I AM A FAG XV

F U C K M E..
Please be warned that i am about to rip a cigarette to shreds. No, jimi didn't shred compared to this. Chedder just isn't shredded compared to this. No shredded chicken as pizza topping is shredded compared to this. Shredded post-burnout tyre tread does not compare to this.
Stop traffic. This cigarette is dirt. Dirt riddled with remants of dog shit. Dog shit-riddled dirt on a rainy day.

Benson and Hedges Ultimate. Well let me just commence by bring your wandering attention to the utter inappropriateness of the name. Ultimately gay. Ultimately horrendous. Ultimately a cigarette that should be shunned from public inhalation. Production of it should cease immediately and all remaining stock should be drilled into the very molten core of our earth or shot into the infinite universe. As i have informed you previously, (in my B&H smooth review) i have never met a B&H smoker who isn't totally a gronk. Really stale. Forgettable and unimpressive.

So walking briskly along George St, I realise that less than 2 cigarettes remaining in my pack is depressive enough to send me, once again, spiralling unrestrained into the realms of suicide. Therefore i hit up my 'usual joint' on george st in order to exchange money for goods. (I admit, my continuous return to this spot has less to do with the fact that it's in a convenient location and more with the fact that the boy who works there has a pretty face and the ebility to make me weak at the knees...)

Initially i asked (*brushes hair over shoulder, attempts to pout ridiculously thin and un-luscious lips, sucks in gut, parts legs slightly) "hey do you sell Camels?"...Unfortunately a "no" response followed, and i was left utterly devastated for a moment or two, as i reaaaaaally wanted to give Camels another go. SO my second choice, as uttered thoughtlessly from my mouth, was "erm B&H ultimate thanks"...

$13 later, i feel dirty, ripped off and blemished. With the first drag comes the disappointment i had been sourly anticipating. Fuck. Hello flavour? Satisfaction? Hit? Where the eff are you?
I have never been so disgusted to 'call myself a smoker'.. I mean really, a low point in my (otherwise sooooooooooooooooo rich and prosperous. ha. ) life.

As i do, i inspected the cigarette from tip to glorious (toned and sexaaaay) butt to not only gain a better understanding of the darn thing but to pick at flaws and failings. and what do i find? a perforation halfway down the butt. Confused, i pondered the reason for such an addition. I put it to Brock, who suggested it was to allow 'outside air' aka fresh-fucking-un-tabaccoed-air into the inward drag of breath, thus further weakening the (already non-existant) strength of cigarette. And although i am a rabid dog when it comes to arguing, i cannot argue with him, agreeing whole-heartedly that this indeed is the manufacturers aim. which leads me to my next question- WHY THE DONG WOULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT TO MAKE THESE DAMN THINGS ANY LIGHTER THAN THEY ALREADY ARE?????!!!

(take 20minutes here to calm the fuck down are realise that yes, indeed, life is worth living, just as soon as i get these nasty B&H's out of my life)

Right, and my beer is warm. great. it's as if even Kel the Kelvinator fridge is out to get me. He's damned seals are buggered to hell and my lack of funds and/or will prevents me from making any attempt to solve the issue.

Look to be honest i dont even think these cigarettes deserve a strenuous and effortful rating. Like actually they just dont. Because i am not a fan of zero (it just fucks everything up- it's not a number, it's nothing!) i will straight up give these bastards 0.5. And that's rounding UP and being very fucking generous.

So sourly disappointed am i, that i even contemplated allowing my brother to fling the nasty things deep out into the brisbane river. (only my stinginess and the wretched thought of "thirteen dollars, THIRTEEN DOLLARS" eventually convinced me to indeed ask the male chapple twin to refrain from doing so. )

so hear's to you, B&H, for ruining my day and almost ruining my life. I leave your name and your name only in my suicide note, and, after this moment, wish never, EVER to speak your name again. Like a never-going-to-happen relationship, like a one-night stand, like a coulda been shoulda been but wasnt, there is no happy ending in this dire story.
I wish i was exaggerating, i really do.

But not only do Shakira's hips not lie, but neither do I. (oh unless i lie to the guy working at maccas, pretending that "yeah, one of these apple pies is for my friend", when really i am just making breakfast-lunch-and-dinner out of these little cheap suckers.)

Well here we've passed the mark of tolerablility and venturing un-aided and vulnerable into the never-never land of bullshitting, so i should wrap it up. (like you, St. Nick, will be wrapping up the fucking espresso machine, wii remote, zippo, season 4 Scrubs, 47 cartons of Blonde ... that i have requested for christmas. ho ho hoe. )

Download Annie Lennox- Dont let it bring you down. Nice song.

Til next time my fellow nameless readers (again, the presumptions that anyone actually wasted not only their eyesight but also time on reading this shit are flowing strong) ... ,

missy.

(would turn gay for you)