My Smobriety, Day Three: Ennuijaculations
Smobriety Charticle ThreeWeight: 175 pounds
Pulse: 58 beats per minute
Smoking Resumption Risk:
Blue (low to intermediate risk)*Unusual Ejaculations: None
Song Stuck In Head: “Stand By Your Man,” Tammy Wynette
Symptoms: In-freakin’-somnia, slight agitation, lack of concentration, the ability to talk for minutes without even realizing that I’m speaking, continued fascination with the lives and lifestyles of celebrities, especially celebrities who are getting married or divorced, intense back and neck pain.
*And, yes, this is the replacement for the Presidential Mood-O-Meter. Yes, the presidents I chose did have a meaning, (Van Buren, for instance, was obsessed with the Post Office, spending more time than any other president regulating it, and yesterday stamps went up to 39 cents) but the only people who would find them meaningful would be me and possibly Sarah Vowell. Today’s president, if you care, would of course be Jimmy Carter, who falsely claimed to be a transsexual truck stop whore before running for governor of Georgia, and then lied about being wanted in three states while running for president.
You know what? The act of quitting smoking is boring. By which I mean to say that quitting smoking is itself very, very dull. It’s like playing Tetris or Space Invaders on the first level forever: a thought drops into my head: “Cigarette would be nice right now. Cigarette’s what I do right now.” And then I think, “I don’t do that anymore.” And that’s it, the thought goes away. Which is fine, it’s pretty easy to do, it’s kind of like cult retraining, except it happens a thousand times a day, so it gets really monotonous.
And The Bupe is…well, it’s fine. It’s kind of hard for me to say where I’d be without the Happy Pills. None of the sexual side effects have happened, and, in fact, besides the insomnia, none of the signs of the bupropion actually working have kicked in. Which makes me wonder…apparently, it takes anywhere between five days and two weeks to kick in. I started on the third. Which means I could kind of be doing this cold turkey. If I don’t start lactating root beer or something equally fantastic really soon, I’m gonna feel gypped.
Oh, wait! There is an unusual ejaculation story, after the jump…
So, yes, two weeks ago, I was heating up a Hot Pocket in the microwave.(I know, I know, I'm embarrassed for me, too...I was at my day job and I needed something to eat and the only thing nearby that was open was a convenience store.) Now, I have eaten Hot Pockets before in the past, (Oh, shut up) and I know that I need to heat them longer than the recommended time so that the middle isn't frozen. So I heated it for like four minutes, right, and then I take it out of the microwave and I bite into the motherfucker, and all of a sudden boiling hot cheese sprays out of the goddamn thing. The Hot Pocket has come all over my face, ejaculating molten cheddar. The corner of my mouth is burnt to hell, and the burn still, over two weeks later, pulls open every time I open my mouth, which, in case you can't tell, is a lot of the time, so the scab is still here today, two weeks later, shining like a herpes sore. But my point is this: thinking about the annoying Hot Pocket Blowjob Burn is great for getting my mind off the smoking. If you're thinking about quitting, I recommend it, or some other similar injury in a very annoying place. Perhaps you can cut yourself in between your fingers somehow with some Lunchables.
Well, at least your pulse is nice and low.
Maybe your body thinks it can hold onto those last dregs of nicotine for a few hours longer by slowing your metabolism to a crawl.