THOSE IN NEED OF CANING

On the whole, many of the cigar smokers of my acquaintance are a skeevy lot, and seem to be in love with Sarah Huckabee Sanders. They believe everything that comes out of her mouth, and worship her truths.

Arthur, Daniel, David, Richard, and Jeffrey.

That isn't even mentioning the troglodytes at two places downtown.


I would claim that pipe-smokers are saner and more balanced, and actually capable of reading, except I know far too many smokers of aromatics to go there. Aromatics are often a sign of loose morals and bad personal choices, much like cheap drugstore aftershave and medicated crotch ointment. It's like saying "hi, I'm a sailor, I dress in women's clothing, and my yappy lapdog Mr. Floofles is my best friend".

Say 'hi' to Mr. Floofles.

Jeffrey in particular disappointed me, in that he supports Trump's decision to screw over the Kurds and our other allies, and in a long whiny rant the other day went on and on about tribal societies and thousands and thousands of years, and in many of his assertions showed scant awareness of historical fact and important details. I did not bother responding seriously, because such deliberate stupidity and ignorance is not worth arguing with.
I like the man, but he's lost it. If he ever had it.

I wish I could say as much about Daniel, but all the evidence indicates deliberate stubborn evil know-nothingism on his part.

And David is beyond redemption.


All of these people would be likable, if they weren't so convinced, like Donald Trump, that they had the best brains and were right about everything.


The intelligent and reasonable cigar smokers sit out on the patio.
And avoid the lounge with its collection of dingos.




Sometimes, delusionally, I experiment with aromatic pipe tobacco myself. Latest indulgence: Samuel Gawith's Firedance Flake. Ten days ago I thought I could easily finish it within a month -- even if only by smoking it when Hector was working, just for his pained reaction -- but now I am not so sure. It's flavoured with blackberries, brandy, and vanilla, and is more disturbing the more I smoke it. Despite the fine Virginia base.

It isn't quite as degenerate as Molto Dolce, than which nothing is more indicative of debasement, but less enjoyable than either 1Q or BCA.

Marginally better than Celtic Talisman (cherry liqueur and vanilla, by Samuel Gawith), but in the same vein as PS Very Cherry and Highland Whiskey. Educational. I need a tight lacy man-thong, and so do you.
Or a long cold shower. Carbolic soap.

If I were a woman, I might look like the illustration above. I still wouldn't habitually smoke aromatics, though. No one should. It's depraved.

TOBACCO INDEX


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