The Demon Snuff

Yes. Not for the first time I have assayed to buck off the Demon Snuff. This time I have enjoyed no snuff since Election Day. One thing is now clear, to me. Snuff is my reason to live. That is correct. Nicotine is what’s worth living for. Everything else is just bullshit.

Given the sad fact that my life without snuff is without pleasure and meaning, why did I quit? Especially, why did I quit, when my death is imminent, any way? Yes. I am fixing to die and yet I gave up my greatest remaining pleasure, snuff/nicotine. How could I do that?

Well. Here is why. My gums were receding too far south. So far south that when I inspected those gums, I could see pubic hair. But now, after two meaningless weeks of existence without pleasure, I am fixing to query, Crumby, what is wrong with a little pubic hair in your gums?

Here’s what I need to find out. Do undertakers, when they make up the dearly departed, necessarily have to fix the dearly departed up with a big grin and thereby show off his gums? That is precisely what I need to ascertain. Once I confirm that my undertaker has a no gum exposed policy, I can head over to the nearest convenience store. Once arrived at the convenience store I can order up a can of Grizzly, fine cut, natural, the red and black one.

Then no matter how briefly, my life shall once again have some meaning and a little pleasure.