Fags, a British idiom for cigarettes, are the most loyal friends I have ever had. Yeah, sure they'll give me cancer and kill me one day, but let's look at bright side. Surprise! Even I can be positive once in a while. A fag is always greets me a kiss. Each and every one of them is warm and leaves me with a good feeling in the end. They never criticize me for the things I lack, nor do they care that I'm not perfect. They don't complain if I don't have time for them, but they're always there for me. Fags may start to get low, but you only need to go so far as a grocer, gas station, or tobacco shop to renew their vigor.
Fags are not racist, sexist, or otherwise bigoted in any way and will always help someone out if I introduce them. They are there for me in the middle of the night when I'm all alone and no one is there to talk to. They're there for me when all the world threatens to strangle me. Fags don't care whether or not it's -20 or 200 degrees Fahrenheit, they'll be there when I need them. They don't live across town where seeing them is a rare occasion. They don't mind coming out on a moments notice. Fags are just there for me whenever I need them.
Bitch and moan about my cruel satire, but let's face it that when the chips are down and everything else is gone there is one thing that I know will be there for me to pick me up: my fags.
Sic semper tyrannis,
P.S. - Fags don't need to be reminded when my birthday is, they're always around.