Non-Smoker's Log

Nothing new under the sun.

AI is getting better but is still far better than I am at drawing pictures.

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Hail Lambpoonies!

Here is an old scribbling for new consideration. Immediately, after starting smoking again, I started considering how to quit again. Cycles and such.

While digging through some archives on the internet, I came across the journal entry of a fellow named Mortimer, dated near the middle of the 19th century. It struck a chord in my chest because that’s pretty easy these days, but also due to the content of the thing.

Mortimer is attempting to quit smoking and I have to say, it’s so eerily familiar to me, I could have written it myself. In the interest of history, I share it all with you.

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Day 1:

My Sweetest Caroline,

I labor betwixt a fine, fierce fear and umbral, earthly terror. I must confess the thought of disappointing you feels fatal, should I not pour my soul. For I must leave you now. I embark the loneliest of journeys, called by the Lord above to reflect upon the better nature of grace and bounty. This journey I must endeavor to suffer alone, far, far from your loving, ample embrace, and your beloved tracts of land. Plus, your kitty.

I endeavor to divorce the sour stain of tobacco, of sweet home Virginia, from my tired lungs and your tender, slender nose. Success is far from certain, but I would risk all for just one more glance at cankles crafted by Christ Himself, or may the Lord strike me where I stride.

Your loving cousin forever,

Mortimer Yethicannibus Groutnooseshanks III, Esq.

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Day 2:

My Sweetest Caroline,

My journey is fraught with peril and wrought of devilry now revelry is denied me. My sweet country of Virginia, land of my father's father - who smoked like the Alamo by the damned way - dims in day's slim death and the twilight of my precious vapors.

But your lovely cankles and shapely moustache propel my own calves along this quest the Lord has afflicted upon my soul. I am forever yours, as the Lord has not suffered to bless his creation with blood tests evincing our close relation. I shall return my love, as there is none else on this salty playground of Satan heretofore called the earth to warm my shaking bones.

Your fellow sufferer in Christ,

Mortimer Yethicannibus Groutnooseshanks III, Esq.

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Day 3:

My Sweet Caroline (dun, dun, dun),

Oh man. I have faced challenges in my life. Your family for one, which I suppose is also my family for the record. But never have I been forced to wrestle my own demon as I find myself doing so today. The little prick is oiled or something. I don't know.

But I remain ever optimistic through Christ's love. The other day, when I looked back, I saw two sets of footprints. One my own, the other Our Lord and Savior's. Or the Sheriff of the last town I passed through. I robbed the saloon. But I choose to believe the Lord carries me through all trials, sharing the same shoe size.

I shall return to your faithful nipples a smoke free man.

Your loving relation,

Mortimer Yethicannibus Groutnooseshanks III

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Day 4:

My Caroline,

I was never called by the Lord, dear me how have I been so stupid? The Lord doesn't have hooves! Or a stethoscope! Whatever the fuck that is! God it hurts to not breathe smoke.

But I can do this my love. Sending you the best I can manage. I must reserve strength to deal with another pressing matter at hand. I never should have gone to the bar trying to quit smoking. When it pisses, it pours.

Mortimer Groutnooseshanks the Whatever

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Day 5:

Caroline,

Shit sucks. Two sets of footprints? That stupid God damned poster said there's only supposed to be one. Jesus has abandoned me. Hope is a dangerous lie. Nothing has meaning but cancer.

Mort

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Day 6:

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK I KILLED A MAN FUCK FUCK FUCK

FUCK

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Day 7:

My sweetest Caroline,

I am coming home to wreck that ass. Take your quarterly bath and pop the cork on that vinegar. It's tacos for dinner tonight. For me. You're having burrito.

Daddy-Cousin Mort

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That’s it. Some things never change. Mort began optimistic, hopeful, and vim but ended a horny, murderous fugitive.

Sic vivitur.

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