Over the years we've seen a parade of one-note relations parade through the life of obsessive-compulsive poster child Little Dot. An endless supply of aunts and uncles with singular occupations and tightly focused interests has given Little Dot - and us - a chance to see that her compulsions no doubt spring from interesting genetic quirks present in the Polka family's lineage. But if I was forced to pick one relation whose kink was both kooky and transgressive in the light of modern 21st century attitudes towards health and welfare, I know who'd get my vote.
Uncle Smoke is a dapper fellow with a bow tie, a constant grin, and a tobacco jones on his back the size of King freakin' Kong. Lungs like a coal mine, or an industrial smelting furnace, or a giant effluent-spewing factory, maybe...
Factory, definitely a factory. Jesus Uncle Smoke, stop bogarting that carton!!
Return with us to the days when the dangers of "second hand smoke" were dismissed by laughing doctors with giant forehead reflectors and hands stained yellow from those Camels that are so smooth on the throat! And what would Uncle Smoke's favorite expression be?
Yes. Yes, of course. So just what could elicit this response from our jaded, precancerous relation?
The giant novelty pipe, of course! Harbinger of mellow cool-burning smoking satisfaction, or just the totem of a king-size oral-fixation? You decide. Uh, what are you doing there Uncle Smoke?
No, Uncle Smoke. Don't do it. Don't smoke the True Pipe of Dobbs unless you've made your peace with JHVH-1!!
WARNED YOU, PINKBOY!
OOP HMM OOP HMM OOP HMM (repeat, chorus)
Wow, turns out Uncle Smoke can enjoy smoke WITHOUT having to inhale! Thanks Little Dot! By the way, your afternoon with Uncle Smoke has given you the lungs of a 20-year veteran waitress - but that's okay - as the X-rays will show, they're DOTTED!!!
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