Yesterday Vic asked me for a cigarette and I gave it to him. He quit smoking but for some reason always asks me for a cig. I wonder what it is about me that makes him want to poison himself.
So in addition to being an addict, I am also an enabler. Makes sense, no? On the bright side, he gave me the crack cigarettes he swears helped him stop. They are called Natural American Spirit and taste like shit. So much so that after smoking them for too long, you never want to smoke again. This also makes sense.
The pack is yellow and has an Indian on the cover. When I say Indian I mean Native American. He is wearing a head dress of some sort and is smoking from a large pipe-like appliance. I don’t think it is tobacco and quite honestly, I feel jipped and jealous. It also appears that he works out on account of his defined arm muscles. They are 100% additive-free natural tobacco cigarettes with a “light mellow taste.” This is a lie. Nothing mellow about having to use all of your lung capacity to inhale a cigarette that is weak due to lack of tasty additives.
I intend to smoke them and because I’ve done this quitting spiel before, I estimate that I will completely hate myself in approximately two.64 weeks and will then take the necessary steps to completely stop.
It’s okay. I don’t believe me either.