Wednesday, October 18, 2017


The three most popular essays here this week have been hamsaplo, flake tobacco, and covered in cheese. From which one might deduce that randy pipe-smoking dudes who smell of fromage are a dominant market force. Everyone loves them!

But that would be wrong.

I am (still) single.

Cheesy pipesmokers are a drug on the market. I cannot attest to the melted dairy odour, which probably isn't present anyway, but as a man who whiffs delicately of fine flue-cured leaf and occasionally something resinous from the Levant, my social life does not seem likely to yield a love interest.

No one has in recent years run up to me and shrieked "oh you profound and complex-smelling dude, please run your well-maintained little beard all over my velvety bosoms you hot stud!" Or anything that could even be remotely construed as meaning (or implying) that.

Actually, no one ever.

I am disappointed with the modern world.

NOTE: a distant fourth is something nasty, about the horrid funk of Hobbit wannabees.
Who all own Gandalf pipes.


NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:

All correspondence will be kept in confidence.

No comments:

Search This Blog


Some drugs to which people become addicted, which may necessitate incontinence pants, also induce a high quotient of gibberance. Especially ...