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Tasty smoke

When discussing the merits of various cigars, one must first try them in a variety of different ways. One must try them in humid climes, in dry climes, after a meal, before a meal, and after having someone near and dear to you perform a Monica Lewinsky impression. Only then can you appreciate the fullness of a good smoke.

Ahh. It's sweet, this one. Sweet lemon merengue. I savor it.

Ahh.

Enough of that. We can only have so many cigars before Freud starts protesting. A cigar is just a cigar is just a cigar. How true that is. And yet, how false.

Some of the flavors that I find appealing:

Scarlet Pimpernel. Rustling Rasputin. Cherry Fondue. Olivia Newton-John. This is less amusing than I thought it would be.

Did I just do that? Did I just break the fourth wall?

I did! And again! Bad me! Bad! Real Writers don't resort to such cheap tactics to get a laugh. Real Writers write with Verve and Wit and Style. Real Writers laugh at you. Real Writers laugh and point as you walk by. Real Writers even make amused comments about you at family functions. There is a newsletter for Real Writers devoted to mocking you and your exploits. Cringe! Cower, worm!

I won't! You can't make me!

Please? Just a little bit? All right. A little bit. If it'll make you happy. Ahem. "Woe. Woe is me. I am undone. I gravel before your " Grovel. What? Grovel. You grovel before etc etc. Oh. Yeah. "I _grovel_ before your awesome" Why? What? Why? Because gravel doesn't make any sense. Sure it does! I'm like rocks below your feet! You didn't say you _are_ gravel. You said you gravel. Gravel is a noun. Please? No. Pretty please? Look, it doesn't matter how much you whine, the english language will remain the same. If marketing people do it, why can't I? Because they get paid to do it. What if I gave myself money. You don't have any money. Sure I do! I've got at least 25 cents worth of change. All right. Fine. Yay! Here, me. Take this, um, wow. Exactly 75 cents. Take this 75 cents. Now use the word gravel in a sentence. "I gravel beneath your feet." Hooray!

Anyone think I didn't actually just check to see how much change I have? Good. I have taught you well, grasshopper.

I'm feeling a bit icky, though. Grungy. Sniffly. Skin prickling oddly. I think I am actually sick. This is a non-good thing. Hope it goes away.

Just pretty much just rambling now. You see, I'm in the middle of trying to force myself to actually write, and, as such, since I don't have any meaningful plans, I'm going to simply meander. I thought I was going somewhere with the whole cigar thing, but it turned into a Monicaa Lewinsky joke. Originally, I was going to tell you to smoke it after it had been placed firmly inside some orifice of a young lady of your acquaintance, but the opportunity was too great to miss. And besides, I would've had to choose the orifice, and there are so many to choose from. Particularly once you start the squicking.

Squicking, for you innocent young people out there, is another word for skullfucking - the practice of opening up new orifices in people's head to insert yourself into. It is said to make a "squick squick" noise, hence the term. Our friends in Bizarre Sexual Practices. I blame the Germans, frankly.

You have now lost a bit more of your innocence. No unicorn catching for you!

Not that you could've before, mind you. You would have wandered up and said "Oh, Mr. Unicorn, won't you come with me?" and the unicorn would've been like "No!" and you would've been like "Please?" and the unicorn would've been like "No!" and then you would have shot it.

And, as we all know from the movie Legend, if you kill a unicorn the world becomes a miserable place.

So which of you went unicorn hunting some months back?