Demon Nicotine

Last night I made love to Kathleen Turner. Not the present day, played Mrs. Robinson in the Broadway version of “The Graduate” overweight and 60-ish Turner. The sultry, starred in “Body Heat,”  knock you out of your socks 80’s version. I could plainly discern the texture of her earlobe as I nibbled it and if I were given all the perfume samplers on and in the case at the local Macy’s, I could easily identify which scent it was she was slathered in at the time.

The night before, I was locked in a death struggle with some fanged and winged arch fiend of hell wearing a London Fog trenchcoat. I noticed one of his hands in my preipheral vision, a scaly black claw with impossibly long fingers and nails to match, reaching into the sink as I poured milk over a bowl of Rice Crispies. All of this as my kitchen was illuminated by the light of a full moon that poured in through the windows.

Turning to face this seven foot hell spawn, whose head was mere inches from the kitchen light fixture, I suddenly became aware that the spoon I held in my hand previously had morphed into an oar. Yes, the thing you paddle a canoe with. This would have been a positive developement had said oar been manufactured by the Mad River Canoe Company.

Have you ever held an oar made by Mad River? They must be hickory. Or ash. Is ash a hardwood? Well, whatever wood they use, it’s a hard one. You could take on Godzilla with a Mad River canoe oar. Unfortunately, the oar I was armed with appeared to be made by the Fisher Price company. It was a very light plastic, and hollow. It reminded me of the wiffle ball bats we used to tape up to strengthen as a kid.

I flailed away at the demon with my wiffle-oar as he shreiked and bit chunks from me. I woke in a cold sweat, firmly convinced that I was still standing in my blood-spattered kitchen fighting to the death.

Such are evenings under the spell of the nicotine patch.

I had this damn smoking thing beat and I bought my first pack of Marlboros after a year’s hiatus. I ain’t going back no matter who’s in my kitchen after midnight, that’s for sure.


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