I like to stand on my head, lighting my pipe with heat dredged from the bowels of the earth through one of the active magma chutes in Mt. St. Helens. This has the added effect of covering any offensive tobacco odours by completely saturating me in gasious sulphur all while raising the latent ph from disolved acids being carried in the plume.
When the bowl becomes extinguished, I carefully disasemble everything and using a crucible, lower the now foul smoker into the aforementioned vent, allowing 'natures pipe-cleaner' to work it's magic. Often, however, exposure to 700c+ just doesn't get all the gunk out, so I'll nap out some obsidian tools, using them to actually re-carve the pipe; eliminating any wood that has been exposed to tobacco-smoke. The shavings and tools return to the depths of the volcano; after all, they have been defiled by tobacco smoke!
I then strip myself naked, scouring my clothing with pumice in the surrounding natural hot-springs (key: look for a crusty yellow or white ring surrounding the pool; the super-saturated chemicals will help get that tough outer layer broken down), then repeat the same on myself. I cap this off by bathing myself in a tub of boiling lye while gargling reduced pickle-juice. A quick spritz of Hi-Karate and I am good to go. (Ok, I'm kidding, Hi-Karate is disgusting...)
Fortunately, stale smoke has been a part of my personal aroma longer than I've been a pipe-smoker; I think my wife and kids would be confused if I didn't have a lingering odour of tobacco smoke about me.