LAST EDITED ON 07-14-04 AT 07:29 PM (EST)You want to know what happened to my singing career? Marlboro happened to my singing career, that's what. But damn it, I love 'em. I tried to quit once. Really. I did.
My girlfriend told me, "Dave, I love you, but kissing you is like licking an ashtray. You have to quit."
I said, "All right, Brooke baby, for you, I'll do it. I'll quit smoking." Lord knows I would've missed that uni-brow.
So I checked myself into the Johnny Craig Clinic. Johnny is the illegitimate brother of the diet maven Jenny. Johnny sends a lot of business Jenny's way, too--a lot of people gain a ton when they quit smoking.
And he has one hell of a celebrity list, too. Remember Thing One and Thing Two from "The Cat in the Hat?" They could do anything, anything, anything under the sun? Well, they chose heroin. So Johnny had them under lock and key.
At first, I did pretty well. I didn't have a cigarette at all the entire first day, but when the evening rolled around and I pulled my pud thinking of my darling Brooke, I wanted a smoke afterwards.
So I snuck out to the silo where Johnny kept all the confiscated goods. It was incredible--carton upon carton upon carton of every brand of cigarettes imaginable. There were Camels, Kools, Benson & Hedges Ultra-Light Menthol 100's in a box, and praise the Lord, my brand, Marlboro Reds.
Well, sir, I tamped down a pack good and hard and ripped it open. I found places for every single one of those twenty cancer sticks: one in each nostril, one in each ear, one in my mouth, and fifteen in an orifice that only blows air the wrong direction. And sweet Jesus, I lit up and inhaled.
Alarms went off. Klieg lights lit up the silo. I ran but was cornered by a pack of Dobermans wearing nicotine patches and chewing Nicorette before I could move five feet.
Johnny, being the bastard that he is, sets harsh penalties for backsliders. Yup, I was sentenced to death via electrocution in the chair.
They strapped me in, put the sponge on my head, tightened the clasps, and asked me if I had any last requests.
"Yeah," I said. "Gimme a cigarette."
They stuck a butt in my face but the bastards didn't light it. As they readied to throw the switch, I strained against my bonds and managed to touch the tip of the weed to an open connection. When the power surged through, I took a mighty drag, so mighty in fact that most of the Eastern Seaboard suffered rolling blackouts.
Well, that was a relief, of course, but I was still stuck in the damned chair. And Johnny was pissed and bearing down on me with a syringe filled with who knew what lethal injection. I thought I was a goner and started saying my prayers when there was a crunching boom and a wall gave way.
What to my wondering eyes did appear than Thing One and Thing Two on a Moss-Covered Three-Handled Family Gradunza? Thing One handled the controls while Thing Two picked my locks and set me free. On our way out, we raided the silo and took enough booty to ensure we'd never be anyone's bitches in any prison.
Brooke didn't take it so well. "I tried, baby, really I did," I said. "But my need for the weed is just too strong. I'm sorry."
She broke things off and went on a major eating binge. She must've ballooned up to three hundred pounds. Needless to say, she couldn't find work, so she checked into Jenny Craig. She gave 'em a week and they took off the weight, but in the process, she developed a three-pack-a-day habit.
We're getting married next week.
first published in Facimilation
Untrue Crimes † SmokeLong Quarterly
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