Smokin' in the Boy's Room

Everyone remembers this almost sacred ritual of middle school with fondness. Ah, to be 14 again (ok, so nobody has ever wanted that, except for maybe Romeo, so he could not kill himself while his star-crossed lover yet lived). Anyway, I went to the public library yesterday, was browsing the bookshelf, and happened on this little ditty, "The Art of Smoking." My thoughts immediately turned to Brownsville Station and their reminiscent ballad to illegal behavior. So what if I was in the cooking section? My masculinity is still intact because 1. chicks like guys who will cook for them, 2. smoking is right alongside barbecuing as masculine methods of cooking, and 3. the first thing I thought of was really tobacco use, even though I was in the cooking section. I wish I had a candy cigarette to take a picture with-it's cold enough outside that my breath would look like smoke to a camera. Just imagine it in your mind. As an afterthought I realize that Motley Crue's Smokin' in the Boy's Room rooks harder, but on that fateful afternoon I thought of Brownsville Station first.