A Volt of Fresh Air

Remember when you were a child how you would take a crayon from the box put it in your mouth as if it were a cigarette? Sometimes you would just let it hang there and bob on your lips as you added color to Dora the Explorer’s little cheeks.  Occasionally, you would remove it and blow a little imaginary smoke into the air as if to say, “Take that all you hatahz!  I just colored outsiiiide thah liiiines.” Of course, parents would humor you, take snapshots of you, and enflame your little ego by confirming what a bad mo-fo you were.  To add a little spice to the charade, you would at times flick a worn-out crayon to the floor like the real-world chain smokers do; turning your back on that Crayola crayon with an action that exemplified, “You bring me no more pleasure.  Get outta my face!”  Some of these kids, as listed above, highlighted themselves as being efficient in smoking on resumes and some chose otherwise.  I say “efficient in smoking” because nicotine addicts spend most of their working careers test driving the highs and lows of cig sticks instead of performing their day-to-day duties since smoke breaks come every 5-10 minutes of the day.  Bonus pay in the form of Marlboro points.  Couponed income that was a no show on the ol’ W-2s you could say.  For those who decided not to endanger their lives or the lives of others and not turn their lungs into an enlarged version of charcoal briquettes, there is another alternative-- electronic cigarettes.  This invention is COMPARABLE to the make-believe smoking of the crayon.  Verbatim.   Thank you, God for this conception where I can be like the big boys, puff my form of smoke, make cat calls to the lataaays, and, in return, not have to send my death invite to Cancer’s P.O. Box! Much obliged, by the way, for the gracious request of my presence in joining you while you partake in half a pack, however, checking the status of my electric ciggy, it appears that it is not fully charged.  Therefore, I will have to catch you on the flip side.  I’ll have to rely on the second-hand smoke that resonates on you in order to gratify my fix just this one time.  Perhaps I should invest in some AA batteries and rely on such for backup, but during uncertain times relating to this economy money does not grow on trees.  Watch out, though, because once this imposter of the “coffin nail” is ready to go, be advised that I will be releasing its trademark mist into the air heavily, thus creating the next Hurricane Katrina.