Smoking, Never Quit Giving Up

I quit smoking, yes again.

Jesus fuck me Christ, I hear you all say. Enough!

Yep, is my answer. I shrug.

What is it they say, never quit giving up.

I was at a party and this woman with an interesting face, named Heloise, who offered me a cigarette. “Cigarette?”

“Oh, no thank you, I don’t smoke.”

“You don’t smoke?”

“No, I don’t smoke.”

How long had it been? Oh, I don’t know? Could it be measured in anything longer than days? Whatever? But, it was the first time I could say to someone that I didn’t smoke. I was quite pleased with that.

“You are lucky,” she said.

“Why am I lucky?”

“Not smoking. You are lucky you don’t smoke.”

Was I going to make any admissions? No, I think not. Why should I? “Well, yes, I consider myself to be lucky.”

“Yes, you are. Lucky not to be a slave to this.” She held up her burning cigarette. I wanted to snatch it out of her hand and greedily puff away on it until it was all gone, before she could stop me. 

But I didn’t. I simply smiled.

“I wish I could stop.”

“It must be a drag,” I said. I wanted to laugh at the, would you call it a pun, I don’t know, but I wanted to laugh at my cleverness. 

But I didn’t. I just smiled.

“Yes, it is a drag.” And she puffed on her cigarette without any hint of irony at all. Would you call it irony? I don’t know? “It is a nasty habit.”

“Yes, it is,” I said.

“Oh, does it bother you?” she asked.

“Oh no, it doesn’t bother me.” I was trying to inhale as much smoke as I could without making it obvious.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Oh yes, quite sure. Smoke away. Burst into flames it won’t bother me.”

She then looked at me suspiciously.

Perhaps, I had pushed it too far, I thought.

Remote's David

Bugger It!

I started smoking again. Just at night so far, he says nervously. I get by in the day. Having something in my mouth, maybe that's it, taking that physical ache away. 

That gnawing pain. Fuck it, hey. Give me a fag, take that away.

Tuesday after a pot weekend. I was lucky to make it this far, quite frankly. What did you think was going to happen? I’d make it through on good intensions and the fresh air blowing in from the southeast?

Smiles and happy boys?

Oh please, if you swallow that one you are too naive for this world.

I paced outside the tobacconist trying to talk myself out of it, trying to think of all the reasons why I shouldn’t? I wouldn’t have been surprised if they thought I was casing the joint and called the police to have me taken away, but of course they didn’t.

And eventually I gave in and walked right into that shop and said, “I’ll have a packet of gold 25s please.”

And the good man behind the counter handed them over with out really mentioning a word. You see, I gave him a big note not really knowing how much they were going to cost and he just dumped the change into the palm of my hand without an utterance at all.

I ripped the clear plastic off and devoured one of them like a starving child might devour a loaf of bread.

And then my head spun and I thought I might fall over, and then I felt so much better.

I Smoked Pot

My house mate had pot, what can I say?

I had just stopped smoking, what had it been, a day? What was I to say when Nigel was sitting there with all the paraphernalia when I got home, looking quite pleased with himself.

“For the weekend,” he said. “I got it for us for the weekend.”

“That’s great,” I said. 

I tried to quickly think how I was going to do this and still keep my quitting smoking integrity intact? Do you like that? My quitting smoking integrity? And, you know, pretty quickly I realised that that wasn’t going to be possible unless I said no to the pot altogether, but very quickly I was coming to the realisation that that wouldn’t be possible either. I mean, Nigel was sitting there looking so pleased with himself, like he done the two of us the best favour that was possible, it would be mean spirited of me to spoil that.

“Do you have any cigarettes?” asked Nigel.

“No, no I’m out,” I said. Why I said I was out and not that I’d given up, I don’t know. I guess on some very base level I didn’t want to jeopardise my pot smoking options over the weekend. So, I said I was out.

“Oh, never mind, I bought a packet just for the joints, but I must have left it upstairs.” 

Nigel scurried away like an excited school boy on camp and I was left to stare at that lovely big bag of green sitting there on the coffee table. I picked it up, the bag was already open, and took a big sniff. Oh, there is nothing like a fresh bag of pot aroma to get my pot smoking juices going. I put it back down on the coffee table before Nigel re-appeared with the packet of cigarettes.

I had to decide there and then if I was going to say no to the pot. But, to tell you the truth, that sniff of the bag did me in. How could I say no after that? Oh, who am I kidding, I was never going to say no.

Nigel rolled several joints happily with his nimble fingers with a big smile plastered all over his face.

He handed me a joint and he had a joint for himself. He lit mine and then he lit his.

We sat on the couch side by side, with heavy eyes talking shit for the rest of the night.

Nigel kept a steady stream of joints going for both of us. We continually had one each until we were so thoroughly shit-faced we couldn't speak at all.

It was a great night.

I Stopped Smoking

I stopped smoking, again. It is better to stop again, and again, and again, than to not. Yay!

“Oh dang, not again.”

“Yes, never stop quitting, is what my group says.”

“Oh god, we have to listen to all of this all over again.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“That’s because you don’t have to listen to you.”

“I can hear what I am saying.”

“Oh, I do believe not.”

“Believe not? What do you mean?”

“It been 24 hours and I haven’t had a smoke.”

“Yes, Lucas, that is great, keep up the good work.”

“It’s been 36 hours and still no smokes.”

“Lovely Lucas, good luck with that.”

“That is 37 cigarettes that I haven’t smoked.”

“37 you say?”

“Yes, 37.”

“That is great Lucas.”

“I haven’t smoke for 48 hours.”

“A whole 48 hours?”

“Yes, and that is 50 cigarettes I haven’t puff on.”

“50 you say.”

“Yes, 50 since I gave them away.”

“I haven’t smoked for 3 days…”

“Don’t tell me that is 75 cigarettes you haven’t smoked.”

“Yes 75, how did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

“I haven’t smoked…”

“For 4 days?”

“Yes, 4 days.”

“And you haven’t smoked 100 cigarettes.”

“Yes, that is right. How can you know that?”

“I know that Lucas because that is all you have been talking about for the last week.”

“4 days…”

“4 days, 5 days, 100 cigarettes, a whole shop of nicotine products, we all know that you have stopped smoking.”

“I’m rather pleased with myself.”

“I get that Lucas. I can tell.”

Not a lot of ugly... left

Belinda is getting thinner and thinner and, I have to say, uglier and uglier. It is quite sad, really, she is still wearing the same clothes she used to wear before the apparent anorexia took hold, which only accentuates the problem. Rather than the temperamental, up and down, bitch boss, if she loses any more weight, we will have to call her the stick figure Failean. (Do you see what I did there, fai as in failing, and lean as in she will have to lean against something very soon in the future)

I wish she'd just... oh, I don't know what? You know, get it over and done with, eat even less... book into a facility, leave the company, go on a long holiday, just go away. She is a nightmare, haunting the staff. You weren't that nice when you were athletic and healthy, you certainly aren't any nicer now, luv.

Try harder, please. I so want to tell her she is fat. “Hey Belinda, you have put on weight, you go girl.”

I guess that's wrong? But, you know, in this fast-paced, non-stop world, it is so hard to differentiate between what is right and what is wrong now a days, don't you find? There is so much going on, it just spins your head, don't you think? Throw in political correctness and you don't know what you are allowed to think, or say. Life is so difficult.

I guess I shouldn't say stuff like that – people will believe me. Not funny? Not funny.

"Oh yes, it is all a game to you."

"If you can't laugh, what can you do?"

I wish Belinda would just evaporate, quite frankly, the last image of her face resembling Munch's Scream, before she is gone. Poof! How she chooses to do it is up to her, really, a rope over a beam, jump into a stream, scones, jam and cream. 

Who cares? Nobody will care? 

Obviously, nobody cares now. Stupid cow. Just stop haunting our office space, making our lives a misery. It is really hard to enjoy work when you have an unpredictable, unpleasant, bully standing over you. Get therapy so the rest of us can get on and be happy.

 

Cute Asian Guys

Asian Guys

Look at the hot Asian guys walking by, watch them run, watch them fly, watch them climb, watch them lift weights and watch them grow. 

Watch them ace the exams always having HDs put up on the board.

With their brown almond eyes and skin that glows. Their handsome faces, their masculine pose. Their square jaws and their beautiful black hair. Not a care, debonair.

Kiss the handsome Asian guy, feel his soft skin. Feel him tremble, make him sin. He has enthusiasm for love, he has a talent for sex? Put him in the position and watch him express.

Don’t tell his mother, she expects him to be studying to pass his medical exam, not making you feel pleasure and pain with the palm of his hand.

Dark hair, olive skin, just the thing to get me to sit up and take notice. Eat the food. Be (nicely) rude. Life is too short for us to lose, any time that doesn’t make us feel good.

Smoking - I Don't Seem To Make it Stick.

This smoking thing, I just don't seem to get on top of it, it just seems to be my weakness.

Bloody hell! Bloody hell!

I can quit, but I just don't seem to be able to make it stick.

Puff away, puff away, be happy and gay, smoking my ciggies that way.

Oh, how do you think I smoke fags gay? Shove them up my arse and clench really fast? I just don’t know how I would reach around that way, and shove them in my hole, to suck down on them hooray. 

Ha ha. Er? I guess it would be in the hand movements, swishy and big. 

Or would you need to be a cowboy chugging away on a Marlboro? Or a sailor puffing away up on deck? Or a fireman up a ladder, rescuing some bloke over your shoulder, with a splif in your other hand as you negotiate the descent. A man in uniform? A policeman? A soldier. A construction worker? An Indian. Or dressed up in leather?

Whatever? I am still puffing away.

She'll Be Scaring Small Children Soon

Belinda looks terrible, but what anorexic doesn't. She looks like a cadaver walking. I noticed her skirts in no way fit her any longer.

She'll be scaring small children soon.

Fuck, she scares me. Although, that may have more to do with the fact of having a mental defective in charge of me than how sad and ugly she truly has become.

I wonder if she enjoys being the office bitch? She seems like she does, the way she wields her power. 

"No minion dare speak back to me, as I will bring them down with my anorexic death stare."

Leave them standing at the door, they'll wait some and then they'll wait some more. She's the boss, it gives her power.

When she left me standing there at her office door, over an extended period of time, I'm sure just so it made her feel like she had a big, gorgeous cunt, when she looked up, I just wanted to look her in the eye and ask, Belinda, do you think anorexia is someone hating themselves, or do you think it is the only way that person knows how to gain control over their lives?

Of course, I should be feeling sorry for her, but she was always a bitch, even before she got sick. It, actually, didn't take illness to make her an awful person, she always was unpleasant.

“Well, she was just horrible to everyone.”

“Oh, wasn’t she.”

“She always had the dictator in her.”

“Do what I tell you was always just under the first layer of skin.”

“Just bubbling away, waiting to escape.”

“You could always feel it.”

“That is true, we could always sense it.”

“Oh, it was like a horror coming from a distance.”

“The threat of an ill wind blowing in from the north.”

“And as it turned out when she had one of so many disappointments in her life, she’d put someone on warning.”

“Or sack someone. Remember Louise.”

“She was devastated.”

“She continually repeated, “What did I do? What did I do?” as those security people walked her out of the building.”

“Belinda’s office was next to mine then, and she stood at the door with that smile on her face as Louise was led away.”

“Oh, that smile.”

“The thing of nightmares.”

“I’ve woken up in a panic in the middle of the night with that smile looming large in my vision.”

“Horrible.”

“Really terrifying.”

“To think I can’t leave ‘that’ at the office where it belongs, to think I have to take ‘that’ with me home and into my sleep.”

“Oh, it sends shivers down my spine, just the thought of it.”

 

Poor Belinda, Sad Belinda, Let's Sing Tra La La Belinda

Poor sad Belinda, (Satan’s estranged sister) never quite measured up, never quite obtained the happiness that her family and friends seemed to achieve. She never seemed to be able to control her destiny, never quite making it, never quite getting on top of this thing other people gloriously call their fulfilling lives.

She worked hard at her job, Financial Do Dah, Boss Lady Poo Pah, and worked hard on her body, she spent hours in the gym lifting weights, until she looked like she may break, I am sure. She worked hard on her mind, well, ha ha, maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, tra la. None of it ever satisfied.

Let’s face it, she was always a bitch. "When I snap my fingers I want it here in front of me, or there will be trouble! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME! 

When she turned up in the office one winters day with a coat made from puppy furs, no-one was surprised.

The only question on all of our minds was did she bite the throats out of the puppies with her own teeth?

Why do you think her sister long since gave up speaking to her? She got out early. Belinda used to undermine her in the play pen. Setting herself up for a life time of dominance. But sis got out. She left her older monster, er sister to it.

The harder she worked, the uglier she got. It is amazing how lipodystrophy effects a person’s looks. (Ha ha, my mate Shane’s hair just stood up on the back of his neck and he’s really not sure why?) Lipodystrophy being his greatest fear. Not even allowed to mention the word)

The harder she worked, the uglier the world seemed to be. Oh poor Belinda, how we all felt for her. (Not! Nobody did)

The harder she worked, the sadder poor, old, sad Belinda became. (All work and no play, made Belinda a fast wasting away tyrant)

The harder she worked, the more everyone around her came to hate her. (You are not going to be liked when you take out you unresolved hostility issues on everyone around you, let me just say)

She achieved a lot, but the more she achieved the more none of it ever satisfied her. (Nothing ever satisfied her, tra la la la li)

No matter how much she grabbed at it, life just seemed to remain out of her control. (Like trying to catch water in her bare hands)

No matter how far you run, Belinda, or how high you jump, for that matter, you'll always find yourself there... with family that hates you. (And a world than not only seemingly has turned against you, but has)

Rumour has it that she used to suck the blood from young male intern’s necks until they deflated and she’d discard their lifeless body bag bodies in the dump masters out the back of the offices without a second thought as she left for the day. But that has so far only proved to be a rumour.

But what happened to handsome Campbell and charismatic Elliot, we continue to ask.

Some say she made a skin suit out of their dehydrated bodies to cover her shame when she stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom.

We never found out what happened to Campbell and Elliot.