KDs are designed/developed/inspired/mused/auto-suggested/indigested to make folks think; an especially uncommon experience among Democrats, Republicans, and jingoistic mainline denominationalists who continue to discourage dissent with their ever-threatening thought police.
When asked to define worship, my dissertation advisor Dr. Donald Macleod - author of the most concise, clear, and yet comprehensive book ever written on the subject unfortunately titled Presbyterian Worship: Its Meaning and Method because it weaves the role of homiletics into liturgy in ways that are far more ecumenical than parochial as he blends the why and how of worship – would often quote Richard Davidson: “Common worship is what we say and what we do when we stand together before God, realizing in high degree who He is and who we are.”
Recalling how he fleshed out that definition in several classes that I took from him in seminary and then those many one-on-one sessions after seminary when he was my advisor with some insights from countless others along with personal investigations and, I pray, inspirations, I have come to define worship like this: “Worship is what we say and do when we stand together before God realizing in high degree who He is, who we are, and what He has done for us and for our salvation by grace through faith in Jesus. Worship is ascribing our absolutely highest attention, allegiance, and affection to God alone with a pledge of gratitude to pray and work to be His in all things at all times in all places with all people. True worship generates sanctification or the process of becoming increasingly holy or distinguishably His as personified in Jesus and prescribed by Holy Scripture.”
That’s what I’ve told my students and anyone else who may be interested; pero I’ve never stopped there.
I understand worship as an opportunity for an intimacy with God that enables, as Oswald Chambers wrote in My Utmost for His Highest (January 7), that “strong calm sanity” never needing sympathy or company while compelling a gratefully sanctifying passion or increasing desire for holiness that hungers and thirsts for more and more and more intimacy with God to produce more and more and more trust in God’s providence expressed through existentially practical obedience.
Or something like that.
That’s probably why nobody reads my books.
So let me turn to David who wrote the worship book of the Bible called Psalms and some men who have always been dedicated to the Bible as their compass in worship.
Simply stated in the words of the psalmist, “God inhabits the praises of His people” (22:3).
Then there was Ev, Coach, David, and Don who met regularly at Cuppa Joe’s in Belvidere, Illinois. While horrifying the grammar police, they described increasing intimacy with God as producing “more better” followers of Jesus. Admitting becoming pure and perfect in every way will never happen, which is why we need Jesus to save us from our impurities and imperfections by grace through faith, they concluded it is possible and expected by God that we will become increasingly holy or sanctified or “more better” through worship complemented by other spiritual disciplines like going regularly to the sacramental table, devotional Bible study, stewardship, fasting, and fellowship with believers.
Unfortunately, even as we become “more better” for Christ’s sake, we will not be immune to the irregularity, irascibility, and irreconcilability of fallen humanity; and too often, with all apologies to God for wolves in sheep’s clothing, the meanness, madness, misery, and miscreance of life in the modern world seems overwhelming in church as well as society.
While we’d expect pewsitters and pulpiteers to be “better” than the worldly, we know that’s too often not the case; and Dan Pope, the faithful pastor of Belvidere’s Open Bible Church, and I were shocked by one of his friends who said, “Just imagine how bad some people in your church would be if they weren’t pretending to be Christians.”
Ouch.
I think of my Freudian professor who warned, “Problem people in churches are usually constipated. That’s why they dump on you.”
Parenthetically, if you’re interested, that’s why millennials are especially turned off by churches dominated by preceding generations. Every study of millennial believers says they just won’t be part of churches that feud more than fellowship, gossip more than gather, and act like they’re politicians in Springfield or DC. So they switch not fight.
Winston Churchill often said we must have the courage to be candid within a collaborative context to prevail over darkness; or as William Taylor, a street preacher in Rockford likes to say, “You can’t fix what you won’t face.”
Psalm 7 is honest to God about our divisions, dysfunctions, and dependence upon Him to make things better.
David begins like the Beatles: “Help! I need somebody. Help! Not just anybody. Help! You know I need someone. Help!”
“Oh God, I seek refuge in You…Save me from my pursuers…Rescue me…If they catch me, I’ll be ripped to shreds and finished,” he prays.
While he knows he’s not pure and perfect in every way as we know by reading other psalms, he’s trying. He’s praying and working to be a “more better” believer: “Let them have me if I haven’t tried to be Yours…I’ve always wanted to be yours or wanted to want to be yours or wanted to want to want to be Yours or…You know that….But if I haven’t, and you know my heart, then let them trample me to the ground and leave me in the dust.”
“So,” he continues, “rise up and help/deliver/save me…Crush those who have no devotion or thought or concern or consciousness of You…Be Judge!…Close the book on evil!…I know You will!”
Even while feeling overwhelmed by all of the evil-speaking and evil-doing in the world directed at him and other believers, he concludes in praise and thanks to the One who always helps/delivers/saves the faithful sooner or later, usually sooner than later, and definitely in the end: “My shield is God who saves those with hearts for Him…not pure and perfect in every way but ‘more better’ than those who don’t give a hoot about God and want to be ‘more better’ and keep praying and working to be ‘more better.’”
The psalm concludes like Tony Campolo often concluded a sermon: “I’ve peeked at the end of the book. God wins!!!”
David: “I will thank the Lord!…I’m thanking God who makes things right!…I’m singing the fame of God!…I will sing about His salvation!”
Believers have no doubts about who wins in the end.
God and the Godly!
Getting back to Dan Pope, he was lamenting the other day, “Some people look like they’ve been sucking on lemons all their lives.”
Yeah, I see that; but not among people who are praying and trying to be “more better” in gratitude for His existential and eternal graces through faith in Jesus.
Paul says it so well: “If God is for us, who can be against us?…Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ!…Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!”
@#$%
Blessings and Love!
@#$%
Shatter the sound of silence!
Wake up! Look up! Stand up! Speak up! Act up for Jesus!
While completing an ultimately worthless degree back in the early 80s, a Freudian shrink and professor reported one of the only useful things that’s stayed with me since: “Problem people in churches are usually constipated. That’s why they dump on you.”
Apocalyptic!
A few years after that, I received a letter from one of my first students during my tenure as an adjunct professor of homiletics at Kansas City’s Nazarene Theological Seminary.
Parenthetically, he remains among the top four or five preachers that I’ve heard in my entire life. When he preached in class, I almost felt like saying, “I’m not worthy to take off your sandals. Though you come to me, I need to be baptized by you.”
O.K., that’s a little a little over the top in a hyperbolic kinda way; but I think you catch the drift.
He was uncommonly gifted.
The letter broke my heart.
Another broken heart came to mind.
Matthew 23:37-39.
Summarily, he quit.
He left the ministry because he was tired of constipated pewsitters dumping on him about his wife’s whatever, children’s whatever, where they ate, the kind of car that he drove, where they vacationed, the kind of clothes that he wore, the length of his hair, his moustache, and…whatever.
God knows I’ve seen too much of that over the years.
I’m blessed to be a Psalm 62, 91, Matthew 10:16, and Philippians 4:10-14 kinda parson.
That’s how He’s enabled me to survive for so long with no end in sight; apart from assassination by an Islamofascistnutball savage or someone still mad at me for taking the church away from her/him and giving it back to Jesus not to mention Grandpa Jacob’s cancer genes.
I’ve also learned how to distract constipated pewsitters from bothering me about my family and small/incidental/minor stuff around the church like, uh, well, uh, you know; and if you don’t, you’ve been spending too much time in Colorado’s medicine shops.
The Nazirite cure for constipation.
Before getting to the cure, here are signs of the disease.
●An inflated sense of self-betrayed by thinking everyone just can’t wait to hear her/his opinion on stuff; forgetting opinions are like ___ and everybody’s got one;
●Unashamed and unseemly selfishness and sense of entitlement; thinking what she/he thinks, feels, and wants is more important than anyone else’s thoughts, feelings, and desires;
●Too much time on her/his hands; and
●Incapable of dealing with really big/important/major stuff, she/he
tries to control small/incidental/minor stuff in a speck-inspecting-log-ignoring-auto-suggesting hallucination.
My version of the Nazirite cure is to ride a Harley, combust fumas, prefer manly vehicles for comfort/utility and protest America’s damning feminization, and encourage people to gossip with scowls, scorns, slander, and disdain about the length of my facial hair.
I figure if the constipated dump on me, they won’t dump on each other as much and we can live happily…every…now and then.
Getting the cure from Numbers 6 and even my mom and dad in a 1 Samuel 1 kinda way, I’ve been hanging in for a long time.
Pero I’ll wager in a Christian kinda way that I’ll be ZZ Topped before most are cured.
@#$%
Blessings and Love!
@#$%
Shatter the sound of silence!
Wake up! Look up! Stand up! Speak up! Act up for Jesus!
I've just been slammed with high maintenance types who are OCD about their deodorants keeping 'em dry all day long and Prince Charles walking the babe down the aisle along with saints who keep going back home to Jesus without consulting my calendar.
Anyway, I just spent some time at Bad Ash Cigars in Oregon, Illinois with Judge, Packman, and Sheepdog.
Open since January 2018, it's awesome!
Barry, the main man on campus, may be the most knowledgeable as well as customer friendly cigar snob that I've ever met; and while most fuma lounges are as dark, dank, cloudy, and cluttered as an opium den in the Middle East or Rockford, BAC is the most pleasingly ventilated, climate-controlled, and appealing oasis of the culture that I've experienced since, uh, the back porch.
With a great selection, gentle pricing, and totally winsome attitude and atmosphere, it's worth the trip(s).
Judge, Packman, and Sheepdog plan to park their ponies in that barn throughout the summer and...
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (18)
I must be missing something.
After over four decades of counseling mostly frustrated males whose wives have lost interest in you know who/what in direct violation of 1 Corinthians 7 that, surprisingly, even evangelical, fundamental, and Pentecostal women seem to ignore more than "unchurched" women flirting with the dark side, I'm always stunned by wives rarely though increasingly husbands who can't figure out why their husbands are gettin' what they ain't gettin' at home from someone somewhere else.
Actually, a very conservative Christian woman once said to me, "Obviously, Paul said that about sex. He's a man."
So much for Biblical authority/inspiration.
I won't even bring up my favorite book in 8th grade sandwiched between Ecclesiastes and Isaiah.
There are lots of people who say they follow Jesus by the book as long as He agrees with 'em.
Look at mainline denominations as the poster child of that horizontal theology.
Uh, anyway, that's why I must be missing something with the plethora of those ED ads.
Who the heaven needs that stuff because from what I hear...?
Well, the preceding is supposed to be a segue to re-hydrating fumas.
If you've neglected the counsel in #10 or a well-meaning-non-snob has given a fuma as brittle as Comey's ego to you, here are a few tips on massaging 'em back to life:
1. First, remember, in a Roberta Flack kinda way, it'll never be as good as it was when receiving meticulous and consistent attention;
2. Don't let 'em, uh, get, uh, dry in the first place;
3. Disregarding previous metaphorical references in this alert, never do anything that will cause your fuma to get wet because that could lead to mold and mold is the VD of tobacco;
4. Put 'em in a freezer bag with drenched cloths - don't let 'em touch through the night like some wives who... - until they pass the pinch test;
5. I've heard some snobs put 'em in an open freezer bag - pero steam not liquid, uh, reinvigorates the stick - on a shower shelf and keep showering with 'em until they're, uh, moistening;
6. When you buy 'em, put 'em in a humidor and pay attention to the tips in #10; and
7. Don't forget it's a slow process to, uh, uh, uh,...
Tautologically, fumas require constant attention to stay up to the standards of cigar snobs like us.
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (16)
Etiquette.
Some people are just ignorant.
You know what I mean.
The train of common sense and courtesies has left the station and they ain't on it.
Victims of poor potty training or just being a few fries short of a happy meal or something, they're easy to spot because they're so dang, uh, ignorant.
They don't take off their hats in restaurants, please and thank you aren't in their vocabs, the ladies before gentlemen ethic is as alien to them as appeal when it comes to Joy Behar, and they belch, fart, and pick their noses in public.
Then there's cellular harassment.
Talk about ignorant buttwads.
At a recent funeral in our church, cellulars went off several times and interrupted the service.
Parenthetically, the miscreants were former members of the church who giggled when their opiod substitutes went off which reminded me that they were/are so ignorant that I had to take the church away from them and give it back to Jesus because they are so dang, uh, ignorant.
Really, the family and friends of the dearly departed don't want to hear somebody's ringtone of "Goodbye, Earl!" or "This is the End" or "Sweet Home Alabama" during a reading of Psalm 23; and it's rather gauche to hear "Send in the Clowns" or "Why Don't We Do It In the Road" or "Let's Give Them Something to Talk About" during weddings; though I can just see behind the smiles of some brides as they're singing to themselves in remembrance of "romance" that often ends during vows at the steps of the chancel, "This will be the last time. This will be the last time. May be the last time I don't know..."
That last quote is from the Stones if you're ignorant.
Really, being ignorant doesn't mean you're going to hell. It just means you bring a lot of it into the lives of those around you and you should dust it off and memorize Matthew 7:12.
So here are a few tips on etiquette for cigar snobs like us.
1. Don't smoke in a cage with the windows up unless you didn't want to take your spouse along in the first place.
2. Only really, really, really cheap SOBs bring their own fumas into cigar lounges and light 'em up without dropping a dime in the shop.
3. Unless you don't mind a condescending cigar snob thinking you're Anderson Cooper's new boy toy, hold your cigar between your index finger and thumb and not between your index finger and middle finger.
4. If you bite off the end of your favorite fuma in front of Anderson Cooper, you may get a puff if you know what I mean; pero everybody else will think you're about as cultured and clean as Miley Cyrus or Ashley Judd.
5. Don't Monica Lewinsky your cigar. That may be fine on a date but looks gross on the back porch and freaks out Pauline and Freudian influenced guys.
6. Cigar holders are like condoms. They may work but slow and cut down on the pleasure.
7. Don't crush and mutilate your fuma in an ashtray when you're done. Just let it die a natural death...like republican democracy and churches in America.
8. Unless you've got enough for everybody, don't say you're about to ignite a Cuban Cuban. It's like saying you're gettin' some when you know your buds ain't and you force 'em to break the 10th.
9. Even if you think it's a turd, don't say it's a turd while someone is smokin' one and appearin' to like it or gave it to you.
10. Gentlemen give cigars as gifts and always bring enough to share. I was going to say something about the late 60s and 70s pero,,,
11. If it ain't yours, don't stick it up your nose like a crack head or anything related to #5.
12. Scorning the taste buds of somebody else is like comparing your spouse to...
Yeah, I've read Emily Post and she has a lot of good things to say about a lot of stupid stuff; like, you know, how to conduct yourself in a restaurant and eat like a fag. BTW, if you look at pictures of her and read about her life with any telepathy, you'll swear her children prove the virgin birth of Jesus.
Anyway, Churchill may have said it best about etiquette: "The best argument against democracy is a five minute conversation with the average voter."
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (15)
Preface before poll.
Postponing.
Because I preside at so many funerals, I'm not into postponing.
Moretheless, while I've always thought February is the invention of poneros, especially after reading Revelation 42:66, my upper-octogenarian dad recently caught my attention when I was bantering and moaning about this annually wretched mistake in creation and wishing it were over: "Son, enjoy every day because you never know..."
Ouch.
Someday everybody will return from the funeral but you or me.
Gulp.
So I'm not into postponing.
Counseling one of the few peers left if you know what I mean, he asked what I do to relax.
He knows I never take a day off unless I'm out of town and rarely work under...
I told him that it used to be...
Then I recalled Twain who said he preferred cigars to...because they last longer and don't talk back.
Anyway, I talked about OBEs in worship and prayer, visiting family in Pennsylvania, listening to my sons and wife more than less, playing 9 with Billy, riding Return2 with my brothers, driving a truck for the short or long haul, and combusting fumas with...
Psst.
I've counseled some wives who complain about their husbands who take regular visits to Cuba; and I've said it's because they haven't taken enough trips with 'em to the tune of Solomon's song with added lyrics by the aforementioned Twain.
So here's the poll.
If an angel or its boss told you that the roll had been called up yonder pour vous, what would be resting between your index finger and thumb on the back porch?
Etiquette?
Yeah, I'll get to it; though I will be talking about "Common Courtesies" via Matthew 7:12 on Sunday at 7:20 or 9:50 in the sanctuary or via www.bnnsradio.com
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (14)
I was going to write about etiquette; but then I watched CNN, NBC, MSNBC, ABC, Fox, and CBS juxtaposed to some print rags after Trump's State of the Union and figured I'd be too tempted to say some really naughty things about Nancy, Charles, Anderson, Rachel, Chris, Maxine, Frederico, Turbin, John, Jeff, and...
Really, are they the poster children for @#$%holes or what?
What did Trump call those ungrateful-filthy-rich-for-playing-kids'-games guys who wouldn't stand for the national anthem?
Reminds me of our social-engineering antagonists who inspire recollection of a conversation between two famous shrinks who would recommend committal for 'em all.
While watching Freud smoke a fat one, Jung chirped, "Sigmund, you've said cigars are phallic symbols."
Freud: "You're right; but they're also cigars."
Parenthetically, ask yourself, "Who reminds you more of our founding mothers and fathers? 44 or 45?"
Ever read about 'em?
Ever read 'em?
You'll discover 45 not 44 or 43 or 42 or 41 is more like Adams, Hamilton, Franklin, et al than any of those spinelessly femininized wussburgers.
Hello!
We're living in the real world with real dangers and it takes more than knowing how to lead a rap group on the South Side of Chicago to preserve life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
Geez.
Sorry.
Anyway, two CSs have been telling me to turn this into a subscription blog.
Hello!
Check sales for my books.
Nada.
They've also told me along with two local clergymen - and I mean exceptionally manly male clergy who really get undershepherding in the spirit of Psalm 23 and Matthew 10:16 and wonder what the anything but heaven is happening to the BSA and its previous commitment to manly men transforming boys into men, disciples, and citizens - that I should start selling my cooked Parodi Kings (about 4+ inches with somewhere around 34 ring gauge).
Really, think about it.
I can't even generate enough dinero to dump Buddha for a 150.
Do you know how many fumas that I'd have to sell to, uh, almost anything?
That's why I assume the gentleman's approach to my cooked babies.
I present them as gifts; but more on that when I get to etiquette if not still POed at the idiots in the DNC, GOP, print and screen media.
First things first.
Confession.
You saw my 2017 ratings (12).
If not or you don't remember, scroll down and note the last few words: "...and my go-to-cook-my-own B&B-infused Parodi..."
No one puts out better cigars as cost-effectively as the Avanti Cigar Company of Scranton, Pennsylvania.
Anyone who has ever lit a Parodi knows what I'm talking about and everyone who has been blessed with my very own infused recipe has asked for more and even offered to pay bigger $ for 'em.
While I like an occasional Drew Estate infused fuma, I'm not really into candy canes and neither are my closest CSs; however, all of 'em covet more of my babies.
Parenthetically, let me tell you about Avanti.
I grew up in NE Pennsylvania and started smoking Parodi cigars when I was 19 without even knowing they have been the favorites of iconic puffers like Frank Sinatra and Francis Ford Coppola with the former heralding, "There are those who like the fresh outdoors; but give me a room filled with Parodi smoke!"
Avanti has been blending the best little 100% U.S. selected tobacco sticks since 1901 - an important or thereabouts date to H-D idolaters - when Dominic Anthony and Frank Suraci came from Italy to set up shop in Scranton and birth a legend.
Treat yourself to a trip through a big part of fuma history along with a review of their selections and an introduction to their unique process as the only producer of dry-cured cigars in America using only American-grown tobacco from Kentucky and Tennessee by clicking on www.avanticigar.com. I think you can order directly from customerservice@avanticigar.com or, at least, you'll hear about pushers near vous.
Getting back to my coveted babies, there are many ways to infuse a cigar.
Some just get a cookie sheet, dump some turds on it for some kinda reincarnation, pour their favorite booze on 'em, stack 'em in a plastic container or stuff 'em in a freezer bag, let 'em sit until they're not dripping or too damp, and light 'em up.
Others take decent but not pricey stogies, dip or drip or dab or douse or dunk 'em, stack 'em or stuff 'em, let 'em sit until they're not dripping or damp, and light 'em up.
Yo?
I go to the mothership in Scranton or Smokin' Joe's Tobacco in Wilkes-Barre when visiting the upper octogenarians, pick up 50+ for under 50, dip each end in B&B, stack 'em in a Tupperware rectangular, put a healthy shot in with 'em, let 'em sit for about three months or until every drop of the precious nectar is absorbed by the fumas, and then play gentleman and pass 'em out...while, of course, penultimately passing them through my personal quality control chef (moi).
BTW, I smoked ___'s of Parodis long before I infused 'em and they're much better than most other higher priced cigars au naturale.
Yet, if some brothers are right and I think they are 'cause I agree with 'em, my recipe takes 'em to the next level.
So, as Walter White would say, "Let's cook!"
Now that I'm feeling better and can't wait to get to the back porch and crack open that Tupperware later today, yeah, maybe etiquette next time.
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (13)
Obviously, you're among a selected few if you're getting these CSABPs; and I hope you forward 'em to those who appreciate the culture with some sneaky theology between the lines.
I've been asked how I can be so, uh, candid, confessional, confrontational, challenging, iconoclastic, snippy, snotty, and...
While I'm always eager to be corrected by Jesus, Holy Scripture, and common sense - Even about the fumas! - I also hope you never doubt my agape that I pray and labor to express through grace, mercy, forgiveness, and reconciling ambition.
Actually, once you've piled up as many pension credits as I have, it's really quite easy to reverse Bob Seger's chronology: "So you're a little bit older and a lot less bolder than you used to be!"
When you've got as many pension credits piled up as I do, there's not much that ecclesiastical superiors, inferiors, subordinates, and other dolts can do to you.
Finally, I can really live how I counsel young pastors and just about anybody else: "You're damned if you do and damned if you don't. How liberating! If you're damned if you and damned if you don't, you may as well do what you heaven well think is the right thing to do according to Jesus by the book!"
On the local scene, because retirement is for people who hate their vocations or aren't able to do it anymore for emotional or physical challenges and make people around them as miserable as they are becoming, I'd have no problems turning in the keys if the church wanted somebody else with a warning that, for the most part with exceptions to the rule that I wrote about in the most current www.koppdisclosure.com, millennials, GenXers, and most baby boomers have the work ethic of blood hounds. I put in at least 70 hours a week; and though I know I will never meet the unrealistic expectations of some for a BFF, champion, paramour, liberal/conservative bigot, or whatever the anything but heaven's on their minds, yeah, go ahead if you think you can find someone who will love and care for you better than moi.
That's not arrogant.
That's fact.
Of course, never take on the church kitchen ladies.
I keep telling young pastors and male members/staff/officers to be careful with 'em.
Yeah, they talk too much and have hyper-control needs and have this my-way-or-the-highway attitude about 'em; but they work harder than the men in the church, always get things done, and pay the bills. Besides, you don't have to argue with them about much because they're always arguing among themselves.
So if you're still reading, let me tell you something else about our snobby culture.
It's mostly a guy thing; but there are exceptions.
CSABPs are mostly for manly men and those very, very, very few and decreasing #s of American women who still want manly men in the chair, between the sheets, and in the lead rather than, uh, guys like Obama, Anderson, Mitch, Lindsey, Joe, Chris, Michael, Marilyn Manson, and...
You know what I'm talking about; and if you don't, you've been smoking more than fumas or overdosed on PC Kool-Aid.
So here's a CSABP truism for CSs who can handle the truth with the colonel.
While there are female posers on iron ponies and collared women in pulpits and hotties or notties lighting up stogies to make whatever kinda Helen Reddy or Ashley Judd statement that's igniting 'em, never underestimate the authentic women on bikes, in robes, and settlin' in with a favorite fuma.
And, psst, let's be honest.
When you've got a woman who is authentically riding and waxing and puffing and..., it's, uh, gulp, sigh, be careful, don't say anything right now as the pendulum goes way left, uh,...really...sexy.
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (12)
Life is too short to smoke turds.
So let's talk about ratings.
Like women, fumas come in all shapes and sizes and colors and emotives; but the most important thing is taste.
Uh, like women, uh, gauge, length, binder or wrapper or filler origins, or, uh, even price don't matter as much as, uh, the, uh, satisfaction of the experience.
Probably the most sophisticated rating system has been developed by CA; and though I really, really, really like the rag, sometimes its ratings are subjectively if not suspiciously related to their advertisers.
It's like some churches.
Bigger givers get more attention.
It's the truth.
Ergo, let's give a pass to CA.
Still, let's start with another truism.
Your treasure may be somebody else's turd and vice versa.
For example, there's only one RP that I like and I really, really, really like it: Special Reserve Sun Grown Maduro.
The rest of 'em, in my estimation disputed even by my friends, are overrated.
Be that as it is, here's how I rate my fumas:
1. Money is not a factor! I've smoked some really expensive pieces of ___ and I've smoked some really inexpensive sticks that are consistently satisfying. If you let money dictate your preferences, it means you're as superficial as Christian posers who think fancy buildings, big endowments, preachers with worthless degrees and finely adorned vestments with appointed/accentuated stripes, and other idolatries somehow equate to authenticity, substance, and satisfaction;
2. While I have never smoked anything better than a Cohiba Behike and covet a Partagas Lusitania, give me any Padron over any Cuban Punch or anything exported by Villager. In other words, Habana Cuba on the band doesn't guarantee an orgasmic oasis;
3. While fumas smoke in thirds with each being a little to distinctly different from the preceding or following, I have given up on any of 'em that aren't totally satisfactory because I'm not into any part of my life being 30% turd;
4. Though some of my favorites require massaging and an occasional hook, pick, or drill, I prefer a full and easy draw with an even burn and get PO'ed if I have to keep reaching for ignition;
5. I've never been inclined to masochism, sadism, or auto-suggestion; meaning if it doesn't taste good in my mouth, through my nose, and when I'm twirling it with my tongue, it's outta here;
6. Ever sit next to someone with BO? Ever have someone come forward for the sacrament with bad breath? Ever visit an 8th grade lockerroom? Ever been to Fisherman's Wharf? If I can't get past the smell, I ain't gonna put it in my mouth or take a swipe at it with my tongue;
7. If you like it, who cares about the ash? I know some folks have fetishes about ashes. Not me. Some folks say a white ash is better than a grey or brown ash. Not me. It's all about taste and satisfaction;
8. However, if you see white powder on your fuma before ignition, chill out. It's O.K. It's plume or the excretion of tobacco oils. Wipe it off and light'er up. Note Bene! If you see a bluish stain or coloring on it, not even a condom will protect you. Stay away from it! It's mold! Sometimes even something that's seductive is riddled with disease;
9. Big veins or little veins don't matter either. It's about performance;
10. Tightly packed or loosely packed or burning too hot or not hot enough or burning too fast or not fast enough or... See the conclusion in #9;
11. Appearance and feel and... See the conclusion in #9; and
12. Do you want to smoke it again and again and again? That's the real test for me; and if I do, it gets a high rating and regular hook-ups.
I guess rating cigars is like rating lots of things.
Again, CA has the most sophisticated points system in my experience based on four categories: appearance/construction (15), smoking characteristics (25), flavor (25), and overall impression (35); yet, really, it's still a pretty subjective system.
If I want to avoid wasting too much money when I pull out the catalogue and start coveting, I'll ask friends about their experiences; and, occasionally, I'll go to the net and watch reviews by Cigar Obsession and Cigar Vixen with the latter being especially, uh, convincing as well as compelling. Their palates are far more discriminating than mine and I've rarely been led astray by them; though, again, the latter has moments.
Bottom line.
There's no sure way to be sure about a Cuban unless you try it out.
Content not cover.
But it's personal.
Some prefer...
Others prefer...
Some say potato, some say...
Smoke around.
Then rate 'em for yourself.
BTW, here are my always evolving top five favs for 2017 without reference to the Cohiba Behike or Partagas Lusitania that I can't afford anyway:
1. Any Padron
2. Camacho Legendaria Bertha
3. Montecristo Reserva Negra
4. Macanudo Inspirado Black
5. Rocky Patel Special Reserve Sun Grown Maduro
Alec Bradley Lost Art almost bumped #5 after just one stick and, surprisingly, the astonishingly affordable new Baccarat Belicoso Maduro is gaining ground, and my go-to-cook-my-own B&B-infused Parodi is light on the wallet and heavy on the buds.
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (11)
If you haven't read "If You Are/Know A Cigar Snob" or have but are bummed out at the prospects of Oprah actually becoming P in 2020 and the subsequent outlawing of fumas as the social engineers return to power and you need some refreshment - Me too! - just go to the 12/15/17 edition of www.koppdisclosure.com, go to the right column (Blog Archive), and click 'er on.
Uh, no, change that!
Don't click 'er on...or you'll be accused of something by someone...like one of Oprah's guests.
I don't know about you but those Ashley, Gloria, and Taylor chicks really don't turn me on; unless, maybe, I was on a deserted island for 20 years without my wife.
BTW, have you seen those photos of Oprah making out with Harvey Weinstein?
I remember studying upokrisis (transliteration of Greek word for hypocrisy) while working for some worthless degree and...
Anyway, great videos in that edition for cigar snobs like us.
Can't understand why the best website for news impacting modern ministry - www.churchandworld.com - didn't carry that one because there was a lot of sneaky theology/ecclesiology/venting in there like the last one on annual reports.
I'm starting to get the hint about my publishing prospects.
Some recent Q&A:
Illinois: "Why don't you charge for these?" You keep asking and I keep telling you to look at my book sales. O.K., send me some Cohiba Behikes if you're feeling guilty.
California: "I like your recent post on humidors, but what's your favorite strategy?" Just throw in some Boveda packets! Check out www.cheaphumidors.com!
I think the next edition will be on ratings.
I would suggest you don't share it with Oprah, Ashley, Gloria, Taylor, Anderson, Rachel, Dick, Tammy, Chris, Joe or his...
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (10)
Humidors.
If Santa or, uh, self were good to you, you're going to need more space in the inn (Get it?) to store your new stock.
While my favorite dealer is www.thompsoncigar.com where you can always pick up a little free humidor with some box purchases, the best source/supplier for taking good care of your babies is www.cheaphumidors.com.
www.cheaphumidors.com, a fun site to check out on the dumbphone especially when caffeine ain't sufficient during those insufferable clergy, council, civic, community, school board/bored or other political assemblies, has an unmatched selection of quality and cost-effective humidors along with lots of accessories and "how to" videos for seasoning, setting up, and calibrating.
Historical parenthesis.
John Adams to Thomas Jefferson on Congress and aforementioned kinda kin meetings: "...drudgery of the most wasting, exhausting, consuming kind."
It may be my ghetto, but I think so many clergy break the big ten's 1-3 and 7 because it's hard for the libido not to wander during such mindless chatter from the ozone layer of reality with two feet planted firmly in the air.
Anyway, if you're like me and stockpiling fumas with ammo, H2O, and food in prep for the imminent eschaton, you're going to need a bigger humidor for favs and at least one more to host those candy canes so your favs aren't unequally yoked.
Uh, oh, yeah,...humidors.
A humidor is a box to store fumas in a tropical climate.
While snobs like us prefer cedar wood, plastic, plexiglas, freezer bags, or Tupperware and relatives will work as long as they're sealed and have humidifying elements inside to maintain freshness and flavor; and, again, www.cheaphumidors.com has the best options on that with a video explaining the pros and cons of each.
70/70 is the easiest math.
You want to keep your babies cozy at 70 degrees temp and 70% relative humidity.
Of course, like palates when it comes to ratings, you will find as much diversity on the math as H-D techs provide for iron pony shoe air pressure.
While most folks say 65-75 is the range for relative humidity, CA says 65-70 while I've always preferred 69.
Noting www.cheaphumidors.com has a great selection of hygrometers to gauge relative humidity - I don't trust those inaccurate and hard to calibrate boogers that come attached to most boxes - you can buy 'em at most hardware stores; but go to www.cheaphumidors.com first FYI.
Getting back to humidifying elements, everybody has their prejudices from Boveda packs to crystals to humidity beads, humidor sticks, floral foam in those cheap plastic containers that come with most humidors or found in funeral home and church chancel vases, or just sticking a shot glass of distilled water in the box while making sure that you don't piss on your puppies because you never dampen directly unless you've got a turd and will try anything to make it worth ignition.
Daily monitoring is the best and I use a combination of all kinda elements to keep 'em at my preferred math; and when I dip below or drip over the range, it's a kairos moment to take 'em all out, reshuffle, inspect, detect, and let 'em breathe a bit.
Traveling is no problem; and whether using a nifty travel case that you've picked up from www.cheaphumidors.com or just stuck 'em in a freezer bag, Boveda packs are the most convenient and safest as elements and fumas should never touch regardless of previous permission as it will scream harassment sooner or later.
In a pinch while traveling, just moisten a paper towel or piece of sponge or floral foam, put it in a smaller bag without sealing it, and stick 'er in.
Prophylactics prevent disease.
Speaking of pinches, I still like the "pinch test" when checking a shipment, buying from one of those retail joints, or checking to see if my humidor is O.K.
Here's how to do that.
Placing the fuma between your thumb and index finger, press slightly.
If it's Jethro Tullian thick/stiff as a brick, it may be good for Hillary's husband yet dry and stale aka dehydrated. You can try to bring it back to life. Good luck! And being that Calvinists don't believe in luck, you've learned a valuable lesson.
If it's got soft spongy spots, it's pret' near as useless and impotent as 41-44.
Here's the deal.
If you take care of 'em, they'll take care of you.
The life of a cigar is indefinite as long as it's stored properly.
Heaven, there are pre-Fidelians around to die for.
While you should never end a sentence with a preposition, you should never leave a cigar unattended.
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (9)
First feedback edition.
Before I get to that, I was introduced to Cuban fumas back in the early 70s while studying in Heidelberg.
No embargo.
Well, I'd almost forgotten how much I liked 'em as I bought into the self-gratifying-market-deluding sentiment that transplanted seeds into foreign soils across the water from the island have resulted in fumas as good as and sometimes even better than Cuba's most renowned export apart from liberation theology.
It's kinda like saying, "I just bought a new artificial plastic evergreen with real Christmas spirit because I'm tired of taking Lassie out to look for a tree."
O.K., maybe, occasionally, rarely close...but no, uh, cigar.
Sorry.
It's kinda like saying, 'Yeah, those New Jersey Vidalia onions are just as good as the ones from Georgia."
Not!
Anyway, my favorite-mayor-of-all-time gave a Cohiba Behike 56 to me for Christmas and I had an OBE with it on the way back from UW Hospital Madison on Tuesday night.
Burned my fingers to the nails!
The word awesome just doesn't quite capture the transcendence.
Don Norek - go to the archives of www.koppdisclosure.com to read up on one of my continuing heroes - would treat me to a Cuban Cuban every once in a while; so I wasn't completely out of the loop pero that was infrequent because he'd also pawn off clones to moi with a wink. Sooooooo if you can get your hands and spirit on one of those pre-et-post Castro babies, indulge!
O.K., some feedback.
Pennsylvania: On dealing with aftertaste if you're fortunate enough to have someone who wants to stick her/his tongue down your throat: "Bourbon mouthwash - preferably 101 or higher." BC, Digger, and Judge have said the same thing to me.
Illinois: "You're killing me, man! And I can't believe you are giving these away!" Nice. Appreciate it. But have you seen my book sales? In one of the most humiliating experiences of my life, I'm running behind the toothy guy from Texas in sales by about ten trillion to one. Wouldn't mind a nod from Thompson but not holding my breath except for a Cohiba Behike 56.
Pennsylvania: "Why don't you start a website like your other one?" Because webmaster Kathie is kind enough with www.koppdisclosure.com and I don't know if this string is too, uh, masculine for, uh, broader appeal. I mean, really, I think some of the things that you like about CSAFTBP would get you into trouble if you ever uttered 'em in front of what, I guess, according to professors and papers and journalists and sissy clerics and other politicians marching to the beat of Gloria's tambourine, is the much more fragile of the genders. Notice I said genders. From what I hear from mainline ecclesiastical franchises and the ACLU, God remains wrong. There are a lot more than two.
Missouri: "I've been forwarding these to friends. Is that O.K.?" Sure. With my fan base, beggars can't be choosers; but if you have 'em, send their e-mail addresses to me and I'll put 'em on the first edition mailing list and they won't have to trust your discretion. Uh, wait a second. I'll probably be accused of some kinda harassment if I send them unsolicited. It's happened with www.koppdisclosure.com as cupcakes and snowflakes can't handle Jessup's assumption. So have them send their addresses to me and I'll hook 'em up. But, again, forward away! Hey, send some to Thompson and CA but not Megyn Kelly or doe-eyed Rachel Maddog.
South Dakota: "How often are you going to send these out? I really like them. They're better than the serious things that you write." Great. Just great. Maybe that's why my denomination won't let me speak at their self-gratifying biennials. Not surprised. Peterson, Bright, Ogilvie, Evans, Larson, Lovelace, Gagnon, Legvold, and...weren't 'good' enough for 'em. I wonder if Calvin or Farel or Luther or Bullinger or Barth or Bonhoeffer or even Paul or John or even... Per your interrogative, when I feel like it; which usually happens when I'm tired of babysitting, refereeing, officiating, pontificating, deliberating, consoling, consulting, defecating, inspecting, injecting, detecting, or cleaning the restrooms and collecting the trash while we wait for our new custodian to start.
Alabama: "I was offended by your insinuations about Alabama in the last edition." Join the club. I live for that. Salt. Light. Leaven. Get it? You need to talk to my dad to figure out what I'm trying to say. After I voted for McGovern, he said, "Son, now I know I don't have to worry about you. You don't need drugs!" Speaking of Ps, my favorites are 1, 16, 35, and 40 with JFK being the best because he had much better taste in, uh, uh, uh, fumas than even, uh, uh, uh, Bubba who can be excused because of being married to you know who and, most important, 35 had the common sense to stock up on authentic Upmanns when he had the chance which, of course, he did because he knew when he was going to make sure that proletarians like moi had to study in Germany to get 'em. BTW, will someone puhhhlease teach Maxine how to pronounce 45? She reminds me of the chick who kept talking about "Eric Clapner. I like Eric Clapner."
O.K., that's it for the first feedback edition.
If Santa is kinder to me than he's been to Alabama, you should get the next edition before the 1st.
Merry Christmas!
It is about Jesus, uh, you used to know, uh, no matter what your local school board or Rahm says.
BTW, Rahm?
Does that guy have no shame or what?
Him criticizing anyone anywhere about anything related to leadership is like me telling my favorite/personal mechanic Jason how to fix the truck that I don't have.
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (8)
Dear Santa,
Why did you put coal in Alabama's stocking?
You didn't give much of a choice to them - creep or crook.
I would have thought you'd learned something from the last candidates for POTUS.
The guy who won can't keep his hands off, uh, uh, uh, Twitter and the, uh, whazzzzzzztheword, uh, uh, oh, yeah, gal who lost is the antidote for sexual harassment.
Alabama was worse - sissy or Allen/Brooks phallic symbol.
I guess we'll see.
Too bad.
Anyway, if you're not going to come through with a Ford 150 or big plastic card to Woodstock Harley-Davidson or Marengo Guns or box of favorite fumas, please hold off on anything related to Crimson Ridge, A&F, Ulta, Bath and Body Works, Megyn Kelly, or any of those restaurants hawking rabbit food for anorexics.
No books about either Obama; though any book by Chernow, Metaxas, or Vonnegut that I haven't read is cool.
I don't want any more evolved gravy rags aka ties. Medieval. Really, think about it. They look stupid. Yeah, I know some women like 'em because they're so tight around our necks and encourage that Janis Joplin song about balls and chains and soccer moms like gayish guys more than manish ones with closely/neatly cropped facial hair; but I don't wear 'em that much anymore and may have even forgotten how to get that bourgeoisified dimple in there to satisfy the fashion police.
No subscriptions, please, to news magazines or papers. I'm so tired of the man-hater columnists who flatter themselves into thinking anyone would want to harass 'em and, while I'm no Trumper because the Christian in me ain't into idolatries unless it's a real Partagas or Punch or Cohiba from Cuba , the Freudian in me suspects guys like Robinson, Anderson, Joe, John, anyone at the NYTs and WP and Time and Newsweek and MSNBC and most local rags, et.al. have insatiable man-crushes on him.
Really, isn't that what's fashionable in America these days?
It slays me to admit this; but maybe that's among the myriad of maddening reasons why Muslims like America about as much as bacon-topped pork tenderloins.
I can buy my own underwear and socks.
I eat too much as it is.
Gas?
I've got enough of that.
If You're not coming up with one of those Animal House "Thank You, God!" serendipities, how about a Mary moment in the true spirit of the season: "And Mary kept all these things; pondering them in her heart"?
Yeah, I'd like that.
I'd just like time to sit on the back porch and think about Jesus and who He is and what He has done for us and our salvation by grace through faith.
That's really enough for me.
Time off and alone with Jesus.
Of course, if you've got an extra Partagas Lusitania and bottle of B&B in that sack while I'm sitting on the...
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (7)
Fuma aftertaste is not bad breath.
Pero, of course, that may be hard to explain to somebody who just stuck her...uh, whoa, geez, gulp, gasp, sigh, uh, uh, uh...or his tongue in your mouth.
Frankly, after too much marital and post-marital psychospiritualtherapy for too long, I've reached the conclusion that the challenge cited in the previous sentence-paragraph is about as common as veracity in government, media, education, entertainment, jurisprudence, and, alas, too many churches where it seems too many pulpiteers and pewsitters have forgotten Christianity is about, uh, Jesus.
Be that as it is, there are exceptions to the rule; and while exceptions to the rule are called exceptions to the rule because they occur so infrequently that they are called exceptions to the rule, I will assume there are some cigar snobs who know somebody who wants to stick her/his tongue in their mouths without dealing with an aftertaste that they not us find repugnant.
Parenthetically, one of the graces for cigar snobs like us of not having anyone interested in sticking her/his tongue in our mouths is savoring the aftertaste of a righteous fuma.
Pero, again, if you do have somebody who wants to stick her/his tongue in your mouth après a fuma but doesn't like the aftertaste and you want to do something about it so she/he will stick her/his tongue in your mouth, here are some suggestions.
Garlic works yet presents a whole set of new challenges.
Hydrogen peroxide kinda works; and it's cheap with the down side being bleaching tongue hairs.
Gum, mints, parsley, lemons, oranges, cranberries, kiwi, marshmallow chicks, chunky peanut butter, gross smelling cheeses, and tablespoons of sugar kinda work but lose their effectiveness as quickly as monologues by Rachel, Anderson, Nancy, Chelsea, or Sean.
Flossing kinda helps.
Baking soda, in my opinion, is kinda the best; as long as you brush the roof of your mouth, gums, tongue, under the tongue, inside the cheeks, teeth, down your throat, tonsils if still hanging in, and everywhere else within reach. Then gargle!
Notice I qualified each suggestion with kinda.
The preceding hypothetical solutions only minimize aftertaste.
The only way to eliminate aftertaste is to do lots of the above, shower, and sleep it off; knowing cigar snobs will start all over again in a few hours after the alarm sounds.
Truth is a righteous fuma leaves an aftertaste that cigar snobs savor while others abhor.
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (6)
Q: "How do you know if you've sucked down a righteous fuma?"
A: "Aside from the serene soul OBE via an oasis apart from life's meanness, madness, misery, and miscreance, your thumb, index, and middle fingers will start burning as you hold out for the last draw of the heavenly dispensation, baking soda will be put on hold, and you'll run to the can for a completely cleansing dump."
Or something like that.
It starts with lighting it.
First things first.
Dogs are bitten and cigars are clipped.
After clipping off the cap only and not slicing into the body with your favorite cutter - I like a double-bladed guillotine but carry a punch for box/square-pressed favs - there are several options for ignition.
When they're working, I prefer butane-filled lighters. They're odorless, colorless, quick, complete, and conclusive. Buuuuuuut notice I said I prefer them when they're working. Coupled with shopping for fuel and fueling up and carrying around more crap than convenient, they are fickle and tend not to work on cold days which is a challenge in areas like the northern stateline of Illinois during our 7-9 months of winter.
Zippo fluid-filled lighters are the coolest. How about that sound when you open and close 'em? Awesome! As long as they're filled and the flints are fresh, they're more reliable than their butane brothers. Buuuuuuut ya gotta buy fluid and ya gotta have extra flints and lighter fluid can, on occasion if you're not careful, taint the first puff or three with the same chemical taste that ruins burgers flavored with charcoal and, uh, lighter fluid.
Paper matches work; buuuuuuut, again, they have chemical additives that sometimes sneak into the first or third draw annnnnnnd they're short and tend to burn your fingers before they light your fuma.
Wooden matches, especially for snobs like us, are the best! Classic, consistent, not corrupted following the nano-second of combustion, cheap, and available at your nearest dollar store.
More tips.
Don't put the cigar into the flame!
With gentle puffs, draw the heat from the flame into the cigar!
It will take a few seconds longer but will result in an entire ring-size glow for a smooth and even smoke.
BTW, Thompson's December 2017 snail-mail-hard-copy-best-potty-reading-ever catalogue has one of the best deals ever for one of my standards and one about to crack the top five. Their "Double Down" offer, pairing two premiums at discounted prices, is featuring, among many other worthy selections, a Montecristo Reserva Negra and Macanudo Inspirado Black combo for under $40. O.K., that's $.05 under $40 yet it's a superb opportunity for cigar snobs like us.
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (5)
Being snobs doesn't mean we have to be stupid.
That's for clergy and other politicians.
Preferences come to mind.
Preferences for cigar snobs are as diverse as detailing iron ponies for road warriors.
One man's treasure is another man's turd.
For example, have you ever smoked a CA 90+ rated stick and thought it was a White Owl?
Point is palates are diverse.
Recently, I went through it again.
Twice.
I've never been a big RP guy; but his Sun Grown Maduro ain't bad.
Then there's Macanudo.
Never been a fan.
Ever since I smoked my first in 1969, I've thought they're as overrated as the Dallas Cowboys and Notre Dame.
But then Deadeye lit up a Macanudo Inspirado White pour moi. It's pretty mild but a quite pleasurable smoke for any time of the day.
Then, as part of my wife's anniversary gesture, Leslie talked to Thompson about my history and ordered 5 Macanudo Inspirado Blackies that leave one of the best aftertastes ever. While I'm still saving up for another box of Padron 7000s, I may get a box of MIBs if Santa is good to me.
So don't be stupid even if you're a snob.
Don't buy unless you're convinced; but try if, uh, you know, someone springs for ya.
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (4)
Because I'm a cigar snob, I've never been into clones, seconds, or kindas.
When I think of that kinda stuff, I think of metrics and Beemers and Triumphs and Victories that will never be H-Ds; or I think of self-gratification which, uh, well, uh,...never mind.
Anyway, my wife is starting to catch on; and though she hasn't bought a truck for me or stopped joining my mom on the helmet thing which Digger says has the only benefit of casket appearance, she's ordering Cubans pour moi on important occasions.
She even gets a Thompson catalogue in her own name delivered to the house!
For our recent anniversary, she got some of those new R&Js noted below along with another 5-packer that's O.K. but wasn't listed by me annnnnnnnd, after consulting with Thompson's, she got a bundle of No. 99 Factory Throwouts.
After an early morning meeting with Adam and Brian that included my "any of 'em" favorite listed below, I headed to a meeting in Davenport, Iowa to hook up with Hans of www.churchandworld.com for fraternity and forecasting.
I took along a No 99 and was stunned by a very decent smoke highlighted by a subtle sweetness not nearly as overpowering as anything from Drew Estate, easy draw (lit once), and consistent pleasure until the last inch that reminded me of some overrated RPs.
So I investigated.
While I haven't been able to figure out who's throwin' 'em out, it's a premium producer who doesn't like the "uneven coloring" on the wrapper; ergo, it doesn't pass quality control and gets thrown out for us to pick up at unreally low prices from Thompson's.
BTW, it's a Churchill and lasted for two hours...before the last inch.
It's my new lawnboy, hunter, snow bro, and maybe even occasional...
Subject: Cigar Snobs Alert from the Back Porch (3)
Packed pony at Digger's yesterday.
With no more golf with Billy until the thaw, no truck, and no pony, my relaxations/refuelings are limited to cellular prayer and Cubans.
Of course, I'm not into opium dens or thick-clouded-suffocating stick lounges with unavoidable alien fragrances; ergo, I've learned to bundle up and back porch it more than less though less than three seasons.
Having, uh, vented, here are a few suggestions for winter that, in our neck of the woods, should be over in less than seven months.
Unless you're cheating on your wife - "No, honey, I don't spend more than $10 a month on Cubans and you can't believe how much money I save when ordering from Tampa!" - or screwing the IRS - they deserve it - you need some inexpensive though surprisingly tasty smokes while cutting leaves and tuning up the snowblower.
Thompson is running a great deal on one of my favorite lawnboys: Quorum Double Gordo with an Ecuador-Sumatra wrapper. You can get a bundle of 20 for $55.80 with the added bonus of a Thompson Cigar 100th Anniversary Hat which is very cool. Got one! It really annoys the PC social engineering sissy leftists when you wear it at the mall and especially Barnes and Nobles or a clergy meeting. It's a good 90 minute oasis.
I'm not going to be distracted from my favorites (scroll down) while fulfilling honey-do stuff; but Quorum isn't bad during such times; and if your yard/driveway/whatever takes longer than 90 minutes, you can always tag on my favorite quick Cuban via Kentucky, Tennessee, and Scranton, Pennsylvania: Parodi! They're good for 30 minutes; and especially good if I've cooked some for you with my special B&B recipe.
Remember, time your Cubans by gauge and length and brand so you don't waste 'em.
Size does matter.
One more thing.
Unless you're a total geek, forget cyberspace and call Thompson at 800-237-2559 for the best potty-reading-break-the-10th-commandment cigar catalogue on the market.
The new R&J 1875 Anniversario Maduro, available in boxes and part of Thompson's 5-Pack Fever offerings, has moved into my top 5 along with any Padron, Montecristo Reserva Negra, Punch Gran Puro Natural, and Camacho Legendaria Bertha (can't understand why Thompson doesn't carry this one as it carries all of my other favorites at spectacular prices and special care in handling/mailing).
Really, while I imbibed my first just last night, it is really, really, really off the charts in subtle tastes, easy full draw, and lasting pleasure; except, my wife said she could smell it foruhever.
Treat yourself before the eschaton!
I expect it to be my next box purchase which should occur prior to the parousia.
Blessings and Love!
@#$%
Blessings and Love!
@#$%
Shatter the sound of silence!
Wake up! Look up! Stand up! Speak up! Act up for Jesus!
