Smokey Bear

We are pro-smoking here at The Scrapbook. We do not smoke ourselves, and to be honest the smell of stale cigarette smoke makes us gag, but we viscerally disapprove of the way in which nicotine users have been browbeaten, shamed, and hounded out of polite society over the last several decades.

How refreshing to find, then, in the latest London Spectator, evidence that smoking can save your life. It’s true. The magazine’s associate editor Rod Liddle explains:

I almost got killed this week. I went for a very early morning walk in a New Hampshire forest, in the icy rain. Black coat, black hood, black trousers. And so the hunter saw this hunched, awkward, shambling black beast, stumbling over sodden logs, and immediately raised his rifle to his eye and cocked the trigger. One thing, and one thing only, saved me. The armed cracker, looking through his telescopic lens, thought to himself: ‘Hey, it’s a bear—but it’s . . . smoking a cigarette?’ And so, at the last second, refrained from pulling the trigger.

Of course, the liberal scolds’ answer to Liddle’s claim that smoking saved his life is that guns must be taken away, too. No smoking, no guns, everybody’s safe. Except that if you tromp around in the forests of New Hampshire in autumn without a gun, you might be eaten by a bear. Maybe we should get rid of bears, too.

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