A Smoke Fiend Has Stolen All the Smoke in Atlanta!

A demonic smoke fiend has stolen all the smoke in the city of Atlanta to use for his flamboyant and theatrical smoke show!

Jason Pierce Mallory
Scene and Song
Published in
9 min readNov 30, 2017

Admittedly, the show is very good, with many unbelievable feats of smoke magic that will astound you. But ever since he stole all the smoke no one can get high, enjoy cigarettes, or open any hookah bars!

We asked our contributors: “How do you convince this smoke fiend to give back all our smoke so we can enjoy tobacco and weed again while also helping him maintain the quality level of his incredible smoke-themed stage show without robbing Atlanta of its smoky delights!??”

Jerad Alexander of of New York, NY writes:

Well, it looks like you managed to get away with it. I saw it all happen on video this morning. You took the smoke of the city and blew up the stadium, the old stadium, the dome, the Georgia Dome. You robbed all the smoke from the weird alleys in East Atlanta Village and tucked away in all the corners and crevices of Little Five Points. (Now I hear the Yacht Club smells like nicotine decay and the dead skin of vampires. Thanks for that.) You sucked the nightclub exhaust from the parking lots around MJQ, The Bookhouse Pub, and god-help-us The Clairemont Lounge. You jacked all the vape clouds and American Spirit redolence that gets pressed under the awning and around the dim lights of The Local on a humid summer evening. You blew into a money bag all the marijuana haze that curlicues down Boulevard and Moreland and all the hustle around downtown. All the joy of a good stoned evening, a warm fire pit, or the sweet hair-curl afterburn of a charcoal barbecue… Gone to MARTA northbound and Down. You stole it and moved it all to Cobb County, where the Great Whites live, the #MAGAs and the Red Hatters, up to Trump Country, so they can pack it into their fat, brown cigars rolled by cheap labor and oversold at strip malls near Golden Corral, so they can pack our smoke into all the money they’ll burn on bad beer and “CDs” of mid-aught rock music as they hide behind the metaled perimeters of their gates communities and the monster castle walls of their whites-only Shangri-la they refer to as “America.” And then, to make it sting one final bit, when you blew it all up, you blocked our view of it with a goddamn MARTA bus, and probably going the wrong way, too.

But it’s fine. Everything’s fine. I know a woman who makes weed lollipops. Next time I’m in town I might buy a few and walk down Ponce and see how far we get. Maybe we’ll get the to the end. Whatever. . . As long as it’s quiet.

Julian Modugno of Atlanta, Ga writes:

The solution to this problem is a simple one and as with most problems can be solved through the judicious use of municipal government. As such, I’d like to introduce City Ordinance #17-O-6969 also known as the “Give Us Back Our Smoke, Snoke!” This has nothing to do with the mysterious villain Snoke from the new Star Wars trilogy but municipal law needs a little pizzazz and nothing says pizzazz quite like some cross promotion with “The Last Jedi” in theaters December 15th, 2017. This ordinance BANS the use of all real smoke in ANY and ALL theatrical performances inside the city limits, effectively eliminating the point of the smoke fiend’s thefts.

From here, it’s just a matter of obtaining the appropriate bribes to grease the wheels of the municipal government and get our city council members on board. For Keisha Lance Bottoms, an entire set of oversized ribbon cutting scissors for whatever ribbon cutting she wants to insert herself into. For Mary Norwood, it’s a gold-plated MAGA hat that, with the push of a button, flips around and says “I BELIEVE WHAT YOU BELIEVE” instead of “Make America Great Again.” For the rest of the city council members, we provide their favorite thing of all: taxpayer money that they can blow on sending out re-election notices AND some tickets to the midnight release of “The Last Jedi” in theaters December 15th, 2017.

But have no fear, theatrical smoke aficionados. This doesn’t have to mean the end to hazy performances of derring-do. Article III section 4 of ordinance #17-O-6969 funds the retraining and allocation of twenty vape artists for whatever theatrical performance needs smoke effects. I’m talking all the best vape tricks: hazy double helix, tiny cheerios, rings in rings, the vaped crusader, and that trick where you vape through the big dangly ear lobe where your massive plug used to be but you had to take it out because it kept getting infected.

The City of Atlanta has a long and devoted commitment to the arts dating all the way back to June of 2017 and we are certain that this ordinance can keep our smoke-themed shows going strong, while protecting the health of those in the audience and letting everyone at home smoke all the sweet ganj they need to get through the hellscape of modern life. Also the ordinance bans all hookah bars in the city because gross you guys, that’s how herpes gets spread.

Greg Behrens of Atlanta, Ga writes:

Considering our constant roadside vehicle and apartment complex fires, anything with the capacity to pull all the smoke from Atlanta is truly powerful indeed. But if there’s one thing I know that smoke fiends hold in even higher regard than flamboyant theatrics, it’s flamboyant compromise. Much like Jeff Dunham needs some puppets to sell his racist homophobia, we all know the fiend needs some smoke to sell his magic, but he doesn’t need all of it, that’s just greedy.

So first off all incidental pollutant smoke can go directly to the fiend, i.e. anything residual from say dome implosions or bridge collapses. All restaurants will now send their excess smoke directly to the fiend, except for the Cookout locations, that’s ours to smell. As far as hookah bars are concerned, they’re easily the most stupid smoke producers but the frivolity involved should really help the magic show, so they’re all his. We get to keep all the cigarette and marijuana smoke while he is welcome to all of it second hand, and according to most propaganda it is equally if not more powerful than the first hand stuff. In fact to sweeten the deal, every Sunday morning, the fiend can go suck all the leftover smoke out of the Clermont Lounge, the Star Bar and East Atlanta Village. That alone should be more than a sufficient amount to create a magic show that could rival anything Criss Angel could do.

Jack Walsh of Atlanta, Ga writes:

Mr. SmokeFiend, as a discerning fan of strong-smelling vapors, I feel that you are a prime candidate for expanding into the exciting and growing field of aromatherapy. I can see you are skeptical. But let me tell you a story.

My former employer occasionally used a freelancer whose true passion was essential oils. She talked about this every time she came in, and the scented cloud that surrounded her like an miasmatic forcefield further attested to this. My nose and I tried to give her a fairly wide berth, but I managed to overhear that she had pursued some lofty, higher qualification in the field and was now a fully-licensed aromatherapist.

I didn’t realize, however, that this credential gave her some sort of James Bondesque License to Spritz. One day, she told me that I looked tired. This, of course, is up there along with “Smile” among Things One Just Loves To Be Told. But, I conceded that, yes, I was a bit tired and left it at that.

A few moments later, she came up and, without warning, dabbed either side of my neck with an essential oil that was supposed to stimulate me. Indeed, I was very stimulated in a way that can only come from the anger generated by such olfactory molestation, and I spent the rest of the day smelling like a potpourri basket’s butthole.

What I’m saying is: think of the power you could wield. You don’t need our noxious smoke when you could have rosemary essential oil for waking up, ylang ylang for memory, bergemot for relaxing, or lavender for, I dunno, juicifying your Thetans. Can I set you up with a starter assortment? We have an excellent multi-level marketing plan, and if you convince your fiends to become distributors…sorry did I say “fiends?” I meant “friends,” of course. Oh, you prefer “fiends?” Cool! Cool like the way your clients will feel after applying peppermint oil, in fact! Here, let’s just look at this brochure for a sec.

*sucker-dabs SmokeFiend’s pulse-points with wild orange oil, runs away with Atlanta’s smoke.*

Adam Lowe of Atlanta, Ga writes:

You ignorant mortals think this is just about smoke? Hookah Bars? FOOLS! This is about resurrecting our Master! For a full week and a half we have we have worked more or less every day in the shadows to bring about His beautiful demonic birth. All the planning! The sacrifice! The errands that required us to go OTP! Robert even gave up his Bocce Thursday. But it was worth it. And now we, His children, will receive His dark, sulfuric blessing.

The smoke released by the Georgia Dome’s glorious explosion is what sealed Atlanta’s fate, of course, but don’t think for a moment that it ends with the sacrifice of a single Atlantan landmark. On the contrary, the Gang of Emerging New Tourists Renting In Flocks In Fulton County/Atlanta Totally Is Ours Now (GENTRIFIC/ATION) has been working to bring about the cloudy demise of Atlanta’s most beloved landmarks.

Of course, we were nearly undone by the work of our nemeses, the Moms Against Resurrecting The Abyssal (MARTA), but by His will they arrived too late! Now He is free to wreak havoc and stage impressive smoke and laser shows to rival Stone Mountain’s! And before you ask, no, we aren’t destroying Stone Mountain. Our Master LOVES penny press machines and will never get over losing the War of Northern Aggression.

And while you suffer…and oh, how you will suffer…we will dance and worship at His cloven, soot-spackled feet. Each new smoke show venue will spring from the ashes of your old beloved haunts. Fox Theatre? Smoke show venue. El Myr? Also smoke show venue. Highland Ballroom? Do I smell a smoke show?

Card-carrying members of GENTRIFIC/ATION always get discounted tickets and backstage passes. The rest of you may stand outside the gates and pray to your ineffectual gods/zoning offices. Or you can join us now and be assigned a glorious place behind His merch table.

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