185

That’s how many time intervals of the 24 hour variety have passed since Crumby enjoyed a delicious tobacco product. During each of the time intervals Crumby wanted a delicious tobacco product. Sometimes Crumby wanted some delicious tobacco so bad, he was fit to be tied. But Crumby didn’t get any. No. Not a smidgin. Not even a tiny taste, mixed with pocket fuzz, extracted from some jacket pocket. Not a single atom of delicious tobacco crossed Crumby’s lips in all that time.

Obviously, Crumby shall now, never be free of the desire. Perhaps some day, anon, when Crumby is good as dead anyway, on that day, Crumby shall acquire a nice can of Grizzly Fine Cut. Yes. Crumby shall be lying there on his death bed, surrounded by his friends. Go get me some snuff, Ray. Get me the Grizzly Fine Cut in the Red and Black can. If it comes with a free pocket knife, you can keep that particular knife yourself, bosom companion. But don’t use up my snuff. If you want snuff, get your own.

So one way Crumby keeps the demon snuff off is by promising himself some delicious snuff at the very end when nought else matters. Crumby foresees a death bed piled up with delicious tobacco products, giant reefers, whiskey and ammo.

An interesting question is, How many times did Crumby ask the WG, Upup or Jesus to help him fend off the Demon Snuff? Huh-huh. The answer is, none. Crumby knows that the various deities care little about snuff addiction. So getting a deity to help with the Demon Snuff is just weak, or lame. No. You would never see Crumby on his knees, groveling in prayer, whining. Please, please help me. The temptation is killing me. Oh Goddess. Please ease my pain. Waaaaaaaaah!

Disgusting.