Remember this line from the appropriately named Wimpy on the cartoon series, “Popeye”?:

I would gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.

That’s exactly how I feel right now. Except not about hamburgers, but about cigarettes. My cigarettes. It’s been 60 hours now. A long 60 hours.

But Tuesday really is payday. (Unless they screw it up again.) It hardly matters. Tuesday sounds to me like eternity; between now and then someone could get hurt. Badly. Very badly, and very soon. We must prevent the violence before it occurs!

By the way, here’s a tip for urban smokers: If anyone on the street asks you for a cigarette, say “No.” Always. To anyone. Anytime. Anywhere.

Why? Well, because if the police see you on the street giving something -- anything -- to a person they know to be a questionable character but whom you don’t know from Adam, they’re going to assume the worst, and you could be paving the way for a very unpleasant afternoon for yourself. [Post-publication clarification: Okay, more like an unpleasant 15 minutes, but still.]

Don’t ask me how I know. Just let me say that, aside from the joyous solemnities (see below), it’s been a lousy week, folks.

[Post-publication addendum (June 30): Keith Berry of Berry’s World feels my pain. And G.S. is dropping off a pack on his way to work this morning. Does that make him an enabler?]