The Cryptkeeper Is To Blame

I have been puzzled with something for a while now. I don’t smoke inside cause it just stinks up the place. FYI…smoking is on my list of things to quit. We’ll see how well that goes. Quitting would benefit me but for the culprit behind the ongoing theft will be pretty angry. Since I smoke outside, I keep a tiny ashtray on my porch. It’s really a flower pot but beggers can’t be choosers. Whatever. It works. I would smoke and throw the butt into the pot. I began to notice something off. I would have a few butts in the pot. It could be the next morning or it could be hours later. The butts in the pot were beginning to disappear. Honestly. That’s eff’ed up. Where the hell were they going? Was it maybe a bird swooping in and claiming my old butts as his? Was he using them to build a nest for his baby birds? It’s possible. Maybe it’s the family of cats that live under the stairs. They are growing in numbers and sooner or later, we’ll be taken over by the feline infestation.

It’s not the cats. Cats don’t smoke. Besides, what would a cat need with a used cigarette anyway? I had my suspicion that it was the witch. When she moved in, that is when I started to notice the butts were turning up missing. Since I wronged the witch a while ago, I assumed she was going to use my butts to extract the saliva from them and do some voodoo witchcraft with it. She will curse me. I bet she already has. I am still alive and kicking. Either the curse the witch is doing didn’t work or it’s a lengthy curse that will eventually lead me to my demise. She could be the reason. But she is too busy carrying the Anti-Christ in her belly to worry about me and my slanderous words against her. You can debate all you want that it would be better for me to die from a curse than to watch her raise the Anti-Christ that will bring the whole world to an end. But you’re not me. I don’t want to die quite yet. I’ll wait till 12/21 for that to happened when the zombies rise up and kill us all.

So we can cross the witch off the list. It’s not the witch. It’s not the cats under the stairs, and it’s not the birds with a lust for nicotine. What on Earth is swiping the butts? What unseen force is messing with my head? Before you jump to the idea that it’s Carlos or the Dead Zombie Wife, remember a few things. Claudia (aka @Dead Zombie Wife) didn’t smoke. If she did, I would smell the sweet, sweet aroma of smoke coming from inside the walls. Cross that gal off the list too. Maybe it’s Carlos. He’s a ghost and ghost smoke. That’s a proven fact.

Patrick Swayze Smoking

I highly doubt it’s him. He doesn’t steal cigarettes. He steals wives from traveling business men. He ruins marriages. He is too caught up with his ghost children to swipe butts from me. So with him off the list, all the usual suspects are accounted for. There is still one person I have yet to mention. One person who I know has a passion for the destruction of lungs and is on a waiting list for a mechanical larynx. A few days ago, I had just arrived home from grabbing some take out. I stepped inside and before I could sit down, a knock was at my door. I thought it was a friend, possibly my neighbors. It was neither. It was a hideous lady. Looking like the gypsy woman from Drag Me To Hell, she creeps up to my door. She knocks again. I peek outside to see who was looking for me. I opened the door. She smiles at me. Her decayed teeth glisten in the sunlight. She stumbles over her words. I know this woman is a smoker. This isn’t her first time coming to me for a favor. Her voice is spot on for a person who has smoked for half her life. Maybe she came out of the womb, a cigarette in hand and a lack of personal hygiene.

“I wonder if I can buy a couple smokes from you.”

She messes with the quarters in her palm. She appears nervous. Not sure why. It’s not like I will say no. Remember how I said this isn’t her first time begging me for a cigarette? It was a year ago when she caught me walking to my car. She comes running to me, barefooted and in her nightgown, waving a shiny quarter in the air. Not sure if she thinks I am selling papers like some depression-era newsiesbut she was determined to catch me before her chance to satisfy the craving for nicotine was out of her reach. I took her quarter and handed her a couple cigarettes. She smiles, grinning with that crooked smile and says,

“Thank you! You’re a life saver!”

I understand I helped with your absence of cigarettes but I highly doubt that giving you cancer causing products is anything but life saving. I just took away about 20 minutes of your life. You’re welcome. She is the thief. I know it now. If she has come to me twice looking for a cigarette, it’s all logic now. She creeps over to my apartment and being all ninja-like, she digs through the pot to steal the smoked butts. Every little nougat counts. Even if the cigarette has but two puffs left, that is enough for her. I have drawn up my interpretation of how it all went down. This is how I discovered how my neighbor is stealing my already smoked cigarettes. Folks, I would like you to meet the newest member to my hood. I have dubbed her, The Chain Smoking Cryptkeeper.

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I like food. I like the smell of cinnamon.

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