Found that special thing – flying without wings

It’s tough being a smoker when you’re nicotine intolerant. I have of course used my hyper-sensitivity to this family of chemicals to my advantage  in the past. Once I drank one too many coffees, smoked two too many cigarettes and collapsed during the middle of an exam and they passed me on special consideration.

Anyway, like those sodomite crusaders in medieval times, I’ve been looking all my adult life for that holy grail – the perfect cigarette. Something that gives a nice light tingling, but not harsh on your throat, doesn’t smell like a bushfire,  looks nice, feels nice to touch, comes in nice packaging and would not be found in the pocket of your taxi driver, plumber or that gay guy who works at the front end.

I didn’t smoke in Sri Lanka – at any rate I didn’t know how to. Smoking is essentially a working class pastime where I come from. How could I, the scion of the dysfunctional union between an academic par excellence and a merchant banker, engage in such scandalous conduct. So I stuck to pot.

I did smoke in Malaysia – but I still didn’t know how to. Perhaps my doctor will thank me one day for all the cigarettes that I smoked  but didn’t really inhale.

I was taught to smoke properly in Australia. I began with Benson and Hedges Extra Mild which later became Smooth. It was all fine until hordes of bloody Indians started smoking the same brand. So I followed suit with the rest of the Lankans and took up Dunhill Blue. It just wasn’t the same. It is still better than Peter Jackson, Winfield, Malboro and all the other sawdust rolls that tradesmen and pensioners (ie. 90% of Australians) here smoke, but it would make me nauseous and dizzy every time.  Dunhill White on the other hand, was absolutely devoid of any flavour – even Menthols are better than that. Dunhill Essence Lights were quite nice, but it’s a tiny ladies’ cigarette and is too expensive anyway. Peter Stuyvescent smells, and smells bad. Davidoff may make some of the best cigars in the world, but their (outsourced) cigarettes are no better than Holiday despite the fancy packaging.

So I started smoking cigars. Loved it – but it is too expensive and inconvenient a habit. Cigarillos are too harsh and taste like smoke balls. Flavoured Asian cigarettes are fine, except that I can’t be bothered paying with cash every time I buy them and the second hand smoke smells ghey. I rolled for a while, but it was just too embarassing to do it in public, even with Dutch tobacco.

Surely there must be something better. Then I found this, the ultimate cigaritto perfecto… Dunhill Fine Cut. It comes in an unassuming dark blue box, the filter is white just like Davidoff. The vitals are Tar 8 mg, Nicotine 0.5, Carbon Monoxide 10 mg. I can’t believe no one else smokes it, at least that’s what the girl at the counter told me. It’s perfect in every way. Of course I can’t be certain if this is the best cigarette in the world because I’m yet to smoke Rothman’s International, but it must be close.

So I’ve just ordered two cartons (200ea) of Fine Cut from Europe for $28  each. Isn’t that cheap. So the whole point of this post was that I have nothing interesting to write about. I’m back in school for the Summer and I need an average of 84 this semester to get into Law. I got the top marks in the class for one of my Law units last semester, so I must not be a complete retard. One of the subjects that I’ve picked is MME, where I basically learn (along with a dozen Asian girls who don’t speak English) how to use the dictionary and a thesaurus, construct an essay according to a 1-2-3 formula, and the art and science of taking notes. It’s all done in the sort of workbook that you would have used in primary school. I’m surprised we don’t get to draw vegetables and animals as well. Interestingly, one of my friends who took this unit with the hope of getting a guaranteed HD ended up failing it – he had an IELTS score of 7.5. Mine was 8.5 in 2004, but residing in Austr’ia and too much “ima pop a cap in yo ass” tends to corrupt one’s English. From what I gather, the teacher is a sad bastard who takes pride in being the coordinator for this pathetic unit. But I vow to suck up to him, even suck him up if need be, provided I get the requisite average at the end of the term!

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