Think of exhaling tobacco smoke akin to shitting in other people's mouths and it will either a) disgust you and quell your desire to inhale burnt tobacco leaves, or b) turn you on and make your starfish pucker and twinkle (at the same time).
I was walking downstairs in my apartment building and saw a bundle of magazines near a neighbors door, prepared for recycling, and RIGHT THERE ON THE COVER OF ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY was a massive Game Of Thrones spoiler. Turn on the internet and BOOM, everyone is spilling beans like they're winning cash prizes. Fuck. It's like society doesn't want you to enjoy the mystery of narrative because all people seem to care about is the Cliff's Notes version of stories. Media and social networking annihilates the personal pleasure of discovering story as it unfolds. Recently, stories have become gossip columns with a pinch of outrage, as if fans have the right to dictate what creatives should create.