Once when I was at an age at which I was embarrassingly old enough to have known better, I feigned "coolness" by taking drags out of the end of my pen like it was one of those foreign, long, skinny black cigarettes that was all the rage in some exotic country like Italy.
But I ****** too hard, and instead of sampling a taste of ink-flavored air, I dove headfirst into the real thing--
which is to say, that I tried not to laugh for the next few days lest anyone catch a glimpse of my ink-stained tongue and think that my love for calamari was anything other than platonic.