A fatty. A dip. A pinch of heaven between the cheek and gums. The Spit Maker. Jerry the Wonder Dip. Mint flavored Freedom. Mouthweed. Brown Justice. Alli Baba and His 40 Spitoons. The Real Big League Chew. The Grin Enhancer.
Those are all my knick names for one of my best friends—chewing tobacco. But this week, sadly, we must part ways.
For the last 13 years we have been inseparable. Through the Good and Bad, we have been together. But I have a daughter now and have to take care of myself. So I am quitting. I’m walking away. This will count as the 234,876 time I have tried to quit. But I have allies in this fight. I am taking medication and I am on a “Program” designed to help me find success.
Hossman is not above some new hippie type approach because everything has failed. Which is a backwards way to say that I have failed without actually taking any responsibility. I should be a politician.
But I am on a medication now and the doctor says it will work. I am committed this time, I’m ready to go. Every time my daughter reaches for a spit cup, I judge myself. So she is my reason.
The medication makes the chewing tobacco taste a little different and, as I am finding out, blocking the sweet Jesus buzz and relaxation I usually get from a fatty. And it’s an interesting approach. I take medication for 7 days while continuing to dip. At the end, I’m supposed to go off the dip completely and my body, with the help of medication, will adjust.
I plan to chronicle my trails and tribulations through out this blog so some of these may tend to be a bit mean spirited. I get a little cranky when I’m jonesing so please forgive me. I may hit and scream but your sacrifice will help me, so it’s all worthwhile.
My wife was able to quit smoking without any troubles. I hate her for this. I know, it’s terrible, but she made it look so easy. Of course, she was carrying life, I was carrying a beer gut. And yes, I know everyone says “we” are pregnant but that just isn’t true. I’m drinking and dipping, she’s eating right and taking vitamins. I know it seems unfair, but I have come to terms with it.
I am also doing a program this time when I quit. Think AA, just not as creepy, as depressing, as pathetic or as fun. Because you know when those guys crack they have a hell of good time. I just end up right where I left off, the lonely guy in his office with the door shut so he can dip in peace without his bosses giving him shit. It’s an interesting approach though. It’s very touchy-feely. I’m a sensitive guy. I have depth. I have layers like an onion baby, completely complicated. I can’t even understand myself. I should be studied, that’s how complicated I am.
There are a few things that I have to do for this program to work, along with the medication. One of the keys is to ask me what my inspiration is and then to throw that in my face every day. As you can imagine, my daughter is my inspiration so every day on the email I get a picture of her looking at me with a caption of “Why don’t you love me?” I think the program is run by my mother.
One of the other things that I have to do in the program is to Write a Good-Bye letter to my chewing tobacco. Seriously. I know, it sounds a bit on the pink side. But with your daughter looking at you, how can you not play along? As always, I’ll post it. Strictly to make fun of myself and this program. But I am going to take a different approach. This is a challenge. A battle to be won, glory to be attained. Please hum the Battle Hymn of the Republic while you read this. It’s a mood setter.
Dear Rat Bastard:
I want my money back. I want all my money back. I want every cent I spent on you. I wanted to take a trip to Hawaii. You wanted to take a trip to the gas station. You have no ambition but to rob me blind, so pony up.
I know, I know, it was all my fault in the first place. But let’s both put the blame on the one that deserves it, our mutual enemy, Kate. That’s right, I’m using names in this blog. Why? Because she is a bitch. There you go. No mystery nickname for her. Screw it, I’m still bitter. No reason to act high and mighty when I’m not.
Kate was a girlfriend before my wife. Kate said she loved me, could not live without me. Kate gang banged my entire dorm.
So I went a little off the deep end. She did not like facial hair and dipping disgusted her. So yes, I grew a monster goatee and started dipping just to piss her off. Not the best strategy, I agree. It would have been easier for me just to walk away and get a shot of penicillin but I was an idiot. And so, I picked up you Mr. Chewing Tobacco and you filled the void left by the whore.
It was rough going at first for us, I understand that. I didn’t like your taste and you didn’t like the way I handled myself. I couldn’t do the cool finger thump when packing you. My spitting was amateurish and my placement needed a lot of work. But you never made me throw up and I appreciate that.
On our first fishing trip I knew that this was meant to last. While my friends tried you and threw up, we held strong. We went out into the middle of that stream and enjoyed the view. It was quiet then, up there in the mountains with a nice crisp cool air. That’s when I knew I loved you. You were not weak like all the others I knew. You were strength, you gave me character and an attitude.
You allowed me to spit menacingly after I had something tough to say. You helped cement the Hossman Legend, how can I hate you for that? And after thanksgiving, you were there ready to send me off to a nice sleep. I could always count on you for a night of drinking. I could count on you for a very special Christmas, you always knew what I wanted. And when that Sucubus Kate was busy giving hand jobs to the midget wrestling team, you consoled me.
Sure, we had our good times but they just can’t continue. I’ve outgrown you. I’m a responsible father now so I must say goodbye. Please, don’t cry and don’t look back. You’ll only see my heart breaking.
Keep the money that I’ve spent on you. Keep the memories and the good times that we had. Keep the cancer that you were going to give me. You see, now I have no choice. It’s either my daughter or you. It’s an easy decision. I have to write you this letter. I do it while listening to Sara McLachlan’s Foolish Games.
I hide my soiled hands behind my back. Somewhere down the line I must have gone off track with you. Excuse me, I think I have mistaken you for somebody else. Somebody that gave a damn, somebody more like myself. These foolish games are tearing me, tearing me, tearing me apart.
But if you ever have the chance to run into Kate, please pass along a little rectal cancer for me. Just for old times.