Douche flautist |ˈdo͞oSHˈfloudəst| noun a vapor or persons who vape.

March 28, 2016

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I’ve noticed a growing, particular, subset of city dwellers lately.

I say city dwellers but it’s more likely they dwell everywhere but that I so rarely wander these days.

The most recent sighting was at a local pub where three of them had sat at an outside table and jointly began puffing on what looked like an elongated fuel filter from an old motorcycle. Within minutes I almost couldn’t see them anymore for the huge, dense, but “innocuous” fog engulfing them.

Often, when I see them, I can’t help but be reminded of Goths in the 90’s and how the harder they tried to be noticed, the more outraged they claimed to have been, when people did.

Obviously, these folks, this trio, were much more mainstream, looking much like everyday pub attendees on a Friday afternoon. 

Yet, I couldn’t help thinking that they were purposefully trying to collectively draw attention to themselves with the sheer volume of vapor they were producing, that seemed to increase until heads began to turn.

If I were to generalise, and God knows I love to, I’d probably guess they were, as a group, rabid gamers, work in tech, and live in their Mom’s garages and basements.
I would further guess that, for entertainment, they LARP on weekends and attend RenFaires as vacationers. 

Historically, I’d venture that they are direct decedents of D&D dorks. Without exception.

The very worst offenders, having leapt from the edge and lost to us forever, are likely civil war battle reenactors, spending their huge tech salaries on uniform and armament minutiae.
I guarantee-damn-tee they are hitting that douche flute habitually.

Of course, that is all total horseshit.
I am not direct decedents of anyone that’s even heard of D&D, I don’t LARP or live with my Mom and I most certainly do not battle reenact (though do own and look for occasions to rock my kilt).
And recently started vaping.

Please don’t misunderstand, I would never consider doing it outside the confines and privacy of my home. 

No, it’s a simple, traditional looking pipe.
Not any steampunk contraption I saw hanging from the walls and in the display cases I saw at the shop where I had to, horrifyingly, patronise in order to get the juice for it.

I got it as a curiosity, really.
My Friend Jim smokes a pipe and having fond memories of my Fathers habit, I thought I’d try this variation and, honestly, there is something to it.
Though I couldn’t say what exactly.acolorstory

I already smoke and have no interest in stopping so it’s not in hopes of a substitute.
I don’t inhale the vapor and, even if I did, I opted for the nicotine-free juice anyway. So there’s no connection there in my nicotine addiction.

I think I just like sitting in my corner chair, reading, drinking coffee and puffing away on this device that has immediate and dramatic results.
Say nothing of the little light the glows where there would be tobacco embers.

If I worry at all that it’s part of some metamorphic altering in my persona, that I work in tech, live in the Bay Area and call a host of avowed communists Friends…it’s that I have also adopted a bi-weeky endeavour with my Boy, Jack Lloyd Clark III (Trey for short, the Third, get it?) and others to play The Game of Thrones board game, the D&D version of Risk.

Need I worry?
Looking for a Friend.

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