A few excerpts from the introduction of a book I'm writing.

1. Before I started using chewing tobacco (1970-1991) I used my mouth for eating and drinking. Occasionally I would use it to smile bashfully at a pretty girl that I was considering courting. Out of necessity I would use the piece to communicate with people and on extremely rare occasions I would scold a stray mutt to get the hell away from me. I never really relied on it to breathe though. As far as I was concerned that was a job for the two holes above my mouth.


It’s kind of hard to remember the details of my life before I started chewing, but I know from looking at myself in mirrors at the mall and being told by many  beautiful women that my mouth has always been esthetically pleasing. Maybe my lips could be slightly longer? My tongue is considerably long and can skim the outer reaches of my chin. It also has an appealing shape and the Lord blessed my tongue with a nice sharp point at the end that’s not to thin.


With all its beauty and splendor my tongue does have one downside; I could never touch my nose with it. I tried many times, but all the hard work was never realized. My sister could touch her tongue to her nose. I think about that sometimes. Who could have guessed that one day the primary function of my tongue would be tobacco packer?


 I guess my mouth has teeth too. I’ve never counted them up but all were in good working order before the days of chew. Chipped two of them playing tackle football once. I made an unbelievable catch and it should have been caught on film. I can visualize the part my mouth played to this day: Within seconds of securing the ball I got hit by a member of the opposing team. Can’t remember if it was directly from the hit or the impact of my body hitting the ground but, my upper Central Incisor collided fiercely with my lower Lateral Incisor. During the surreal moment I actually saw pieces of teeth fly out of my mouth. Obviously I got up immediately and was ready for the next play, but my teeth were extremely sore and sensitive for days to come.

2. Trains, planes, cabs, and busses are all modes of transportation used to increase stress levels in the masses so that people will consume mood altering substances, like smokeless tobacco for example. The thumb, index and middle fingers on my right hand serve as the only mode of transportation in which chewing tobacco departs from the can and arrives at my mouth. I can’t speak on behalf of trains, planes, cabs, or busses, but I can assure you that my fingers are always on schedule.


When choosing a seat on a bus or a plane I like to sit in the back of the transport on a window seat so I can discreetly spit. Choose to sit next to me on a bus while there are still open seats available and behold my spitter! Judge me. Be repulsed by me. Hate me. I really don’t care as long as I can chew while I ride. Once the rub has worked its magic then I’ll be in a better place to condemn you for existing.


Like most passengers I like to get to the airport nice and early, but not cause I’m concerned with getting groped by airport security or making sure I don’t miss my flight. I arrive two hours before my flight so I can purchase a cup of coffee that after I’m finished with will be transformed in to a spitter that I’ll need up in the friendly sky (I do not believe in pluralizing the word, sky). Before the plane taxis my coffee’s finished and the empty cup is lined with a napkin. Lining a cup with a napkin is a tool of the trade and is often learned very early in the career of a professional dipper, sometimes due to the inability to reason while other times it can be as simple as poor I hand coordination. Alcohol can play a factor as well. I prefer to call the spit sponge a dip condom and when placed correctly in a cup it prevents biohazards from contaminating couches, dashboards, pants, carpets, Et cetera. It’s 99% affective and unlike a dick bag, it can be used multiple times.

3. With two kids and a job at night owning a car makes a lot more sense today. Plus, Louisville’s pretty fucking rural for a city if you ask me, and shit’s a lot more spaced out here than other places that I’ve lived. I live three miles from cows.