A guy at work smokes these, not swisher sweets, but miniaturized cigars. I don't know what they are other than foul! Take burning leaves, burning tires, burnt underwear from Tex-Mex lunch and Szechwaun snack and south-Indian dinner. Mix that with morning seventeen hour grilled steak and you have -- stink in a stick. This guy smokes them claiming they taste good. Huh. And to think they claim that smoking kills your tatebud sensitivity, eh?
I think carpet-bomb farts of broccoli, onion and cayenne would smell sweeter and better.
I heard the comment of a "these are deadly" chips-eating guy at work, "left a gift over there for you" and he beat a hasty retreat from his A (ss) bomb.
With the general smell of stuff at work, mixed with the foulness of cigarettes, then couple that with over-active intestinal bacteria or plain body function, I almost never eat at work. Imagine that! The water there, as of late, has quite the out-housish aroma. Yum!
Gradually degenerating into ignorance and complacency.
Monday, March 12, 2007
would smell just as foul
Posted by Marcus at 7:20 AM
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment