Once upon a time, there was an Editor of Nexus who loved cigarettes. He’d have dreams at night about how amazing they were and how sexy they made him look. Sometimes, in his darkest of nightmares, he had no cigarettes.
Then something changed.
Having smoked for 8 years, the day came when the Editor of Nexus decided to quit.
He was not, you must realise, a casual smoker. He was a pack (and a bit) a day smoker, more if he was drinking, stressed or bored. Were smoking to be an Olympic sport, the Editor of Nexus would have represented New Zealand for the last two Olympics and chances were high he would have made it to the podium.
Quitting was going to be a tough battle for the Editor of Nexus, but it was a battle he wanted to win, both for his sex-drive and for his wallet. Spending close to one hundred dollars a week on cigarettes is a lot for anyone.
He spent Monday with his final cigarette. Holding it lovingly, he lifted it to his lips on four different occasions until he finally lit it. He sat in the sun, sucking that final fag for all he was worth. It tasted like shit. That’s a good start, the Editor of Nexus told himself.
Three hours later, he really wanted a cigarette. The lady at UniMart wouldn’t sell him any, because her evil Fijian overlord had gotten wind of the Editor’s intention to quit sucking on fags and had banned him from purchasing any smokes from his establishment. The lady offered the Editor some chewing gum. He told her to kiss his arse.
The Editor’s flatmates would not give him any cigarettes, because the Editor’s bitch-whore-dragon wife had told them to help him quit. They said “No Editor, you can’t smoke our cigarettes or your wife will be cross at us”. They too were told to kiss his arse.
It was now Tuesday morning. The Editor woke up, got out of bed and noticed his mouth tasted funny. Not sucking a fag right before bed had removed the thin layer of dark coloured phlegm he was used to in the morning. His wife kissed him on the mouth in the morning too. That’s odd, the Editor thought to himself, is it my birthday?
The Editor went to work at Nexus that day with a full packet of Tymo Mint-Chocolate Biscuits. By lunchtime they were gone. So were the two packets of chewing gum and the two litres of water . The stains on his fingers had already started to fade, but it could have just been the lack of nicotine which was weakening his eyes. Editor didn’t feel very good. He really, really wanted to go out into the pretty sunshine and smoke a cigarette.
By Wednesday, the Editor of Nexus was snapping at people. He didn’t want to be at work and he didn’t want to have to deal with people who came into work smelling of delicious nicotine and cigarette smoke.
Thursday was a nightmare. The Editor of Nexus became totally unable to deal with people and kept lifting his fingers to his mouth, as if smoking an invisible, unsatisfying cigarette. His legs jiggled up and down like he was Lars Urlich on meth.
By Friday, things weren’t so bad. Despite tossing and turning all night, the Nexus was done. The stress factor was gone and with it went a part of the desire for smoking. His ability to have a raging erection at almost any time he chose (and many times he did not choose) was a godsend to his marriage.
And there was much rejoicing in the land.
The End