Put that in your pipe and smoke it
One of the earliest memories from my repressed childhood involves convincing my 33-year-old parents to quit smoking.
At age 5 I distinctly remember bouncing down the stairs, hopping in my mother’s lap with puppy dog eyes and pleading with her to stop smoking cigarettes.
In retrospect sucking down a few cancer sticks was probably the only relief my parents got from the hustle and the bustle of respectively working and raising kids full time. And not just any kid, either.
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