At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012


A while back one of my acquaintances (you know who you are) accused me of being so OBSESSED with tobacco that it had become my religion. He had read my blog, and had far too often listened to me speak in worshipful tones about my favourite blends.
Tobacco is a cult, and I am a fanatic.

This, of course, is utter nonsense.

For one thing, I am not standing on a streetcorner declaiming loudly from The Book of Nicotines, chapter this verse that. Even though that section has enough briar and brimstone to scare all of you heretics straight.
Especially the bit about what happens to non-smoking wheatgerm freaks.
Hell, apparently, is filled with those horrid people.
Imps taunt them with 2nd hand smoke.

But what really got me thinking that he had scrambled his hard drive was the mention of proselytizing.
He accused me of trying to convert people, including the unborn, the helpless, and the ignorant. With threats, bribery, and unethical tactics.

Not so!

That time I was caught slapping nicotine patches on the bare arms of a troop of girl scouts was a non-conversionary action entirely, totally educational. Spirit of scientific inquiry and all that.

I always believed that the reason little girls screamed and squealed was nicotine jonesing. Or something.
Now I know.

They were quiet for hours, till the nicky wore off.
Not my fault that they're now panhandling for patch money.
Blame the legal system. You can't buy tobacco till you're all grown up.
Some of them are even in the Tenderloin mugging arthritic grannies for cigars.

Folks, San Francisco is a rough place. Just because they look sweet and innocent doesn't mean that they aren't depraved little hussies in need of salvation.
Keep an eye on your kids, and give the little savages whatever they need.

The incident with the tobacco brownies was simply an attempt to reach parity with the medical marijuana crowd. You'll have to admit, there's no chance that anyone would complain about second hand smoke.
They might whine about the emetic effect, but that's not my issue.

And, quite unlike several fundamentalist preachers, I do NOT suggest to my busty secretary that we go to a motel to talk about scripture. Or, in this case, to rub her all over with shredded tobacco till it comes out of her ears.
Then insisting that she never tell anyone.

"Remember, miss Jones, not a word - Jesus would be most upset if the parishioners EVER found out"

I think my "parishioners" would be overjoyed, not upset. They'd probably order the fancy boxed set of commemorative colour prints.
Yep, fully clothed pipe-smoker massaging a naked lady and possibly a goat with leaves, you betcha. These are sacred rituals.

Baptism by fire, and the laying on of hands.

Regrettably, I don't actually have a curvaceous secretary named miss Jones.
Nor the colour prints showing her up to her tatas in flue-cured leaf.
That proves that tobacco can't possibly be a religion.
My spiritual needs are NOT being met.

Tatas! Leaves! Amen!

Jesus would approve!

Seriously, I need to rub a nice miss all over with a fine Balkan mixture.
That by itself would be a momentous spiritual experience.
Get me hollering 'hallelujah' in record time.
Whoever! Thanks for the smoke!
Angelically aromatic.
Like incense.

* * * * *

Now then......

Anybody else want to chastise me for my habit?
Or try to convert me into quitting?
I'm all ears, truly I am.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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