.