On Smoking

Had lunch with my scientist uncle again today -- the one of algae oil repute.

Somehow we got on the topic of smoking. I have a checkered past involving smoking. It's what happens when you spend a lot of time around Arabs, Mexicans, journalists, and "arteests".

Anyways, after the typical "cigarettes are death!!!" moralistic condemnation from all sides, Uncle starts talking about how in college, his calculus teacher used to smoke cigars in class. Big, fat, probably Cuban cigars. With the illicit glee of a 12-year-old boy telling his friends about how he saw boobies for the first time, Uncle takes a quick glance around Applebee's and quietly intones that one time, he smoked. He says this with pride, like he's a true rebel.

His nerd friends and him decided one day to grab a bunch of cigars and try to smoke them. Uncle says he was afraid to inhale but finally worked up the nerve to do so. He ended up coughing, and then he puked. He says this with a glint in his eyes, reliving the cheap thrill of youthful vomiting. I smile and nod my head, silently validating his need to be seen as dangerous. Deep down inside, though, there's only one thing running through my head:

Pussy.