Sunday, April 30, 2023


One of the rancid old cigar-huffing goobers in the backroom admitted bashfully that he liked to smoke his stogies in an atmosphere of peace and contemplative quiet. Seeing as he is a prime instigator and focus of all the screaming and shouting, when I quoted him to the retired judicial personage who came in later there was an evil cackle.

For at least one hour this morning there was calm. Because the backroom dunder heads had not come stumbling in yet. In that time I fussed with reamers and bristly pipe cleaners, plus little wads of paper towel inside the bowls of over a dozen pipes, before deploying the frat boy party vodka to dissolve the tar and accumulated exudates. The stems had been deoxidized and the passage ways thoroughly cleaned of gunk yesterday.

All that was necessary on them at this point was some buffing.

Which, because of fussy dingos, I was not able to do.

Especially after Mr. 'Precious Butt' came in.

Who is damn' near certifiable.
The noise level from the backroom, is, at times, painfull. These are by no means sane individuals capable of having a civilized conversation, but psychopaths. Conniving, lying, dissimulating, and treacherous. Entirely unfit company for sensitive people, ladies, and anyone endeavoring to clean up some very nice briars of mostly Danish manufacture.

You probably understand that I am only two of the above but appreciate the company of the other category listed, because by definition ladies tend to not be conniving lying dissimulating etcetera psychos. Some females, indeed, could be all of that, but both Marjorie Taylor Greene and Lauren Boebert are presently not in California, nor is George Santos.

It's like there's a kennel of rabid feral hens back there.

Other than the cigar-smoking old bastards, it was a very pleasant weekend.
Some friends dropped by to check how I was holding up.
Tea, and Balkan blends were discussed.
Plus papirosa. Belomorkanal.

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