True Life Adventures

I am a smoker. I know it is bad for you and all that, but I like smoking. I am not, however, one of those habitual smokers that always has a fag hanging from his lips (that came out wrong). I just enjoy an occasional puff now and again.

Since my Perfect Wife does not allow me to smoke in the house, I have to step out onto my back porch to enjoy a smoke. I usually just take a drag or two, then gently snuff out the cigarette and leave it propped in the ashtray, and return to it later. Gross, you may say, but it makes a pack last longer, which is always important in these precarious financial times.

Lately, when I return to re-light my cigarette, there is nothing in the ashtray. Formerly, I attributed this to my well-known faulty memory: I must have already finished that tube of tobaccoy goodness, I assumed.

I was wrong.

The other day, I was going outside to re-light my butt (again, that sounds wrong), when I saw a giant raccoon STEALING MY HALF SMOKED CIGARETTE! I know raccoons are the bad boys of the suburban animal kingdom, but SMOKING?

I just hope they like Marlboro Light 100's...