is on the subject of American Spirits.
This morning, I woke up very early to do some work. I went round the corner (in my bathrobe, mind) to buy fags. I almost always smoke Mayfair, mingy but smokeable and cheap, but this morning some kind of social conscience came bubbling up from the most depraved, repressed bits of my mind. Behind the counter, in gorgeous turquoise, emblazoned with the profile of a noble Plains Indian in a fetching headdress and rendered legless by the obligatory "Smoking will kill you and age your skin, so don't make children breathe your smoke, especially since these things will render you impotent and prevent you replacing the ones you kill with your foul habit" banner, was a packet of American Spirits. They're organic, contain no additives, and cause natural, non-synthetic cancer.
When you haven't had coffee yet, odd memories tend to drift about in a disorganised fashion, seeking the slightest connection to your current circumstances as an excuse to enter your immediate consciousness. This morning, it was the recollection of something my father (who does not know I smoke; please don't tell him) once told me about tobacco manufacture (he's an engineer in the paper industry). It had something to do with reconstituted tobacco rubbish and how unwary smokers are essentially sucking on burning bits of nicotine-infused paper.
American Spirits are different. That's actually chopped-up tobacco in there. This idealism combined itself in my sad mind with another recollection, namely that I can whip up a bitchin' hand-rolled fag, and that's real tobacco too.
I fell for the turquoise seduction and paid £5.82 for the American Spirits, hoping that the ridiculous expenditure would be offset by new heights of soothing mental stimulation and emotional levelling.
How do people smoke these things? Five minutes after my horrendously misguided decision, I found myself lightheaded from lack of oxygen as I tried to take a drag. I think the respiratory system is stressed less by running a marathon than it is by trying to get even as much smoke as there is air in the average gecko fart through the cursed filter. Pulling the filter off is no help; I used to smoke unfiltered Lucky Strikes with little bother, but without the filter, smoking an American Spirit is a bit like shoving a burning Yule log down my oesophagus in a slow and protracted manner. I have two of the foul things left, and am not in a pleasant mood.
Originally posted by royalchickenWhahahahhahaha. You fell for it? Now you are going to be so addicted you won't be able to smoke anything but an American Spirits from now on. You would walk ten miles barefoot and naked uphill both directions in ice and snow for an American Spirits. Whahahahhahha. (nicotine junkie) 😉 And you just thought it was lack of air?
is on the subject of American Spirits.
This morning, I woke up very early to do some work. I went round the corner (in my bathrobe, mind) to buy fags. I almost always smoke Mayfair, mingy but smokeable and cheap, but this morning some kind of social conscience came bubbling up from the most depraved, repressed bits of my mind. Behind the counter, ...[text shortened]... protracted manner. I have two of the foul things left, and am not in a pleasant mood.