"Granny!" you sputter desperately, "Granny! I love the nic buzz granny! I'm a nico-addict! Give it to me! I bathe in the glorious perfume that is your exhalation!"
"Nya ha ha ha ha!" she cackles, witch-like and delirious. "You've never taken a puff in your pathetically sheltered little life! Cats dance from your mouth in an endless feline parade of pussy!" She leans into the walking stick and exhales a plume into your face.
You try desperately not to cough, but the stench is over-powering. She is right, you've never touched the horrific stuff in your life. When you were 8 years old your teacher showed you a not at all heavy handed propaganda film about the infinite evils of tobacco, where a facsimile of your parents died on screen while you and your imaginary sister sobbed at their funeral before being taken into an orphanage and relentlessly raped by the priests and nuns who ran the facility. Afterwords they passed around a pledge sheet and guilted you into signing away your eternal dignity on the promise that your lips would never touch a cigarette for the remainder of your life. The moment imprinted upon you a rare portion of dignity and honour, and in your tiny little worthless life, upholding that sacred oath is one of the only things remaining to keep you grounded and in touch with an ounce of accomplishment. You twist and squirm out of the path of her fumes, but can't seem to escape. Your visible agony only entices her further. Big Granny leans down and flips the cigarette, backwards she takes it into her mouth, and shotguns a righteous stream of nicotine directly into your air hole. You gag and plead, scream and cry, but your resistance only invigorates her malicious passion. She pinches off the filter with her elderly press-on nails, and leans in for another blast. "Finally, I get to burn away all that nancy mincing shit your mom coddled your pathetic worthless ass with for all those years. Time to grow up ya little cry-ass." As the rancid shot of burnt chemically soaked vegetative matter fills your lungs, you breathe deep and accept your fate. With psychopathic genetic stock like this feeding your bones... what's the point in even trying to go on?




THE END.... YOU HOPE!