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Once upon a time I had to go on a trip. One week, two weeks, however long I could last out there with O dinero. Anyhoo, my grandmother once owned a store so I had in my possession several cartons of twenty year old, unfiltered, Lucky Strike stoges. Being the economist that I am I headed for the local head shop and bought some cig filters. When the week and a half was over my lungs were totally fucked from crusty/stank tobacco and shit-ass plastic filters. I felt like I had the iron lung squeezing my black lung pulverizing them into a stringent puss-pot filled tire burning yard that could only be cleansed with some sort of extreme squeegee scraper made out of asphalt, glass, and sandpaper. To say the least . . . my lungs were fucking TOASTED. 


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