I dip snuff. (Copenhagen Regular Cut, for those snuff aficionados out there, who may have inquiring minds)
There! I admitted it!
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.
‘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
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!
Do it! Do it Now!
I dun sneezed into my spittoon.
Snuff spit flew all over my face, the keyboard, the monitor, the room, my ego.
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)