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.

Thursday, October 22, 2015


Nothing is quite so exciting as creating an alternate version of yourself with a peculiar and remarkable personality -- car mechanic, let's say, or an elderly foot fetishist -- and then trolling your "new" self out to see what strangers think.
In the olden days, that might involve a cinched corset, shaving the legs, and widows weeds. The internet has made it easier.

Greg L. Pease, bless him, has created a pipe tobacco mixture that compliments and completes that process. You can relax now, the subterfuge is perfect.


Virginias, with smidgeons of Perique and Fire-cured leaves. Augmented with vanilla and Bourbon Whiskey. According to Greg's own blog, it is a favourite of his pet rodents.

No, I haven't tried it yet.
This is not a review.
But I would.

If I do you may expect to see me write about it. Both disparagement and praise. For a purist, indulging in aromatics is like taking a trip to Vegas and "doing stuff". Stuff that might be perverted, shameful, or a very Catholic sin. Stuff you won't admit, but will certainly do again given half a chance, and you hope to Jesus no one has a cell-phone.
Stuff your religious aunt should never hear about.
Queenly drag with falsies and lipstick.
And a purple feather boa.

But if Greg Pease made it, it's probably a very nice bit of degeneracy. Zesty! The kind of tobacco that you imagine wears fishnet stockings, braided strawberry-hued hair extensions, and a scanty neon-furred bustier. Your daughter's dorm-mate at college. The one who keeps her body clean by eating organic tofu and huffing non-GMO marijuana.
Since the divorce from her second step-mom, you've been looking.
Now you found one who might be "fun" to date.
Scandalize your friends.

Greg, I'm surprised. I thought you didn't consort with that type of people. How could you? How could you! Did they hold you down and utter threats? Employ bamboo splinters? Hot iron? And please tell me more! I am fascinated, and my breathing is fast. Heart palps, drooling, and an evil gleam in my eye. Does she also engage in industrial dancing?
Feature in post-apocalyptic punk music videos? Cyber goth?
Is her dream-vacation a trip to the former East Germany for all the deserted and falling-apart factories, train sidings, and abandoned socialist-paradise apartment buildings? Grey cement and cinderblocks?
Does she film everything?

Good lord!

But I rather imagine that it is a discreet and not quite over-the-top product, something that every one's grandmama smelled like, back in the twenties.
A gay flapper among the otherwise sober line-up, a lithe flat-chested nymph twirling her pearls.

Vanilla & bourbon topping for sweetness and a lovely room note.

Yeah, one of these days I will review it.
It sounds delightful.

I'm actually looking forward to trying it if I can get my paws on a tin.
But I might have to use blackmail.


My own most recent blend is a tactful little summery effort, most flue-cured tobaccos, with the natural sweetness toned-down a bit by Burley. The first two iterations were somewhat mild, it definitely need something else. Perique would have required finicky percentages, fractions.
Fire-cured did suggest itself, but I was afraid I would end up with something I would throw out.
So instead, it now has a very slight addition of Latakia.
It tastes like something Esoterica might do.
A restrained all-day smoke.
It's a keeper.


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


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