“This smoking thing, I just don't seem to get on top of it, it just seems to be my weakness.”
“A weakness, you say?”
“Bloody hell! Bloody hell! That is what I am saying.”
“Just stop.”
“I can quit, but I just don't seem to be able to make it stick.”
“Can’t make it stick?”
“The quitting.”
“Puff away, puff away, be happy and gay!”
“Smoking my ciggies that way?”
“Well, they call them fags.”
“Oh, how do you think I smoke fags, gay?”
“Shove them up your 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.”
“Making sure you have the lit end around the right way.”
“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 a bloke over your shoulder…”
“I love a bloke over my shoulder as I negotiate the descent.”
“And your intent.”
“Intent?”
“Going down....”
“Oh, yes.”
“With a…”
“Man in uniform?”
“A policeman?”
“A soldier?”
“A construction worker?”
“An Indian?” behind his hand. “Cultural appropriation being what it may?”
“Or dressed up in leather?”
“We should start a band.”
“Whatever? I am still puffing away.”
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