Either by luck or judgement I avoided consuming one of the many liquids stored under the sink as a child, but it’s only time. Friday night is coming and the drinks shelf is empty, creative cocktail thinking is called for when needs must. Quite how I managed to stay alive this long, considering the filtering I did through traffic to get to my last job on my GSX1400, beggars belief.
The papers have a new candidate for a Darwin award every week as they plug their Ego battery into the mains using a charger made from a Blue Peter guidebook (using string, some baking foil and a roll of sticky-backed plastic) and then video themselves impersonating Fantastic 4’s Johnny Storm.
You’d like to think that someone who has a degree would be able to remember to turn the lock button on a mod when setting it down – but I’m typing this very gingerly after leaving the Viggo firing the .4ohm Magma while making a coffee. There’s nothing like grabbing hold of a mod that is approaching the same temperature as the core of the Sun. The body is programmed to automate a drop reflex in such situation. I have discovered that the brain operates an over-ride function when dealing with a valued mod.
Just last night I had sparks flying from the Atmomixani Dome after the positive screw had managed to drill itself through the insulating piece and short to the build deck. Going through my spares kit I had a replacement for everything on the atty except that one item; lucky for me my inability to self-organise stretches to throwing away bits and lo, in my vape kit, I found a suitable replacement.
Apart from the large dose of stupid I consumed for breakfast it would appear I also have magnetic properties. Out in public I attract nutters, my inbox is full of bizarre requests and every single lost piece of Kanthal has now been found. They can located in my left foot which, had that been the plot of the film of the same name, would have made far more enjoyable viewing; I would be played by Rutger Hauer.
Out of all the dangers I face by far the greatest is the temptation to hurl a genny at the wall. Even Bear Grills would crumble if he had to redo a coil and wick four times before it worked. I suspect the earthquake in Britain this week had something to do with a genny-related tantrum.
Of course, as so often the case, when we think of dangers we focus on the physical. Wild bears, zombie apocalypses and zombie wild bears consume most of my daily worries – but it is the mental anguish which vapers will be most familiar with.
For weeks the children are denied access to food other than beans, forced to hang around Tesco waiting for empty boxes to plug the holes in their shoes and listen to my old LPs instead of downloading Now 251. For weeks they endure deprivation just so I can sit and repeatedly refresh my browser because the greatest atomiser known to mankind.
It is the mental torment that afflicts us because it’s a pain no one can see. Well, no one who isn’t looking through our French windows as the product goes out of stock before Firefox kicks back into life.
And what about the poor vapers who eventually give up waiting, break down and buy something different only to see the object of their dreams suddenly appear on a website but the money has been spent? What support mechanisms do we have in place for them? None, that’s how many.
The MRHA can go on all they want about efficacy of products but what I want to know is are they going to ensure that I can buy a Hellfire? Are they flip. I will keep clicking on the site in the knowledge that the day one is for sale I will be reduced to a wreck of my former self.
Once I couldn’t decide which girl to go out with and so I made a list of pluses and minuses. By the time I’d finished the list the girl who’d won had decided she’d rather be going out with a bloke who owned a Lada – a ten-speed bicycle can’t compete when the stakes are that high.
I have a feeling that a similar situation will happen as I weigh up which mods will have to be sold on. But, on thinking about it, I could always just cut off my left foot and take it to a scrap metal merchant. It’s that or putting the wife on a corner and the last time that happened someone traded her for a used sofa.
All of this pales in comparison with the greatest mental danger that can afflict a discerning vaper; the choice of what atomiser to put on which mod.
If you are fortunate enough to live with one mod and one atty then you are in that blissful monogamistic state, you don’t have to suffer the worry that the drip tip contrasts garishly with the top cap and that people will mock you as you vape in public.
I’ve developed a Mormon approach to device ownership and, like the notion of having more than one wife, it isn’t as carefree as you’d imagine. Just imagine having eight women telling you to put the toilet seat down and put your used pants in the wash basket, not on the floor.
Every…single…day. *Shudders*
All the mods, attys and drip tips demand attention. On my last visit to the doctor she asked me what I thought my major problems in life were. She was clearly not a vaper judging by the brevity of the appointment – but at least I now have a clean bill of health. I probably spend as much time deciding on the mod/atty/tip combo that I do actually vaping the thing. Of course that’s actually a bad thing as it cuts down on having to recoil, injur myself and get more Kanthal jabbed into my flesh.
There ought to be a warning about vaping, someone should seriously get on that.
Dave Cross
