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Friday, November 5, 2010

WhereZ my Lighter?!

Eyes slowly peel open.  Not quite quarter to seven.  Gotta have that ceremonial cigarette!  This is more than a routine… it’s a must. 

My frigid left hand reaches and tickles the nightstand.  The slick cellophane of a box of Parliament Lights meets my fingertips with sacred delight.

It’s on!  I can now rise and shine.  Waking up is never this easy.  History tells me this could be the dreaded phantom pack which houses only a useless lighter...nope!  Not this time.

Yes!  This pretty pack of cancer sticks runs 7 deep.  Seven is always lucky.  I only need one right now. 

Where the fuck is my lighter?  I knew this was too good to be true. Seven lucky cigarettes and no fire. 

The search party begins....

“You got a lighter?”, I call out to my snoring, sleeping beauty with no reply.  My hand’s scanning every corner my 77 inch reach provides.  There’s those lucky 7’s again. My blood begins to boil.  “Bullshit”, now I’m angry! 

“Where the fuck did you put the lighter?", I ask my wife as she instantly hurls a pillow which whizzes right by my head.  She belts out, “Look in your ass bitch!”  

I’m not the only one who’s edgy this morning.  There’s still no sign of the lighter, and therefore, no luck.  Nicotine is my caffeine.  At this point nicotine is my morphine.  How’d the morning start so bad? 

I nudge my Narcoleptic Nymph with one last, desperate attempt.  I try the nice role this time, “ Honey, you got the lighter?”  There’s no response, no pulse.  “Hey…….Hey”, I whisper.  “Where’s the lighter?” 

BAM!  Another pillow missile.  This is not friendly fire.  (Morning foes at the hands of the cigarillos.)  “Check your ass!” she growls.

Now that’s just rude.  I’m the king of this castle.  Guess this means I gotta get my big ass up.  To my dismay, I step up the bounty and begin my journey toward the bathroom.

My feet hit the cold floor and I reach for ceiling.  As I yawn I hear a small “CLANK.”  The noise is followed by what I can only describe as a strange, itchy, irritation, coming from my U.A.L.B. (upper ass, lower back).  It seems an unidentified object dislodged itself from my ass-neck. 

The sarcasm my wife normally slings my way, was indeed factual this morning.  The lighter slept nestled, warm and cozy against my ass throughout night!

“Honey, where’d you put the  camera?  You gotta take a picture of this!”
Her reply:  “It’s in your ass bitch!"

Go figure.                                                                                             

These pictures were taken directly after
the events described above.  

1st photo
I am wearing white basketball shorts and the imprint 
is just above the waistband.

2nd photo
Taken with an infrared
camera.  You can see the heat outline of the                   
lighter very clear.

                                lighter imprint  above ass

my ass  

infrared ass

                                                infrared imprint


JayBo said...

Just as I was doubting your story, you back it up with pics! Only you...LOVE it :)

Anonymous said...

Maybe it is time to quit smoking! ROFL

Anonymous said...

I hope you had the safety on.

sageybaby said...

You actually MEASURED how far you can reach???

j.s. lambert said...

Any good story has to have picture proof.

Patrick said...

are you kidding me? This is what you chose to write a story about?! losing a lighter in your ass? um ok. maybe you should get out more

j.s. lambert said...

I've got something for YOUR ASS Patrick!

Anonymous said...

And yet Patrick, you keep coming back to this blog!

Anonymous said...

Thank you Mr. Lambert. I must admit that I have had a similiar experience. Mine was ninety two cents, and the sound of three quarters, a dime and. Seven pennies hitting the porcelain tile at 8thirty am sent me twirling to look for an invader....