Snuffed On

I dip snuff. (Copenhagen Regular Cut, for those snuff aficionados out there, who may have inquiring minds)

There! I admitted it!

cope

Finally!

After so many years of being a self-tormented closet snuffer’er I have finally come out.

I feel better.

Whew! One less load to carry. One less ax to grind. One less ass to bare. One less woman who may have been considering me with a favorable eye… Well, three out of four favorable results will get you into the Hall of Fame.

In Baseball.

‘Tis a habit I acquired whilst in BUD/s Class 140, circa 1986.

For some uninitiated: That stands for “Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training”  SEAL Boot-Camp, if you will: Class 140.

Yup. I was almost a SEAL. Twice. But more on that in a later post. Maybe.

**************

I use a very large shot glass for a spittoon—Texan Thang—doncha know?

(Picture an average-size orange juice glass)

From a Five-Star Hotel.

In Abu Dhabi

Or Rome

Or Baghdad

Or Waco

Anyhow, just as I was about to spit into same, I had that sinking feeling all snuff dippers sooner or later experience:

I had to sneeze.

Quickly! Quickly! Quickly Damnit!

Spit!

Do it! Do it Now!

Aw…Chewwww!!!!!!!!

Aw shit!

Too late!

Bloody Hell!

I dun sneezed into my spittoon.

Snuff spit flew all over my face, the keyboard, the monitor, the room, my ego.

Sheeeitttt!

I should give up this disgusting habit.

Naw. I like snuff. It is my way of sticking my nose up at the world. (Present company of readers excluded of course)

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