YOUR GRANDFATHER WAS A RAPSCALLION!

After a two hour nap I went out with my pipe filled with fine aged Virginia. And to my dismay discovered that several intoxicated persons were, by that sight and those smells, reminded of their grandfather.
Who also smoked a pipe.

I no longer ask about the smell, because their grandfather probably smoked cherry cavendish, to which I cannot relate.


Yanni tells me that after reading "the book" he will never touch tobacco again. And I should read it too.


Remind me to never introduce this man to my apartment mate.
She does not need anti tobacco encouragement.


I am smoking the tail-end of the second bowl of the night in the teevee room. The good thing about good Virginias is that they are 'stealth' tobaccos. A mild smell, subtle, slightly sweet, old-fashioned.
Old people, little children, and any grand kids love it.
It reminds them of grandpa.

I feel too young to remind you of some dessicated old fart and his tractor.
What with being reasonably trim, not nearly as old as the fossil, fewer wrinkles, and 100% full of piss and vinegar.




Pipe smoke does not remind me of my grandfather. He was a dashing late middle age military man when he met my grandmother in London after the war to end all wars, and passed away when my father and uncle were still children. My parents married late. My father was a pipe-smoker, but never smoked cherry tobacco. Something civilized, from John's pipe store. Beverly Hills and Los Angeles.

What I smoke doesn't remind me of him.
Though actually it does.





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