Monday, November 10, 2014


A friend desperately needed a good cigar. His boys had been spitting at each other in the back of the car, so he cancelled the sleep-over, and frantically required a fine cheroot to calm himself down.
I could well understand why; no one expects a cat fight in the backseat. Unless they're chauffeuring The Real Housewives of Atlanta. I am a very lucky man. Not having a car, I will never be required to drive the Brides of Godzilla around town.

Aging Room Quattro F55 Concerto Sumatra Churchill

The answer to his vehicular hellzone is a box-pressed work of art with complex flavors, made of Dominican long filler and binder, with an aged Sumatra wrapper. Truly a masterpiece. It's probably the only time that being a father is rewarding for him. Given the propensity of his brats to riot and share body-fluids.

When they become teenagers, the body-fluid situation will reach epic proportions. And they may end up with "friends" who resemble Phaedra, NeNe, Kandi, Porsha, and Kenya.
Or, G-d forbid, the Kim thing.


I myself am restrained about sharing body fluids. Consequently I have not followed the extremely bad advice of well-meaning friends OR internet dating services, and have enjoyed an uncomplicated and fairly pleasant bachelor life for the last four years. No rebound boopsie, no casual dating, no badly thought-out relationships. No fits of recriminatory screaming.
And absolutely no actual contact with a woman.
I forgotten what they feel like.

There has been no need whatsoever for hand sanitizer.

I actually do like women, but it's more of an abstract thing, an elusive intellectual conceit, if you will. The actuality, as is evident in San Francisco, suggests that I might not be romantically inclined.

I have not met anyone to whom I would wish to extend the invitation to come on over with a book; we can read in near-silence for several hours, have a cup of tea or two, and perhaps go out for pastry.

I've got a throw-rug you can borrow if you're cold.
Do feel free to doze for a while in the quiet.
Just say when you want to wake up.

In last fifty months I've seen one good friend strike-out on two arranged situations that were intended to result in marriage, another (female) date an entire string of 'dudes', and a middle-aged woman scream that she wanted Young! Serbian! Men! Now!

As well as mismatchings and bad choices galore among the twenty-somethings who have taken over the world.

Any of those things would drive me to cigar-smoking also.

All of the cigar-smokers I know are either in relationships, or insane. Many are both. I'm making all kinds of assumptions.
I am a pipe-smoker, and unattached.
As well as completely sane.
That's a plus.

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