God, I hate joss-sticks. Dirty smelly things. I cannot understand why anyone this side of Hell would willingly light one. I swear the slightest exposure burns the nasal passages of anyone not equipped with green scales, a long tail and wings. At least napalm has the decency to market itself as a weapon. And the damn smell, no it’s not perfume, lingers so oppressively, it feels like you’ve been dipped in it. And you can’t stub them out. Oh no. No siree. No subtle snuffing while the host’s back is turned. The ember disappears then, whoof, alight again, like one of those bloody joke candles. They’re made of some inextinguishable material that once lit burns in perpetuity. It might be fissile. And somehow, in direct contradiction to most of the laws of physics, the wispy smoke trail immediately impregnates every room in the house. It drives me mad. Still, at least the name makes sense.
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