For me, when I first meet a man, the first thing I do is make him smoke a bowl of whatever my favorite tobacco is at the time. If he doesn’t have a pipe, I tie him to the roof of my truck, drive him to the tobacconist, and make him patronize the establishment. I never speak to him until he finishes this bowl. I simply stare at him, sometimes pacing in circles around him as he smokes. When he gets to the end of the bowl, if there’s nothing left but fine white ash, I’ll shake his and converse. If there’s anything other than fine white ash in the bowl, I spit on pinky toe of his left shoe, snap my fingers, and dismiss him from my presence until he learns how to behave as man.
Nah. Just made that whole thing up.
i do enjoy it when I see that white ash I’m the bowl, but I never strive for it. What’s funny is that literally every tobacco my dad has ever recommended to me, he says, “…and it burns to a fine white ash,” like it’s some kind of holy grail of a tobacco’s characteristic.