Look, Barack (do you mind if I call you that? It’s just that Mr President seems a bit formal, especially since you’re not my president).
Barack, look, I’ve been reading these things about your doctors telling you to quit smoking, and I have to tell you, as a former smoker myself, that you shouldn’t listen to them.
Doctors do what doctors do, especially when they’re employed at enormous expense to doctor POTUS.
You can’t take them seriously. They have an agenda, and the agenda is not about you, Barack, so just take a few minutes and listen to me over here.
By the way, would you like a beer?
There ya go. Light?
See, I’ve been reading this stuff about how much you smoke, and all the reports that say you have eight cigarettes a day.
Now look, Barack, don’t kid a kidder. I was a serious smoker and I know the crap you tell people when you’re trying to fool yourself.
Eight means twenty.
And twenty means forty when things turn rough, like for instance an all-night meeting with the generals about bombing Iran. Maybe even sixty and a couple of Cuban cigars. (Not that I’ve ever convened a meeting of generals, but you get the idea).
Barack, you’re a smoker. Don’t tell me you smoke eight cigarettes a day or I’ll have to hit you.
Eight cigarettes a day? Newborn babies smoke eight cigarettes a day. What kind of pussy smoker would that make you? If you’re going to smoke, Barack, smoke like a man, with serious, high-tar, heavy-duty, lung-wrenching torpedoes.
I hear you’re a bit tetchy with reporters when they ask about your smoking habit.
Hey, easy, big boy. Back off there and grab yourself another beer.
I hear your famous smooooooooth exterior cracks a little when they push you on the baccy issue, and I can understand that. I used to be the same. Ain’t nobody’s business but my own (and in your case another 300 million Americans but we’ll move on from that rapidly).
I used to be ugly when people tackled me about my smoking, so I can understand your position. I used to quit, and then I’d sneak one or two, or five, or even eight – as many as you smoke. I used to buy small cigars instead, but then I ended up smoking 20 small cigars a day. Not good.
Barack, here’s the bottom line.
I thought maybe I might just share with you my secret for stopping smoking, in the interests of world peace. After all, nobody wants an angry ex-smoker with his finger on the big red button. Right?
Now Barack, here’s where you have to listen really hard. Just put down that basketball for a moment, if you wouldn’t mind.
See, these doctors are telling you to try harder with the quitting but that’s not going to work unless you want to quit. It just won’t work, and you’ll be hiding in the dressingroom of the Oval Office sneaking cigarettes, which admittedly is better than other uses of smoking materials witnessed by that room.
Barack, you’ll only quit when you realise that you’re not giving anything up. You’re just stopping. Just stopping a thing that causes you grief.
You good with that?
OK. Here’s my one-step plan to being a non-smoker, forever.
OK, here it comes.
Bock’s foolproof method of being a non-smoker:
JUST DON’T SMOKE!
Trust me. It works.
Barack, you’re welcome.