It was story time for me and my dog, Ewardo. Each night I share a story with him as we lounge on the sofa. It went something like this:

“Apollo, I remember as a 5-year-old child, my dad loved smoked cured meats. He built his own smoker and it was huge. I had watched him use it and he always wore a prideful smile during the process. He said that someday I would be taking over the smoking duties.

Well, he was away one day and I thought I was ready. I loaded it up with wood but I couldn’t get it lit. I tried for an hour and I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. I decided to douse the wood with the gasoline we had for the lawnmower.

I struck the match, tossed it in, and the explosion tossed me back about 10 yards. Good for a first down. I got up and when the smoke cleared, there was no smoker. It was gone without a trace. I didn’t understand, I only used three gallons of gas?

So, I decided that I would do the right thing and put the book of matches in my sister’s room along with a couple of drops of gasoline for the smell effect.

It goes to show you folks; smoking is wicked dangerous!

Oh, dad knew it was me. “No one else is stupid enough to do this on purpose – except you.”

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