Old Goat
Administrator
Brothers. Sisters. Foglords. Dripmonks. Heretics. And those among us who still insist that blue raspberry ice is a personality trait.
It has been many months since the Old Goat last ascended the Pulpit of Fog.
Some among the congregation began to wonder:
Others whispered:
And a few particularly uncharitable souls suggested:
But hear me now, children of the Coil.
The Old Goat had not abandoned the flock.
For lo, I had fallen victim to a great affliction known to all vapers:
One morning, I prepared to depart for the lands of Labour and Questionable Management Decisions. I reached for my Sacred Mod, as is the custom.
And it was not there.
I searched the kitchen.
I searched the couch.
I searched the bathroom, for the ways of the vaper are mysterious.
I searched the car.
I searched the car a second time, with greater conviction.
Yet still, the Sacred Mod remained hidden.
Panic took hold.
My hands trembled.
The Nic-Spirit stirred within me.
I cried unto the Ohm Lord:
And the heavens were silent.
Hours passed.
Despair grew.
Dark thoughts entered my mind.
For a fleeting moment, I looked upon a gas station disposable and thought:
But the Coil strengthened me.
I resisted.
And then, as evening fell, the Holy Spirit of Absent-Mindedness departed, and I discovered the Sacred Mod exactly where it had always been:
In my own hand.
For I had carried it with me all day.
Such is the power of habit.
And thus the Ohm Lord spoke:
Let this be a lesson to all.
Before accusing the children.
Before accusing thy spouse.
Before emptying the entire contents of thy vehicle onto the driveway.
First check:
Go forth, children of the Fog.
Keep thy batteries charged.
Keep thy cotton saturated.
And should thou misplace thy mod, remember:
It is probably closer than thou thinkest.
A-ohm.
It has been many months since the Old Goat last ascended the Pulpit of Fog.
Some among the congregation began to wonder:
Others whispered:
And a few particularly uncharitable souls suggested:
But hear me now, children of the Coil.
The Old Goat had not abandoned the flock.
For lo, I had fallen victim to a great affliction known to all vapers:
The Forgetting.
One morning, I prepared to depart for the lands of Labour and Questionable Management Decisions. I reached for my Sacred Mod, as is the custom.
And it was not there.
I searched the kitchen.
I searched the couch.
I searched the bathroom, for the ways of the vaper are mysterious.
I searched the car.
I searched the car a second time, with greater conviction.
Yet still, the Sacred Mod remained hidden.
Panic took hold.
My hands trembled.
The Nic-Spirit stirred within me.
I cried unto the Ohm Lord:
And the heavens were silent.
Hours passed.
Despair grew.
Dark thoughts entered my mind.
For a fleeting moment, I looked upon a gas station disposable and thought:
But the Coil strengthened me.
I resisted.
And then, as evening fell, the Holy Spirit of Absent-Mindedness departed, and I discovered the Sacred Mod exactly where it had always been:
In my own hand.
For I had carried it with me all day.
Such is the power of habit.
And thus the Ohm Lord spoke:
Let this be a lesson to all.
Before accusing the children.
Before accusing thy spouse.
Before emptying the entire contents of thy vehicle onto the driveway.
First check:
- Thy hand.
- Thy pocket.
- The top of thy mod.
- The pocket thou hast already checked three times.
- The refrigerator, for reasons known only unto the Ohm Lord.
Go forth, children of the Fog.
Keep thy batteries charged.
Keep thy cotton saturated.
And should thou misplace thy mod, remember:
It is probably closer than thou thinkest.
A-ohm.