Arthur
Honorary Master
This is a home for casual, amateur and professional tobacco smokers.
Prospective smokers are also welcome.
There are only Three Rules:
1. No proselytising against smoking and smokers. (We know all that stuff anyway.)
2. Girls always welcome. Especially pretty ones.
3. Posters must be above the Age of Twelve.
Smokers of other weeds, barks, roots, fibres, potions, dorsiventrally flattened non-tobacco plant organs, and sundry apothecarian formulations, may read this thread in the privacy of their own home, but may not post textual or graphical content of any type or form.
This is a place where smokers can be safe from Puritans, Health Fanatics, Medical Moralists, Moral Reformers, Environmentalists, Do-Gooders, Socialists, and other sundry crusaders laying waste our civilisation.
Lady Bracknell: Do you smoke?
Jack Worthing: Well yes, I must admit I smoke.
Lady Bracknell: I'm glad to hear it. A man should have an occupation of some kind.
-- The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde
This is a place for fellowship, where fellow smoking artists can share experiences and find support.
(Edit on 17 Sept 2021: Please ignore the following line in the OP - the referenced site has been captured by the Enemy.
"Tip of the Day: Visit www.smokingfeelsgood.com/ for some encouragement.")
--
Let me start my story with a confession: From birth until the age of eighteen, my life had been squandered as an Unreformed Non-Smoker. The Fates had conspired to place me in a home with parents who were not only non-smokers but anti-smokers. On one occasion, I recall my father asking his dinner guests, which included senior Silks, judges, and even a cabinet minister, to refrain from smoking at the dinner table, and to step outside. Such manifest insolicitude for the comfort of his guests was embarrassing to this tender and impressionable youth.
My own Journey to Smoking began unpropitiously with a roof ride on the first day of my conscription into the SADF. Within days I was being chased by foul-mouthed Non-Commissioned Officers through the Potch veld, clad in browns, staaldak and webbing, clutching a geweer. This was not an immediately pleasurable experience, especially not after my unsolicited suggestions for improvements to conscript training were shared with a certain Cmdt Constand Viljoen, Officer Commanding Third South African Infantry Battalion.
I have always had a great love of Science, especially Physics. Graced with keen powers of observation, and informed by a new appreciation of the term afkak, it didn't take long for me to observe that some conscripts did more than sweat, pant and stare wistfully into the marula bushes during a frequently-called "Smoke Break". They both steamed and smoked. And, very plainly, they took great pleasure in the atmospherics of Smoking.
Every young man at eighteen is not only a scientist but also a philosopher, as this forum amply demonstrates. Within days of the first roofieafkaksessies I had come to the deep insight that, philologically and teleologically speaking, Smoke Breaks are designed for, well, smoking. So, in the interest of Science, I determined to experimentally verify what had heretofore been only an observation in others.
I smoked.
Initial reticence rapidly receded (along with my inner parent), and soon heady delight turned into relish. Within weeks I had become hooked on this new and intoxicating pleasure. Especially when it was embellished with beer. By the end of my military service I had become a real aficionado, and some years later, when my student days ended and I had discovered wine, I took up smoking professionally. Since then I've enjoyed countless hours of pleasurable smoking around the world, from the top of Alpine peaks to the crags of the Grand Canyon, at countless memorable and forgettable sunrises and sunsets, on rivers and seas, in planes, boats, bikes and trucks, traversing valleys and mountains, from the Pampas to the Steppes. Alone or with others, at work or at play, smoking has not only banished boredom but been a consolation.
I have never regretted it for one picosecond.
Smoking is a uniquely human activity that can be indulged in both leisure and work. It gives rest to the weary and a boost to the busy. But it is more than that. It is also an art form that titillates both senses and mind. I have found that a great many of its practitioners manifest an uncommon aesthetic sensibility and a proclivity for rational choice. Like fine wine and good music and beautiful women, it is at the same time an expression of, and a garnish for, our love of life.
But sadly, under pressure from Caesar and his minions, smoking is a dying art. Caesar is the perennial enemy of liberty and thus humanity. His decades-long warfare against Smokers has added a political dimension. So, I smoke not just professionally or for leisure and pleasure, but also as a political statement. It is a puffing protest against the imperialist encroachments of Caesar and the New Puritans, and a silent stand for liberty.
Viva, Smokers! Viva! A luta continua!
Prospective smokers are also welcome.
There are only Three Rules:
1. No proselytising against smoking and smokers. (We know all that stuff anyway.)
2. Girls always welcome. Especially pretty ones.
3. Posters must be above the Age of Twelve.
Smokers of other weeds, barks, roots, fibres, potions, dorsiventrally flattened non-tobacco plant organs, and sundry apothecarian formulations, may read this thread in the privacy of their own home, but may not post textual or graphical content of any type or form.
This is a place where smokers can be safe from Puritans, Health Fanatics, Medical Moralists, Moral Reformers, Environmentalists, Do-Gooders, Socialists, and other sundry crusaders laying waste our civilisation.
Lady Bracknell: Do you smoke?
Jack Worthing: Well yes, I must admit I smoke.
Lady Bracknell: I'm glad to hear it. A man should have an occupation of some kind.
-- The Importance of Being Earnest, Oscar Wilde
This is a place for fellowship, where fellow smoking artists can share experiences and find support.
(Edit on 17 Sept 2021: Please ignore the following line in the OP - the referenced site has been captured by the Enemy.
"Tip of the Day: Visit www.smokingfeelsgood.com/ for some encouragement.")
--
Let me start my story with a confession: From birth until the age of eighteen, my life had been squandered as an Unreformed Non-Smoker. The Fates had conspired to place me in a home with parents who were not only non-smokers but anti-smokers. On one occasion, I recall my father asking his dinner guests, which included senior Silks, judges, and even a cabinet minister, to refrain from smoking at the dinner table, and to step outside. Such manifest insolicitude for the comfort of his guests was embarrassing to this tender and impressionable youth.
My own Journey to Smoking began unpropitiously with a roof ride on the first day of my conscription into the SADF. Within days I was being chased by foul-mouthed Non-Commissioned Officers through the Potch veld, clad in browns, staaldak and webbing, clutching a geweer. This was not an immediately pleasurable experience, especially not after my unsolicited suggestions for improvements to conscript training were shared with a certain Cmdt Constand Viljoen, Officer Commanding Third South African Infantry Battalion.
I have always had a great love of Science, especially Physics. Graced with keen powers of observation, and informed by a new appreciation of the term afkak, it didn't take long for me to observe that some conscripts did more than sweat, pant and stare wistfully into the marula bushes during a frequently-called "Smoke Break". They both steamed and smoked. And, very plainly, they took great pleasure in the atmospherics of Smoking.
Every young man at eighteen is not only a scientist but also a philosopher, as this forum amply demonstrates. Within days of the first roofieafkaksessies I had come to the deep insight that, philologically and teleologically speaking, Smoke Breaks are designed for, well, smoking. So, in the interest of Science, I determined to experimentally verify what had heretofore been only an observation in others.
I smoked.
Initial reticence rapidly receded (along with my inner parent), and soon heady delight turned into relish. Within weeks I had become hooked on this new and intoxicating pleasure. Especially when it was embellished with beer. By the end of my military service I had become a real aficionado, and some years later, when my student days ended and I had discovered wine, I took up smoking professionally. Since then I've enjoyed countless hours of pleasurable smoking around the world, from the top of Alpine peaks to the crags of the Grand Canyon, at countless memorable and forgettable sunrises and sunsets, on rivers and seas, in planes, boats, bikes and trucks, traversing valleys and mountains, from the Pampas to the Steppes. Alone or with others, at work or at play, smoking has not only banished boredom but been a consolation.
I have never regretted it for one picosecond.
Smoking is a uniquely human activity that can be indulged in both leisure and work. It gives rest to the weary and a boost to the busy. But it is more than that. It is also an art form that titillates both senses and mind. I have found that a great many of its practitioners manifest an uncommon aesthetic sensibility and a proclivity for rational choice. Like fine wine and good music and beautiful women, it is at the same time an expression of, and a garnish for, our love of life.
But sadly, under pressure from Caesar and his minions, smoking is a dying art. Caesar is the perennial enemy of liberty and thus humanity. His decades-long warfare against Smokers has added a political dimension. So, I smoke not just professionally or for leisure and pleasure, but also as a political statement. It is a puffing protest against the imperialist encroachments of Caesar and the New Puritans, and a silent stand for liberty.
Viva, Smokers! Viva! A luta continua!
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