Words of Wisdom

No Joy From ‘Playing House’ With Fake Dip

Live Free Or Die KillTheCanI put nearly 1,000 miles on my Harley this weekend and less than two hours from home is where my story begins. Do not worry, this is not a cave story. I pulled in for fuel and was looking for something to throw in my mouth while driving. I was about to buy gum when I saw the SMC (smoky mountain chew – ie: fake dip). I thought I would try it. It has no nicotine and maybe throwing in a dip while riding my geezer glide down a lonely stretch of road would feel pretty good. I did the familiar edge of my tooth as a can opener trick to break the seal and threw a leg over. I piled in a big fatty and hit the road. I expected waves of nostalgia as I had the thrust out lip, the increased saliva and the slightly bitter taste in my mouth. Instead, I was transported in my mind to a time I have long since moved past. It flooded me with memories of anger and resentment. Of tears when I felt too weak to stay quit. Of the depression that took hold when I would not own my own quit and wanted to blame others for my misery. I got no joy from “playing house” with fake dip. I got sadness for years and money I threw away. Why would I give positive memories to something that only took from me, never gave back? It did one thing for me. It reminded me so strongly of how far I have come. I took nearly two years to actually feel like a former dipper. I fought daily for well over a year and honestly close to two. I wanted to give up but I did not want to be weak. I do not remember when I finally stopped blaming others and decided this was all about me, but I know it happened. I went through the darkest time in my marriage then. I lost friends and hated the medication I was on. I am done with this.

Five miles down the road I formed my finger into the familiar hook shape – it’s amazing how muscle memory comes rushing back – and flung the lip turd down the highway. I reached in my pocket and winged that retched tin down the road as well. Not exactly ethical disposal, but I needed it gone. Riding is about freedom. I felt free as I pondered my experience will spitting little bits of crap out that my tongue pulled out of my teeth. I leaned back, set the cruise and enjoyed the rest of my ride home as a free man. I probably couldn’t afford my Harley if I was still dipping. Dip would cost more than my loan payment and insurance combined now. I’m much happier calling myself a biker than a dipper. Live free or die brothers and sisters. No dip for me today, not ever.

NOTE: This piece written by KillTheCan.org forum member tamado

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  1. Ugh. I have been having cravings the last couple days. I have hardly thought about dip in more than a year and here I am 1199 days quit and I just placed an order for the fake stuff because I am afraid that I’ll start using again. I am going through with the order even though it might be playing house. I hope it can help me through this crave.

  2. That’s good bread, right there! Funny about the muscle memory thing. I ate a peach recently and “packed” the pit like an old cat turd. My tongue, almost like it was on auto pilot, started pushing it around just like old days…the old days where I had no real sense of taste, couldn’t really feel my tongue even when I bit it, and my mouth constantly tasted like the inside of full port-a-john on a 100° day. Yeah, those were the “good” old days…

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