"Oh twanny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling......" its a song fitting in many ways. i think its originally about death, and i'm supposed to be dying to (or from?) the pipes and forgetting about them.. but then again, they're really calling me! of course it doesn't help when i come to my bedroom and am attacked with the aroma of smoked maple street. pure heaven!! and then i look over at my desk seeing tins and used pipe cleaners, and even my golf tee with a burnt end that i use as a tamper.. hehe, my paraphernalia... and then of course i get on PSF to check for updates on those wanting my pipes, and people are more concerned about losing me than taking my pipes.. i continue to browse around "for the heck of it", and read about Ed's cobless weekend, and it makes me regret never smoking a cob. in short, IM DEPRESSED!!!