illegal cigs (cheap)
one poem
Of course we all know that the things we can buy with the proceeds from larping as one of those guys from the class system days who would go with their liege to the urinals to ensure someone would be there to not look at His Lordship's penis, or God forbid one of the jobs that are hard, can be traded which, yes, is the same as saying that the penis guy is the same as the guy whose penis falls into the industrial rolling machine permanently injuring one of his spatial dimensions. But somehow I had not known until now (at least not in the way that I know how far away His Lordship prefers me to stand) that the value itself is the thing that feels good to smoke. Certainly it's not the taste, nor the oral sensation, nor is it how cool it looks (I have not been photographed in ten years) and nor is it the nicotine which is in everything these days, like jokes about how it is shameful to stand on a stage like an overgrown child who puts on a for-profit magic show, but not remotely as shameful as paying to see it, and nor the addiction, which only feels pleasant, or bad, when you need it to no: what it is is that while you are safely descending the harness can rub, which is very annoying, and so then at some point you look at the faraway earth and decide that while you cannot justify cutting the cord, being sane you might still get away with pulling out your Webley and blasting some holes in the parachute.

Good to know that the class system days are over with.
I was so tired of having to shake his lordship's penis.