At the risk of sounding ludicrous, it’s gloriously fascinating how a man’s pursuit of his wants mediocres the want itself. The need to accomplish his ordinarily insipid aspirations is seemingly both gratifying and wholesome. One distinguished yet rather despicable class of men who affiliate and conform to this emotion would have to be The Cigarette Smokers.
The line of thought in a man’s distraught mind in the metamorphosis of an amateur smoker to an addict holds tremendous juvenile interest. A smoker who starts out on his advent, irrelevant of his reasons (/xcuses) wants to be eventually ADDICTED. Any hint of addiction initially sees light in him getting addicted simply to the thought of wanting to fag. He finds good company, forms a “respectable” social circle and thus begins the transit. The conversations during smoking among the amateurs revolve around the fag itself. The finances of the whole idea seem less then overwhelming. He finds the idea of sourcing out fags very exhilarating and delirious. He then transcends to the next phase. Here monetary state of affairs dominates circumstances. He scavenges and scouts for loose money, gets frenzy if his temptations are not satisfied. The conversations during smoking now seem to evolve around arbitary issues ranging from Fidel Castro’s downfall, to Indian Cricket’s domineering global presence. This phase is immeasurably delightful. His companionship base is strengthened, he unconsciously starts framing faging etiquettes with his comrades and thus the whole smoking business leaves an indelible inannulable impression. He proceeds to the next phase where smoking ceases to be an addiction rather a way of life. Smoking becomes as integral part of him as breathing itself. The financial setup stabilises, forms lasting friendships and the previously inane conversations are now non-existent. His routine of when to and with whom to fag sets in. He innately now has a very important figure to remember on a daily basis-the fag count. We now behold an ADDICT-whose IQ levels seem to fluctuate with his fag count. The inanity of the situation seems mesmerising. The transformation into the dreaded last phase, which always occupied his subconscious mind, now awaits him, where consequences or Karma of his past sins of the diabolical addiction hit him square in the face. Eventually the addiction drives him to his deathbed, and yet unperturbed his addiction remains uncurbed. Consequently and predictably he dies an arrogant, egoistic addicted, grotesque rascal, who all along knew that the means was definitely better than the ends. The pursuit of fags is officially over.
