Sunday, July 26, 2020


As some of you know I have to put up with cigar aficionados during my working days. Which can be stressful. Not because of the smoke -- what with myself being a pipe-smoker who occasionally dabbles in the dark side, or gets his toesies wet in the shallow-minded end of the pool when the cigar huffing yutzes have not peed too much in the water and muddied it -- and I rather enjoy being able to smoke indoors at work, because this is the coldest July I've experienced, but instead because those boys have some pretty berserk ideas, and tend toward deliberate rightwing alphaholery and iggerunce.

Still. There are moments. Sometimes there is a break in the monotonous droning of their slope-browed conversation. A breather from their regular gibbering. Which is refreshing.

Somebody talking about a cigar he was recommending to another person, who ab initio was not planning to switch brands: "it's like anal-sex with Jesus".

Which paints quite a picture does it ever oh my yes. Heavens to Betsy.
If one were to try the cigar after that, one could not ever give any feedback. Neither "yes, it's precisely like that", or "no, it's nothing at all like you said". All that you can say once you've smoked it is "yeah, decent, I guess".
It's ... okay.

"You really gotta try this cigar! You'll be surprised"

I've actually smoked the cigar in question. If that's how A.S. with J.C. is, count me the hell out. It may be heresy to say this, but I'm not enthused.
It ain't my bag. Sorry.

It isn't because I'm a bigoted -- some of my very dear and best friends are of Middle-Eastern origin -- but NO cigar is that good.

Pipe tobacco or chocolate, maybe.


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