Aversion Therapy Experiment

Roll another! i shouted.

He was already sweating. I rolled one for him. I could still roll even though i hadn’t rolled in 5 years.

Suck harder come on man. Then i remembered he also had the pre-rolled chemically cigs. get your real fags out i said.

He was puffin rollies and fags together. He was turning pale.

He laid back in his seat and put the fag in the ash try. Come on man! i said. He puffed out a bit of air and his mouth puffed up and he looked at me like a puppy.

Dont care i said. Smoke.

He reluctantly picked up the smoldering fag from the ashtray and put it to his lips. He didnt suck. He just put it by his lips and looked at me.

Suck it you pussy come on! He took a little drag. Beads of sweat formed on his greying face.

I laughed. You wanna give up? Then get sick of it man come on. I took another out and offered it to him. Man, he said i’m not sure i can.

I said come on, in order for this to work you have to be truly sick of it.

I am bro. he said feebly.

I said this one more then we’ll know for sure. Take a huge drag. Kill this one. Last one. suck it to death.

He lit it up and sucked. SUUUCK i shouted in his face beaming a smile. Not sure why i was getting so much pleasure out of this.

He sucked as hard as he could. he flicked the fag into the ashtray along with the other 30 stubbs, slid the chair back and lunged his head between his legs.

he was arched over, head nearly touching the floor. smoke rising out from below him. And he groaned. Arrrrg he said.

One more, come on, i demanded.

Fuck off bro.

He eventually slowly rose up into sitting position. Yellow. He was fuckin yellow. And new wrinkles had formed on his face. Was i saving him or killing him? Or just turning him into grandpa Simpson?

His phone beeped. He picked it up. Helloooo he just about managed. I could hear the thunderous voice of his misses blaring down the phone, not quite making out the words, but the hi pitched squawk was blaring into the kitchen. He held the phone away from his ear at arms length. And he plunged his head back down. Arrrrrrrrrrrgh he repeated. Louder this time. Must of been the frequency of her voice mixed with the intense nicotine overdose. He managed to get the phone near him and mumble a few words back to her.

Got to go bro, she’s out the back. he just about managed.

Ok man, he slowly rose to standing position. Grabbing the edge of the table and looking into the distance with his dead eyes. his eyes reminded me of the puss enscrusted eye that was staring at me from a fish i was served in a manky greek restaurant once.

he pulled his coat off the back of the chair. put it under his arm and groaned again.

He stumbled two steps forward and stopped.

I got him to the door and said see you soon bro, let me know how its going !

i closed the door. and could hear him making his way down the stairs like a deformed 200 lb slug. I sniggered to myself like muttley off wacky races.

I phoned him the next day. He had been in bed ill, and not had a single fag since Dr Flapsandwich’s ‘treatment’. I had cured the bastard!

I phoned the day after that to check in. He was smoking again.

 

 

Filed under: life, talking bollocks