I remember way back to when I was a very young child, my dad used the term “Man’s Man.” He spoke of guys like Sinatra, Bogart and Charlton Heston, Unitas, YA Tittle, Dimaggio, Mantle, Gordie Howe and Bobby Hull. They were “real” men - guys with character who exuded masculinity and had a certain edge about them. Back then it was definitely cool and you were looked up to if you embodied these qualities. But over the years, the politically correct do-gooders of society have almost forcefully eradicated this term and category of the male species. The great fear is that groups of people who do not fit that type of image such as effeminate men or homosexuals, geeks, nerds, and pocket calculator carrying brainiacs will feel excluded and take great offense – God knows, we just can’t have that. And one of the newest terms in our society coined by British journalist, Mark Simpsom is the much talked about metrosexual. On salon.com in July of 2002, Simpson was quoted as saying, “The typical metrosexual is a young man with money to spend, living in or within easy reach of a metropolis — because that's where all the best shops, clubs, gyms and hairdressers are. He might be officially gay, straight or bisexual, but this is utterly immaterial because he has clearly taken himself as his own love object and pleasure as his sexual preference.”

Wow… this is the new cool? WTF happened to “Ah’ll be bock?”

Today’s society has become a blanched and homogenized wasteland where powerful celebrities like Jane Fonda, Oprah, Rob “meathead” Reiner, Sean Penn, and Alec Baldwin have become the voice of reason for our country – and that folks - is f@#cking scarier than a Barbra Streisand Double Live album. (Watch the movie Team America if you want a good laugh.) These bombastic elitists will perch themselves in a redwood for two weeks, appear at an anti-fur march that has all the makings of a Herman Gehring fun fest, and horrify the shit out of everyone about the face melting effects of global warming. They are P.C. activists who use their money and influence to protect the world by saving us from ourselves – because apparently, we are all too goddamned stupid to make the proper decisions on smoking a cigar, eating red meat, sitting in the sun, or wearing a leather jacket.

The near extinction of the Man’s Man is a direct result of the agenda ridden crusaders of P.C. If it offends just one person, let’s give it the broad-brush treatment so that everyone can be happy and gay! I for one am sick of this mentality and was driven by an inner calling to stand up in the name of Men’s Men everywhere (kind of like when your sack is ready to bust because you have to pee really bad in the middle of the night). With all this talk of metrosexuals and the Queer Eye perspective, Men’s Men have become relegated to fourth-class citizenship facing certain extinction – that is, if we don’t stand up and make ourselves be heard.

One bona fide “real” man who whole-heartedly agrees with me wrote a book on the subject. Tough guy actor Frank Vincent, (the infamous Billy Batts in Goodfellas who told Joe Pesci to go home and get his fuckin’ shinebox, Casino, Raging Bull, and most recently psycho bastard, Phil Leotardo, Johnny Sack’s #2 man in the Sopranos) released a literary classic that should be owned by every living, breathing fan of this blog. ‘A Guy’s Guide to Being a Man’s Man’ is a fun, informative, and often times tongue-in-cheek look at what it takes for a guy to be a part of this esteemed classification. A while back I sat down with Frank for lunch and cigars and we talked about his theories behind the book.

I asked Frank point blank, what is the definition of the quintessential man’s man: “It’s a man who has dignity and respect - especially respect for women,” he noted, “And, he also displays the qualities of honor and loyalty. He must have self-respect and respect for others. Those are the assets that make up a real man’s man.”

One thing that Frank and I agree upon is that you don’t have to smoke cigars, drink, curse, surf porn sites or participate in dwarf-tossing competitions in order to be considered a real man (although, those activities do tend to heighten the testosterone levels significantly). There’s no requirement to know the lyrics to the Monty Python Lumberjack Song, and you need not physically transform yourself from the 98-pound weakling into the Charles Atlas prototype, as in the old comic book advertisements. So what then? Quite simply, it is more about an attitude – the way you think and the way you carry yourself. It’s really about who you are inside.

Men that I personally feel fall under the category of being a Man’s Man?… Hugh Hefner in my opinion is the ultimate example. What heterosexual male can honestly say he hasn’t wished he could be the Bunny King for only one night? (Leading a cavalcade of jiggling bimbos on roller skates around a tennis court certainly has its merit.) I think the Terminator, Arnold Schwarzenegger is a tanker-truck load of testosterone and definitely fits the bill (although I know Frank Vincent has a problem putting a politician in this category.) I think guys like actors, James Gandolfini  and James Caan, ex-jocks and now commentators Terry Bradsaw, Howie Long, and John Madden, American Chopper’s Paul Tuttle Sr., stogie smoking comedian Ron White, and retired four-star general Tommy Franks all fit the bill to a “T”. And of course, don’t forget my pal Frankie V. – lest my remains end up sprinkled between Newark Airport and exit 16W on the Jersey Turnpike.

And strictly out of curiosity, what about the guys who will just never make the cut? Lemme see, there’s… Andy Dick, Harvey Fierstein (and his pet gerbil, Digger), Carrot Top, Jerry Springer, Richard Hatch, The Geico Lizzard (an ardent metrosexual), and that over caffeinated fruit loop from Extreme Makeover, Ty Pennington. TV Weathermen need not apply so toss Al Roker and Willard Scott out on their back doors... Marilyn Manson, Albert Arnold Gore, Chaka from Land of the Lost, Osama Bin Laden (anyone who lives in a rock condominium and eats stewed goat with his flat bread is instantly disqualified), Principal Skinnard, Ross Perot, Mr. Brady, Barney Phife, and John Tesh (but how did he snag such a hot wife?)  Then there’s the most handsome Michael (I’m sorry, but my good baseball cap is at the cleaners) Moore, and of course, ex New Jersey governor, the dishonorable Mr. James (I f@#ked my life partner and the state) Mcgreevey.

Guys – I say it’s time we show an outward pride in being real men. I really mean it. I say enough is enough, to the suffocating stranglehold of political correctness and those who perpetuate its inherent dangers. We have the constitutional right to speak our minds freely without persecution. If you don’t believe in same sex marriage that does not instantly qualify you as a queer hating homophobe. It makes you a person who has his own set of beliefs and choices. If you want to hunt, fish or wear a fur hat, it does not make you a murderer. If you want to surf the internet for porno sites, well, just make sure your history cache is deleted afterwards. (Those pop-up windows certainly do get a little hairy at times.) And if you choose to sit around all day Sunday in your underwear, watching football, scratching your boys, and sucking down Busch Light in cans… well, your wife is right – you are a lazy goddamned bastard. But gently remind her that it still doesn’t make you a homophobe.

Being Men’s Men doesn’t mean acting like sex-crazed, beer-swilling, Homer Simpson-esque Barbarians. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Like Frank Vincent says, it’s about self-respect, honor and loyalty. And I’d say those are some pretty admirable qualities. I asked Frank, what final words he had for all the politically correct zealots who demand that we conform to their mediocre, metrosexual, smoke free, low-carb, un-opinionated, off-white, milquetoast world? He just smiled and said, “Very simple; do YOUR thing – but PLEASE show some tolerance and let other people do THEIR thing. Mind your own business and whatever you do; don’t infringe on my space.”

Well put my friend. I’ll light up a Hoyo Excaliber on that note.

And remember... If guns kill people, then spoons made Rosie O'donnell fat.               

Have a wild weekend,
-Tommy Z.
JR Cigar’s Blog With the Zman

Have I ever mentioned that career politicians are absolute scum… the lowest of the low… the turd that won’t flush, but constantly circles the bowl and resurfacing to your utter dismay? I must have mentioned that sometime in the past seven months since I created this little stink pit we call home… haven’t I? I’m always amazed how those with “the power” can do what they want, or at least think they can. Yesterday we discussed the tu-tu wearing governor of New Jersey and let’s not so soon forget Client Number Nine from the great state of New York. Both cases are flagrant examples of power hungry idiocy for the good of no one but themselves. Of course there have been countless others who have served to make our political system a cesspool of regurgitated falsehoods, lies, and scandals.

Now here’s a story that blew my mind this morning. There’s a little group known in the state of Ohio as the Ohio Tobacco Prevention Foundation (OTPF), created in the year 2000. Their mission is to educate about the dangers of smoking – with kids smoking cigarettes being the major emphasis. They have a Help Quit phone line, counseling, seminars and information on their website to help those with addictions and what have you. The non-profit organization is run by 17 dedicated volunteers.

Here’s where it gets wacky. This “little” organization just happens to have a bank account of 270 million dollars! Holy liver spots batman, that’s a lotta cash! Now you know how the zealots have so much power – it’s because they have the funds. Well, that is “had” the funds. You see, it seems that the state of Ohio is a tad cash strapped these days and state legislators had Governor Ted Strickland sign a measure that allowed the state of Ohio to pilfer 230 of the OTPF’s 270 million for their very own use. You heard it right, they confiscated the funds to do whatever they want to do with it. I guess the message clearly sent here is f@$k smoking teens and it’s tough shineola, people. Wow. As you could expect, the people who run the foundation freaked as did many of its supporters.

"This endowment was set up outside state government for just this reason and, clearly, to reach into it is illegal and unconstitutional and I think immoral as well," said board member Bob Crane. (Why do I suddenly have a visual of Werner Kempler holding his monocle and blurting out, “Hoooooogaaaaan?”) "But, it's going to cost millions of dollars and years of legal effort to unravel this if the governor tries to go after money ...The governor's office has threatened the charities, the attorney general's office has threatened us with personal liability and now, today, the legislature has threatened our kids. I think we'll stand firm."

Well, Bob and his buddies can stand firm til’the Indians win the World Series cuz the politicos of Ohio mean business. The board of directors of the OTPF made a bold move trying to circumvent the state measure and transfer the funds to a Washington DC based anti-smoking organization. The Ohio legislators then quickly passed a law that allowed them to confiscate the 230 mil. Isn’t it amazing how fast government can pass laws and act when it behooves them the most?

Crazy, right? This is all very weird because I loathe career politicians and I despise the smoke Nazis. (Although I do support their efforts to stop kids from smoking cigarettes – because as you know, cigars and cigarettes are two very different animals.) Well, it gets nuttier. The OTPF sued the state of Ohio for misappropriation of funds. The judge basically couldn’t believe the insanity behind it all and made a move to freeze the funds until all could be straightened out.

So go ahead and just try to guess what the good polticos of Ohio had the brazen set of balls to do? They passed another law to disband the Ohio Tobacco Prevention Foundation! Yep, they wiped out the eight year old organization and took the remaining 40 million to boot. Good God this smacks of Cold War communism for crissakes! Can you believe the friggin gall of the people that run that looney bin?

This story is a true testament to the hypocrisy of our government and their fine upstanding officials. And… To add massive insult to injury, the OTPF not only was about to award three major charitable grants – the entire state of Ohio just went smoke free on May 3, in bars, restaurants, and workplaces.  What a god damned kick in the butt, huh?

I slowly draw on my Macanudo Vintage 2000 while I snicker with glee at the irony.

Have a good one, dudes,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

You all know how much I love writing about the rotten lifetime politicians who spew their horse hockey on a continual basis. Well, being from the lovely state of New Jersey, I like nothing more than reporting on the man (uh-huh) that did to the Garden State what he was doing behind his wife’s back for quite some time.

Jangling Jimmy Mc Greevey is in the news again folks, as he and his wife appear in court to finally consummate their official divorce. Hopefully you all remember the embarrassment our fine state went through when ol’ JM flung himself out of the closet with the power of 100 Kramers busting through Seinfeld’s apartment door. He appeared on live TV to tell the world, “I am a gay American,” as he rolled down the sock on his right ankle and showed us all his cute lil’ rainbow tattoo. I was glad he didn’t say he was a gay Canadian as that would have most certainly hurt ice hockey’s low ratings even further here in the States.

In today’s AP article it stated the following: "It's a beautiful day," former Gov. Jim McGreevey said as he entered alone through the back entrance of the courthouse.

He entered through the back entrance?! Oh come on, that’s not fair trumping me on this kind of stuff! That’s primo Zman fodder and the Associated Press knows it. I don’t go stealing their best lines like “Man takes out family with an axe” or “President Bush’s approval ratings are lower than Chico Esquella’s batting average." I cry foul!

Matos McGreevey, the J-man’s soon to be ex, claims she had no idea that her husband was a fan of the glazed doughnut and is seeking $600,000 for the time she got ripped off from living in the governor’s mansion. I’d say she has a case but I find it hard to believe that those supposed midnight runs to Starbucks decked out in a biker’s leather cap and spiked neck collar didn’t tip her off that her hubby was fruitier than a Zamboni full of Skittles. Surely the cases of KY and the lifetime achievement award from Blue Boy magazine should have raised an eyebrow. You would have thought for certain that the weekend Jersey Shore getaways with Nathan Lane and Harvey Fierstein might have clanked an alarm bell or two, but Mrs. M. claims she was unaware. The Amex bill for thirty-four hundred dollars at Strap-On city would have done it for me, but I seem to be rather quick at spotting a poofter on the make.

I t seems that Jimbo has a different recollection of their marriage of “convenience” as he reportedly was shtooping anybody or anything that stood still long enough. He claims to have had an affair with one of his aides (who is suing him for sexual harassment) and had a well-publicized love affair with the dude he hired as the head of New Jersey home land security. (If I had said homo-land security, would that make me a hate monger or just a jerk-ass toad looking for a cheap laugh?) Actually many male aides claimed that McGreevey came on to them during his tenure in Princeton. “He would wear a g-string and a Carmen Miranda fruit hat to many morning briefings,” claims an anonymous source. “Sometimes he’d hit the younger guys with a riding crop while throwing Cocoa Puffs at them, yelling Who’s yer daddy?” Holding back the tears our source also added, “If we didn’t know the answer to something he’d make us eat a live goldfish and sing show tunes under a large flashlight. But it was the gerbil races on the side lawn that caused many of us to finally crack.”

Both McGreevey’s have written “tell all” books on their life together, and as you can imagine, the stories are quite different. And, according to today’s AP article: The most sensational witness could be Teddy Pedersen, a 29-year-old former aide who claims he had regular three-way sexual encounters with the McGreeveys beginning when they were dating in 1999 and ending two years later, after they were married and McGreevey had been elected governor. John Post, a lawyer representing Matos McGreevey, is seeking to bar Pedersen's testimony. Matos McGreevey claims the encounters never happened. McGreevey says they did.

And just when you’ve heard it all, Jersey’s ex-goobernor is embarking onto a new vocation. I kid you not (and it is in the AP article) McGreevey is studying to be an Episcopal priest. Oh how delightfully horrifying - the rusty-trombone playing politico failure wants to be a PRIEST! Only real life could produce such a shameless joke. Yikes.

There were many allegations about James McGreevey’s corruption as governor of New Jersey, including kick-backs, illegally awarded state contracts, and his use of tax payer money to fund his entire vacation trip to Ireland. While the man is an outed shyster, he’s also an outed rump wrangler who used his politico power to misuse and abuse. Normally I’d call for a politician of such shameless debauchery to be bound in a dark hood, strung from his gnads and beaten for hours with a muddy rake.  But the problem here is that in this case, our perpetrator would most certainly beg for more.

Have a Wonderful Wednesday my peeps,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

It was Monday evening and I could wait no longer. I grabbed my 13 year-old son Tommy and I said, “Don’t ask any questions get in the car and do as your told… We’re going to see Ironman… Now let’s move it!” We arrived at the new mega-monster stadium seating theater to a mega-throng of moviegoers of all ages. The price of gas certainly hasn’t depleted anyone’s discretionary income here. As I looked up at the board for the movie times the next two showings at 8:30 and 9:15 were sold out! Damn, I hate that! So we killed time at the mall then returned 45 minutes before show time in order to get primo seating, which we did. My kid asked for popcorn so I said, “Just a normal sized bucket and soda,” and he nodded. Of course he comes back with Hefty Lawn and Leaf bag filled with popcorn and a Janitor in a Drum tankard of Dr. Pepper. “It was only a buck more for the upgrade dad! Oh yeah, and I got this shoebox filled with Nestle’s crunch balls.” I asked, “Where’s the change from my fifty,” and he said, “What change?”

Of course a plethora of previews were shown which included Batman, Dark Knight (which looks awesome), Indiana Jones (Also looking awesome), and Mike Myers as the Love Guru (he mimics Deepak Chopra’s voice to a tee.) But enough of the previews already. I wanna see some kick-ass, bad boy, righteous mutha-fuggin super hero rock and roll action, and I WANT IT NOW! And that I got as Ironman did not disappoint in any way. This movie is fun and this movie rocks. It holds your attention from beginning to end with not only tremendous action, beyond wicked Industrial Light and Magic special effects, but surprisingly good acting by the entire cast, especially Robert Downey Jr.

I’ve been a Marvel Comics geekazoid fan from early childhood since 8 years-old when I cut eye slits out of one of mom’s buckets to wear as a helmet, donned a bathroom towel cape, and cracked my little brother in the gnads with a broom handle, all while declaring that I was ZMAN…Farts of Steel! (I still do that ritual when he visits, which understandably isn’t very often.) I loved Marvel Super Heroes, Thor, Captain America, Spiderman, Hulk, The Submariner, and especially Ironman. And the beauty of the film is that Director Jon Favreau has retained that wonderful comic book feel throughout the movie with out cheesing it up or making it cornball. Downey is a fabulous Tony Stark – boyish yet devilish charm, with a snarky, dry sense of billionaire humor. Gwyneth Paltrow is darned cute as Stark’s personal assistant (Pepper Potts) who in one scene where Tony has an overnight romp with a hottie TV reporter, Pepper tells the woman she often takes out Mr. Starks trash in the morning. And Jeff Bridges is excellent and believably rotten as the cigar smoking Obadiah Stane - YES, oh my God in heaven, they showed a man smoking a cigar in a movie that kids will see. Sound the alarms oh politically correct do-gooders of society - children everywhere will see this film and want to smoke cigars too - then before you know it it's crack and meth and the entire family unit is destroyed! Ahhhhhh! (U-hum, sorry for that little outburst folks, I'm a little touchy when it comes to this subject as you might have guessed.)

The musical score was especially captivating as a heavy metalish, chunka- chunka guitar sound accompanied Starks robotic building scenes, much like watching an episode of American Chopper as the Tuttle boys weld and configure a a mean looking work of iron. Guitarist Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave contributed guitar work to the overall soundtrack.

If you’ve seen the numbers, the flick is a massive box office success, doing over 200 million worldwide as of May 5 (yesterday.) And I was shocked at how good the reviews have been for a film of this type – Rotten Tomatoes giving it an almost unheard of 93% reviewers thumbs up. And of course, the audience went crazy during action scenes – especially this doofus yelling “THAT IS SO COOL!” every 30 seconds.

Now I understand the appeal for comic fans and kids, but why has the general public taken so well to this movie. Here’s my Zman, Stogie-Sucking Polack from New Jersey theory… The American people are dealing with a lot of weird crappola these days – Egotisitacally crooked, retard politico turd smugglers who dominate our every waking minutes, including wacky side kicks, racist reverends, and blue dress blasting hubbys – gouging oil and gas prices affecting the price of goods and the overall economy – and our boys are still in Iraq and Afghanistan where some Mother’s and Father’s Day’s will be greeted by their sons in caskets. You can’t even find a fellow Republican that doesn’t admit that GW has f@#ked this country up pretty damned good to the point where we are hated and mocked the world over.

Ironman is good. Ironman is for the people. He’s ultra cool and a bad-ass mutha who takes no prisoners. He’s handsome, a ladies man, brilliant and rich. Plus he’s a high-tech, walking talking machine that men and techno gadget lovers grunt over like primal cave dwellers. The guy flies faster than navy jets, shoots heat seeking missiles from his arms, and has the strength of a hundred men. What the hell is there not to love about this dude?

Ironman is a diversion from the everyday ugliness we Americans face. Tony Stark is our hero, a man who can almost single handedly end world terror and have the United States standing tall once again. Whether fictional or real, we need Ironman. We need to cheer, laugh, and yell at the movie screen once more. We need to believe in our hearts that maybe this super hero isn’t really that far fetched and that we could see him in our lifetime.

Marvel Studios has announced that the stars have signed on for two sequels making an Ironman trilogy for the fans. (Hopefully they won’t do a Matrix where the first was awesome but 2 and 3 suck to no end.) I don’t think so with this one. Now they can introduce Super Villains and all kinds of crazy foes for the man who says he’s really in a Titanium Alloy suit but "Ironman is kind of catchy" and will do.

After three months of captivity in a cave, Tony Stark asks for one thing and one thing only before his press conference – a cheeseburger – an American cheeseburger. Sorry PETA, somehow the hero in the metal suit just isn’t the type to beg for a tofu soy patty.

Ironmaningly Your,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

PETA is calling for an end to this cruelty that masquerades as sport.
- www.peta.org Monday, May 5, 2008

During this past weekend’s 134th running of the Kentucky Derby, tragedy struck, as second place finisher Eight Belles collapsed to the dirt track AFTER the race. The filly broke bones in both front legs and euthanasia was performed on the animal right then and there.

I have long enjoyed watching racing and I have always felt that horses are amazingly beautiful animals. I also believe after horses like Barbaro and Eight Belles have met the same untimely fate, the "sport of kings" should continue looking into options that will eliminate such disastrous events. Several tracks in the U.S. are featuring synthetic surfaces that are far more easier on horses legs with less chance of sustained injuries to the animals.

So while I share many people’s sentiments on bettering the sport, making it safer for both “animal” and jockey, I certainly DO NOT share the sentiments of the radical sociopaths of PETA who’s Nazi-like tactics continue to blur the facts, make outrageous claims, and bully those who refuse to share in their beliefs. I logged onto PETA’s website this morning, knowing I’d be in for a load of tear jerking and acrimonious ridicule, along with uninformed, retard diatribe. Oh yeah, I got it all…

With the shock of Barbaro's death after the 2006 Preakness still fresh in their minds, the Kentucky Derby crowd saw for themselves the sordid truth about what racing means for the horses involved last night, as the filly Eight Belles was killed after collapsing on the track.

PETA is calling for the immediate suspension of jockey Gabriel Saez—who whipped Eight Belles mercilessly as she came down the final stretch, no doubt in agony from two front legs that were about to snap. While the trainers, jockeys, and owners may weep their crocodile tears today over Eight Belles' euthanasia, they will be back on the track tomorrow, putting other horses at risk. Despite the wealth associated with thoroughbred racing, for the horses—most of whom end up broken, cast off, or sent to Europe to be killed for the dinner table—it's a dirty business and no better than dogfighting.

This is just brutally ignorant journalism, yanking on the heartstrings of this organizations bleeding heart martyrs of political correctness. First off, Eight Belles was not “killed” on the track, she was euthanized. It is a horrible thing to happen, but by far the most humane thing to do for the “animal.” In fact, PETA performs euthanasia on thousands of animals each year and on their website it is referred to as the “compassionate option.”

Secondly, how does the author KNOW so emphatically that the horse was in agony as her legs were about to snap? Is he or she an animal psychic? The filly collapsed AFTER the race and racing experts, veterinarians, and jockey Gabriel Saez have all said that without question if the horse was injured BEFORE the finish line she would have fallen face first into a heep, throwing it’s rider and most likely causing a devastating multi-horse pileup. A thoroughbred’s massive weight would simply NOT allow the filly to be able to continue running and finish the race if it’s legs’s were already broken – and that is a fact.

I have talked to race horse owners and riders and they have always said that whipping does not injure the “animals.” They are born and bred to race and know it is a signal from the jockey to kick it into gear. The PETA henchmen are claiming that the horse was beaten so severely that it continued to run even though the pain was great. People, if that horse felt tremendous pain during the run, it would have pulled up lame. That’s what horses do.

To say the owners and trainers weep crocodile tears is simply the uttering of an agenda ridden, out of touch with reality imbecile.  These people love the animals and it is brutally tragic when something of this nature occurs. But then to claim that the sport of horse racing is no better than dog fighting is truly the rantings of a fanatical lunatic. In a dog fight, the animals are bred to KILL. A bloody and horrifying death is the intended final result. To compare the two as equals clearly illustrates the bizarre rationalization that PETA uses to get the public to sympathize with its dangerous and psychotic ramblings.

The following are some of the “for real” ramblings of the brain washed brethren on one of PETA’s web forums…

- Last time a checked gambling was a sin and horses and other animals should not be used as part of humans sinful behavior.

- The black football star goes to prison for electrocuting dogs. The white race horse owners get condolence letters when they murder their filly on national TV.

- How stupid is horse racing? Why don't we make people wear harnesses and be whipped because they're not going fast enough? Maybe THEN people will listen!

- Dog fighting has a reputation of being violent and associated with other crimes so it is an easier argument for people to accept its brutality.

- I was driven to tears when I learned about this beautiful animal being abused to death for profit.

- God, this is horrible. Whom can we contact to support the suspension of the jockey, Saez?

- Shame on jockey Gabriel Saez—for whipping poor Eight Belles mercilessly as she came down the final stretch, no doubt in agony from two front legs that were about to snap. Shame on the Racing Industry! Get them Peta!

- How awful!!! I am so sad about this!! I want this greedy, despicable jockey brought up on charges!! Scum of the earth!!

- You know I think it's a shame that it's okay to race a horse until he collapse and die but michael vick had to do time for a crime he didn't commit.

Sure as hell looks like a few Falcon’s fans are lobbying for Vick to get his ass in the Atlanta back field again if you ask me.

The psychos of PETA have made it public that they DEMAND Jockey, Gabriel Sanchez to be suspended indefinitely. This was said in today’s AP article about the matter:

PETA faxed a letter Sunday to Kentucky's racing authority claiming the filly was "doubtlessly injured before the finish" and asked that Saez be suspended while Eight Belles' death is investigated. "What we really want to know, did he feel anything along the way?" PETA spokeswoman Kathy Guillermo said. "If he didn't then we can probably blame the fact that they're allowed to whip the horses mercilessly." Guillermo said if Saez is found at fault, the group wants the second-place prize of $400,000 won by Eight Belles to be revoked.

I ask you - who the hell are these people to make such demands? They are a self-imposed animal terrorist group who thinks they are the governing body for creatures of the earth. Their twisted beliefs and irreprehensible rhetoric has lead to violent actions all over the world, and have even condemned groups like the American Cancer Society and Cerebral Palsy amongst others for testing life saving drugs on animals. Many bitch and protest that meat and milk is being served in our school lunch programs. These are the same insaniacs that have bitched about Detroit Red Wing fans slinging deceased octopi to the ice during playoff games and are now fiercely complaining that a “real life” monkey was used to play Chim Chim in the new Speed Racer Movie.

I think what really puts most “normal” people off is that PETA believes that animals are on the same level as human beings. Please PETA, protect the animals that really do need the help and try to be even half as noble as you claim. Now just shut the f@ck up as I enjoy my juicy, medium to rare cheeseburger on my leather recliner. What a bitch, huh?

I hold my finger middle high with defiance until tomorrow,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

Yesterday I had fun on XM’s Ron and Fez show, telling of my cigar excursion to the DR and Honduras. They loved the part that Lew told me to “Shut the f@#k” up on the plane and said that’s what people tell me wherever I go. The show’s producer Earl Douglas worked on the planning of my XM radio pilot show which has been a long time in the making. Afterwards, Ron, Fez, Earl and I strolled thru central park and made our way to Club Macanudo for some fine cuisine and the fruits I brought back from my trip.

When we got to the front door the assistant manager noticed that Fez was wearing sneakers and said he wasn’t allowed in with their dress code. I was surprised because he was dressed nice and no one was in the place yet at 5pm. I felt bad because when you bring a good friend to a place you don’t want that to happen and I should have known. I tried to use my “I’m a known cigar person” status but to no avail. (I’m a fat Polish delegate didn’t cut it either.) We may have had a shot at getting in but the sneaks were like running shoes adorned with nuclear gold stripes so cars can see you easily – and space stations. Ah, no big deal as we embarked on a great little French joint, the type you find in nice sections of Manhattan. Ron, Fez and Earl were incredibly helpful with advise on my upcoming stint for XM.

Well, after dinner, I really wanted to smoke one of the El Rey Del Mundo Robusto Largas I was given in Confradia, Honduras so I made the trek alone to Club Macanudo and watched my New York Rangers stay alive in the NHL playoffs with a 3 – 0 win over the Pittsburgh Penguins. Club Mac really is an awesome place, and general manager James told me that business has been picking up quite a bit over the past year. I think a lot of people have the misconception that it’s a private club for the hoity toity power broker crowd and that’s not true. It’s open to the public and people of all types come to hang out and enjoy, although it is a place where many professionals gather. It is an upscale atmosphere, kind of an old Miami / Cuban décor with a magnificent bar as their centerpiece.

With the smoking laws from hell in cities like New York, it’s awesome to have a place like Club Mac where you can enjoy a wonderful dinner, a tremendous selection of libations, and of course very fine, hand rolled cigars. It is a lively place, not stuffy like some seemed to think, and they even have live music a few nights a week and it really adds to the atmosphere. If you visit the Big Apple, Club Macanudo is a must stop – with shoes of course.

Now speaking of draconian smoking laws, my buddy & Zman blog fan, Eric Ridgley sent me this gem, yesterday. An article that broke in USA Today says…

Study links smoking bans, DUI deaths

The growing number of cities, towns and states banning smoking in bars might be encouraging some patrons to drink and drive, according to a study in the June edition of the Journal of Public Economics. The study found that communities that passed smoking bans from 2000 to 2005 had, on average, a 13% increase in drunken-driving fatalities the following year.

"You have individuals making the choice to find the bar where they can still combine smoking and drinking and it ends up increasing the risk of causing a drunk-driving accident," said Scott Adams, an economics professor at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee who wrote the report with economist Chad Cotti.

The study was based on data from the Fatality Analysis Reporting System of the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) and included 85% of the USA's counties.

Ken Boll, manager of Paul's Club tavern in Madison, Wis., finds the results plausible: "Some people … will drive an extra 3 miles" to smoke.

Bring back smoking in bars and save a life. Man oh man, who’d a think this one?

Have the Swellest of Weekends my Buds,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

The world is in trouble and who can we call on to save us? Well, we’re gonna have to wait for tomorrow, but the Ironman movie will be opening up across America and my 13 year old son and I are more than ready for the show. I am a life long Marvel Comics fan and have always loved the power and brilliance of billionaire, Tony Stark’s alter ego.

Can you imagine billionaire Donald Trump crawling into a titanium suit and duking it out with arch rival and nemesis, the hairy and hideous Rosie-Man, as she rises from her secret lair at the Virgil’s BBQ on 44th Street in Manhattan? The Donald (the perfect super hero name if you ask me) would have to grow an extra head extension for the hair as he uses his secret power - Gargantuan gamma-ego - to fend off his foes! His daughter, Ivanka-Girl would be at his side using her super-stiff and lifeless personality to ward off anyone with an inkling of warmth or charm. And don’t forget Super Don-Jr. who basically has no real power and just gloms off dad.

BAM!

And holy hate speak, Batdude, but Obama-Man has lost a huge chunk of his power over the people in the last few weeks due to his notorious battles with The Revinator Jeremiah! These two were a dynamic duo for over twenty years until the Revinator showed up on You Tube with his hateful and racist crazy talk. And Obama-Man is now dissing his one-time mentor all to save face with the American people. SHINEOLA I SAY! Meanwhile in her secret mansion in the Empire State, Obama-Man’s arch foe, The Hildebeast is using her icey-cold powers to quell the carnival like excitement that once surrounded Illinois’ Super Senator. Will these two major powers destroy one another, leaving The Mighty McCain to rule the free world?

KERPOW!

Can Captain Algoreknob use his corrugated charm to turn the earth green before ten-million football field’s of ice come crashing down onto Newark, New Jersey? Will the axis powers buy into his “Chicken Little” rhetoric and continue hiring the eco-alarmist at $100,000 per speech? Will this brilliant mind who invented the world’s internet ever forget that he lost to GWB? Can he and the Hildebeast work on a secret formula that gives them even the slightest semblance of a personality?

ZAM!

And what of Madame O, formerly known as Oprah-Girl, the super powered femenista who uses her mind control to convince shrews everywhere that they are better than their cigar sucking husbands. Although she possesses little or no talent, this meag-chick controls half the earth’s wealth and is on a quest for total world domination. O, Queen of the Western Hemisphere, inflates to her super-size, then slims, then inflates, then slims, then inflates again! Holy Kirsty Alley, people - how does she do it! Her Super-Pal, Obama-Man has suffered a few nasty blows as of late, so let’s see if she "cleverly" distances herself from her buddy B.O. and the evil Revinator.

BOFF!

Will the Governator of Kallifawnya help the cigar world and vote against the notorious SCHIP Bill as it looks to destroy the tobacco industry with it’s dreaded tax of doom?! I doubt it. He loves cigars, but the guy is a sell out.

ZAP!

Will the evil OPEC Empire turn the screws even further sending the Amazing Uncle Sam’s economy into deeper peril as the price of black gold rises above $200 per barrel? Will General GWB (aka Captain Nuk-u-lar) ever have the gnads to stand up to these bedsheet-shaws and claim an oil well or two in the name of old glory? Will milk or gas be the first to hit ten dollars a gallon?

BLAM!

Wow, after a closer look, the supposed real life Super-Dudes in this world are nothing but over-inflated Super-Duds. The real heroes are the guys and gals defending our United States of America.

I can’t wait for me and Little Z to see Ironman tomorrow. USA Today gave it 3 or 4 stars in today’s edition and said it’s a kind of mix between James Bond and Transformers. I’ll let you guys know how many Stogies I give it next week.

ZMAN ON RON AND FEZ SHOW TODAY AT 2PM
Today I’ll be on the Ron and Fez Show on (XM Satellite Radio 202) around 2pm EST discussing my awesome cigar excursion in Honduras and the Dominican Republic.

You can get a FREE 3 day download of XM Radio on your computer. Takes a couple of minutes to join and you can listen to the Zman’s wacky adventure. They’ll replay the show several times during the week as well.

Click Right Here for Your Free 3 Days of XM
> http://xmro.xmradio.com/xstream/api/show_trial_form.jsp

Rock on my Super Human buds,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

If you made a list of the things we Americans are most dependent on, we’d find air, water, food, football, the internet, beer, TV, music, and of course, getting our weasels greased. But now something that you never really considered a necessity in the past is vying for top spot (just behind air, food, and water, and just before the greasing.) I’m talking about gasoline. In the past we just pulled into a gas station and told Habib to filler on up. But the price of gas has basically doubled in the past two years and the part that has us all frantic is – when will it stop going up? It almost feels like water board torture as our mind races and we shake helplessly rolling up to the pump as we grab our ankles and say “thank you sir, may I have another.”

People aren’t even filling up anymore, but going for half a tank and trying to stretch it as much as possible. Remember the days of asking for a quick ten-dollar’s worth? That “might” get you across the street if the attendant even agrees as he’d have his nozzle in your gas hole for all of three seconds. And that’s exactly what’s happening as the oil companies are cramming it up our gasholes for all it’s worth.

Now I know many blame China because those bad driving photo freaks finally decided that cars get the Chan family around better than a Schwinn. But Opec has flat out said that they won’t increase production, knowing they’ve got Uncle Sam’s testicles in a full nelson and they don’t care about the pain it’s causing. All those pricks have to is open the spigots a little longer and we’re all breathing a bit easier, but it ain’t gonna happen. I’d love to see Bush grow a sack and tell the Saudis, “Hey, uh, sorry but ya’ll know those GI’s and them there fancy billion dollar planes we got protecting them oil fields of yours? Well, I’m gonna be sendin’ all of them boys home for the summer, so good luck with your buddies in Iran.” How sweet would that be? I bet those white sheets would turn to brown in about five seconds.

Some of you are saying, “How do you blame the oil companies?” Please just shut your face and look at their quarterly profits. Exxon/Mobil, Sun Oil, Gulf, Texaco and the rest are setting world records, making billions more than ever before. You’re telling me they can’t cut into a tiny bit of the profits in a group effort to save he economy? It sure would be nice to see those heartless bastards use collusion for the good of the people for once.

A couple interesting thoughts here…
Are the oil companies driving prices high to the point of “who cares” because they well know that in ten years we’ll all be running our autos on Orville Reddenbacher anyway? Is Opec saying “who cares” to the U.S. because they know we’re developing other resources and they’re too busy getting richer and fatter by the day via their new asshole buddies in the Orient? Are the gas companies pulling another ruse by getting us to $5 a gallon then lowering it back to $3.50 so we all breathe a false sigh of relief thinking that gas is cheap again? Will they jack it up even higher with the intent that people are literally forced to car pool, use mass transit, or combine their family car trips each day? Will Lassie save Timmy and his family from the collapsing mine shaft in time? This is some pretty heavy shineola to ponder my smoke-sucking brethren.

There’s one acerbic poster on this blog whose answer is for me to stop driving my Jeep Grand Cherokee. Yeah, yeah, that’s the answer all right. ZMAN BUYS A PRIUS - SAVES THE ECONOMY…THE PEOPLE REJOICE! Uh huh. Does going green mean that I “have to” drive a frigging toaster with wheels? And this isn’t even about bitching at the pump anymore because the trickle down effect has become a flowing volcano where goods and services are going through the roof and something we used to refer to as “discretionary income” is going the way of the stegosaurus, the 8-track player, and 80’s hair bands (although Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It” just might become the American people’s rallying cry.) The average Joe and family will definitely vacation less this year or not go anywhere at all. Of course that puts a major hit on the airlines, hotels, rental cars, restaurants, theme parks and the tens of thousands of employees who need their 40 hours plus a week to feed their families. Many people are buying strictly necessities at the super market to keep the weekly food bill from going ballistic. Even if I take the family out for a pizza, four bottles of Coke is ten bucks so I got the crew drinking ice water. It’s not only free, but healthier too. The post office is raising their rates again and I think a Fed Ex Standard over night is around seven hundred bucks. You know how they say things come full circle? Can you say Pony Express?

Two days before I left for my trip to the DR and Honduras the price of gas shot up twenty cents in one day. If that keeps happening we’re going to have mass panic. BTW, the price of gas is $6 a gallon in the Dominican Republic and rising just like ours. Half the people drive scooters down there and it’s like Death Race 2000 in the streets. (Holy God, driving there is mass chaos and makes mid-town Manhattan look like Pleasant Valley Sunday.) These small nations whose exports rely on the American dollar are frightened to death about the U.S.’s spiraling economy. The cigar makers know that the moderate smoker will cut down on his spending habits and they said they are feeling it already. Man oh man, what a mess.

I’m not sure if today was a rant, a bitchfest, or a cry for help. I’d say probably all of the above. If this trickle down volcano starts the closing of companies and the loss of many jobs, our new presedente might have another depression to deal with and that’s why something has to be done now. The American public has to become one huge collective squeeky wheel. Either big oil company execs have to give in, the government will have to tap into our oil reserves, or maybe we just claim Saudi Arabia as the United States East. Hey, It’s a thought.

You have a nice day.

Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman.

Why Can’t Reverend Jeremiah Wright just shut the f@#k up, go away and enjoy a nice, quiet retirement?
The former leader of the Trinity United Church of Christ is on a whirlwind tour, speaking his mind and THAT is a very scary thing. What I’m having trouble figuring out is - is he for or against Barrack Obama? - because every time he flaps his gums, Obama’s approval rating drops. Look up the definition of the word “divisive” and the smiling Rev’s picture is there for all to see. If you’ve seen video of his sermons then you know the man preaches hate, racism, and bigotry. He claims his critics are twisting his sermons for political gain, but again, if you watch him in action, his anti-white and anti-American tirades (including the fact that he believes the government has spread AIDS within the black communities to keep “his people” down) are the rantings of a certified sociopathic lunatic. Yesterday Obama released a statement basically saying that, “I don’t speak for him and he doesn’t speak for me.” Too late for damage control my man, cuz this blaze is burnin’ down da house.

Why Can’t fast food sandwiches like a Big Mac or a Whopper look all big and fluffy and pretty like they do on TV?
Every burger I’ve ever bought since childhood looks like Shirley and Rerun from What’s Happenin’ sat on it.

Why Can’t Rosie O’donnell at least put on a little make up?
Every time one of her annoying home made You Tube or blog clips is featured on some TV show, she’s always wearing a mumu and a bandana on her head, with her pasty white skin and dark circles under her eyes like she just went three rounds with Lennox Lewis. And there’s always a group of over-the-top gay guys hanging out with her, flitting around her apartment doing Ethel Merman impersonations. And it’s always when I’m eating. Can’t someone from Revlon pay that butch a visit?

Why Can’t I play golf like Tiger Woods?
Jeez, I putt, chip, hit from the practice tees, damn, I even lust for wicked hot blonde Swedish broads - I mean what the hell?  From 200 yards out I’m using a 5 wood and that bastid has a 9 iron in his hands. What gives? I’ve been playing golf since before you were born you little prick, but nooooo, you’ve won 64 PGA tour events and the best I’ve ever done was twelfth place in our yearly Board of Ed fundraiser. Yeah, great, you just turn your nose up at me you high-brow snob-ass elitist. I hope you choke on your hundreds of millions.

Why Can’t Al Goreknob explain why it’ll be the month of May in two days and it’s still in the 50’s in north east United States? Must have something to do with those twelve million football fields of floating ice. Someone please break out a Sanford marker and paint an “L” on Chicken Little’s head.

Why Can’t gorgeous young woman with incredible bodies see the inner beauty of older, overweight, stogie sucking men?
It’s all just so shallow.

Why Can’t company’s like Padron, La Aurora, Davidoff, and Zino, etc, bring their $20 cigars down to around eight or nine bucks?
I saw first hand how cigars are made. I walked the fields, inspected the barns, toured the factories and met the personnel. They’re not using magical leaf cultivated on Saturn and carefully blended with exotic fairy dust. Now I’m not talking about the manufacturers who do use a vintage crop like Macanudo does for their 2000 Vintage line. That cigar is a certified eight years old and one of the finest I’ve smoked in a very long time. The wrapper is impeccable and it is complex and bursting with delicious tobacco flavors. – Highly recommended you try at east one. - I’m referring to the aforementioned companies who put out some really nice cigars, but the price points are not what they “need” to be. I love Padron Anniversarios, both the 64’s and the 26’s, but I only buy them on special occasions. If they were in the $8 - $9 range I’d smoke them all of the time. Unless the Padron’s and the others do have a tobacco fairy on the payroll, they shouldn’t be hammering their customers when it’s not necessary. As an ex-advertising guy, I can tell you that they’re going for the “perceived value” thing and many out there are gobbling it up with a spoon. It’s all just marketing BS, my friends.

Oh my God… I’m starting to sound like Lew.

Til tomorrow My Peeps,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog with the Zman

There are certain things that perplex the mind and we ask ourselves for the answer, but to no avail. Sometimes my cerebellum runs amuck as I search for the truth but come up with diddly squat. So, I present the infantile queries of my brain for you to ponder as well. I’m sure everyone has a few of their own to share with the group.

Why can’t broccoli taste like a White Castle Slider?
I’ve been asking this since I’m like five years old but no genius out there can come up with the solution. Good God, the world would be so friggin healthy it would be stupid. And while we’re at it, let’s get brussels sprouts to taste like fries. Right now it’s the only food I know that actually tastes like a fart.

Why Can’t the Hildebeast and Obama-rama stop killing each other publically?
It’s beyond all reason that these two numbskulls can’t focus on the issues as their bulbous egos jockey for the top spot of the Democratic Party. After the Bush debacle, liberals should take the 2008 election in landslide proportions, but guess what?…that ain’t gonna happen. They’ve given their opponent enough fodder and ammo to take them down, and quite easily I might add. With Obama’s fun-loving minister coming to the forefront and his experience before becoming a senator being that of a cubscout master, this smooth talking beacon of hope’s light is barely flickering. Hilde’s Pennsylvania triumph became the giant floating turd in Barrack’s party-time pool. I don’t give a rat’s blower who black’s, women, or the Hollyweird faithful pulls the lever for – these chuckleheads have both become unelectable. Did I piss you off? Oooops...Sorry.

Why can’t Lucky Charms cereal just be all marshmallows?
Another age old, childhood question that has plagued me for decades. Everyone knows the oats taste like rabbit pellets and I’m the one who turns the box on its side, pilfering all of those yellow moons, pink hearts, orange stars, and green clovers. That’s right, they’re magically delicious and I’m a marshmallow whore so go get your own f@#king box.

Why can’t we stop being infatuated with the characters on the Sopranos and realize that they are all sociopathic, scumbag hoodlums?
America’s love affair ran nine long years as our Sunday’s were dedicated to wondering “who’s gonna get wacked tonight?” The merciless beatings, curbings, bludgeonings, and flow of blood turned good-hearted, decent, and loving people like you and I into ruthless, dirtbags, rooting for Tony to skate past the Feds week in and week out. What the hell is wrong with us? The New Jersey and New York crime families on the show were devoid of all morals and values and would turn on their own in an instant to get one step ahead. In the episode during the final season where the car flips and Tony covers his nephew Christopher’s air passage and kills him off, I realized at that moment how evil and selfish Tony Soprano really was. Like many viewers I gasped in horror and disgust at what took place and had only one question left on my mind, “Can’t we have just one more season…please?”

Why can’t the government finally just admit that cigar smoking is good for you?
90% of the low-life politico dirtloads smoke fine cigars and they damned well know what the simple act of drawing on a fine puro does for the mind, body, and soul. Cigar smoking relaxes us when we need it most and brings us to a much-needed place of tranquility. Senators, congressmen and legislators alike often seek refuge with a cigar and libation of choice, but the problem is that they are politicians and lifetime politicians lie, cheat, and speak out of their ass instead of the place they rest their cigar. Since smoking has been deemed evil by the fundamentalist, politically correct, sabre wielding smoke Nazis, the politicos must put aside their love of the leaf in favor of garnering votes. Hypocrisy in big government?…..NOOOOO!

Why can’t Oprah Winfrey stop her torrid attempt at world domination?
What the hell lady, enough already. People call Donald Trump a massive egotist because he brands everything under his name, but Oprah does no different. The queen of the earth now even has a department store in Chicago named after her. How in the name of God did Harpo get so damned powerful? She’s not attractive, she can’t sing, act, juggle on a unicycle or spin plates on sticks. If she mentions your book or website you’re an overnight millionaire and when she dissed the beef industry a few years ago people started eating salad (all except for her.) She made Dr. Phil of Shit and Rachael Bobblehead Ray household names and for that we should all be pissed. I’m the typical guy who doesn’t get it and never will.

Damned my brain hurts and that’s enough for today. You got a “Why Can’t” for the group?

It's good to be back the the U.S. of A.,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

Here I am again at 35,000 feet as we just took off from Honduras. Looking down through the clouds at the tropical mountains is incredibly surreal. While the country is quite poor by our standards, Lew says it has grown and modernized by 1000% in the past years. Thirty years ago he slept in a cement bunker when visiting and now it’s a 5 Star Hilton for us with every amenity and all of the pampering one can handle. It’s not so bad being the American swine once in a while, I’ll tell you that.

I have never eaten so much incredible food in my life. Having good meals together is a huge part of the Hispanic culture. Where at home we grab a slice of pizza or wolf down a sandwich, the factory workers bring individual pots filled with rice, chicken and pork and fresh fruit to accompany. For us big-wig types, we met in a private kitchen while three woman cooked a goddamned lunchtime feast that left us all stuffed right past dinner time. Somehow I still managed throw down a steak or two for dinner. Imagine that. The amazing thing is that almost everything is grown fresh on their property - fruit, veggies, beef, pork, and chicken. Yesterday they made the best lemonade we all ever had. And the secret was - it was made from “real” lemons, not a powdered mix. They made this Honduran guacamole with hard boiled eggs mixed with avocado, mayo and spices and I couldn’t stop. I guess great food and cigars are all you really need, right? OK, there might be another important factor I missed.

I gained such an appreciation for the cigar factory employees who work at an unbelievable pace for nine solid hours. My pictures kept coming out blurry because they go so fast. It amazed me that they do the same repetitious and monotonous work every single day-after-day while still staying motivated and productive. Those who sort the tobacco place the leaves into different piles for size, grade and color. Others slide the leaf through a machine that removes the stem and splits the leaf into two parts. Bunchers assemble the different leaves that make up a blend for a specific cigar and hand it off to the rollers. In shipping and receiving, thousands of pounds of boxed tobacco is received from the farms and sent for washing and fermenting. After the fermentation process it is bailed and warehoused for three to five years. They were actually working with the 2004 crop while I was there. And when the final cigars are done they get put into a deep freeze to kill the bugs, eggs, and larvae that naturally lives within the aging tobacco. The amount of hands that touch every single cigar made is almost inconceivable.

And yeah, I did go into the fermentation rooms and it’s about as pleasant as wearing a sandpaper jockstrap. There are 3 rooms and each one is more potent than the next. Room one I could handle but room two almost knocked me on my culo. The ammonia was so overpowering and I was choking and had to get out. They laughed at me like the douchebag, coddled American, and asked if I wanted to go to room three. I really don’t know how anyone can get used to that. If you’ve ever had smelling salts, imagine keeping that under your nose for half an hour.

Whoa!… We are actually flying over Cuba at this moment and I swear I saw a missile headed right at us! I let out a scream like a little girl and scared the bejezus out of everyone on the plane. But it seems it was just a hunk of kielbasa I brought along on the flight that must have gotten loose from the cargo bay. My bad. Great, the pilots are making me sit in the bathroom and Lew has just banned me from all intercontinental travel. It’s going to be tough getting back into his good graces. Wonder if I should tell them about that monkey trying to destroy the wing?

Well, just like that I’m back behind my home computer, typing out this drivel for all of you cigar weenies. The trip to the DR and Honduras was simply amazing, educational, and exciting. The people I met are unforgettable and Daniel Nunez is a gentleman like they don’t make anymore. He opened up his entire facility for me to experience and treated me like a family member. At dinner Lew and I had him laughing like hell with our sophisticated American humor. Of course I threw in a few Polack jokes for good posture. And, I found out that Little Johnny jokes down there are called Little Pepito jokes. Same bastid kid, different dialect. I really can’ thank all the good people from General Cigar enough for the trip of a lifetime and I would go again in a second.

Hint, hint… :)

Til next week guys,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

The factory I’ve hung out in Honduras for the past two days is General’s facility in Confradia. It’s a little over 100 degrees and about 85% humidity. I sat through 40 – 50 degree weather for how many months in New Jersey then come to a country that is one big sauna – but phenomenal for growing some of the best tobacco in the world.
 
What’s cool is as I sit here typing I’m smoking a big-ass Punch Maduro and as I look around, everyone is freely smoking. God I love that. I sure as hell don’t get to smoke while I work at home, but smoking a cigar while I write feels so amazing and so relaxing.

Yesterday I took the factory tour and I really almost passed out. The heat and humidity had me light headed and I drank many bottles of ice cold agua. I was told that it’s even hot for the people here, so you know it’s gotta be pretty damned sweltering. But I held my ground and finished the tour like the good little gringo I am. I’m smoking cigars constantly, one different brand and flavor profile after another.   They do things a little differently here than in the DR, different methods and such, but the result is the same. Some terrific stuff is made right outside the factory window of the office I’m working in – Sancho Panza, Hoyo, Punch, and JR Alternatives a plenty. There is nothing cooler and more exciting for a doofus like me than to pluck a freshly banded cigar from the inspector’s table and fire it up. I’m truly like a kid in the world’s biggest candy store.

It’s been rough staying in a 5 Star Hilton, but the sacrifices must be made for the good of BOTL’s everywhere. There are machine gun wielding guards on the grounds which tells me I ain’t in Jersey anymore, Toto. It is strange looking out the window, knowing you’re really in Central America. The country is very tropical and large mountains are everywhere. Soccer is the sport people literally live and die for around here and again, cigars are everywhere.

Well, I’ve been hogging Lew’s laptop and he needs it back. I’m suppossed to interview an old time cigar great through an interpreter after lunch and then tomorrow morning we’re headed back stateside. OK, OK Lew, stop yelling...here’s yer stinkin’ Mac back! (I’m tellin’ ya, he loves me like the brain dead Polack son he never had.)


We shall talk again tomorrow as I wrap up our adventure,
Tommy Z.
JR Blog With the Zman

I’d have to say that this is my first blog written at 35,000 feet above the Caribbean Sea. Traveling via private jet would even spoil a hog and you can definitely consider this pig spoiled (no, not soiled, although I just might be if I keep drinking out of the toiletin the middle of the night.)

We’re headed towards San Pedro Sula, Honduras and I have been one busy lil’ Polack. Sitting across from me on this eight seat, Hawker 800 XL flying machine are what you could consider baseball’s equivalent of Mickey Mantle and Juan Marichal. To my left is JR chief, Lew Rothman and to my right is General Cigar’s el presidente, the honorable, Daniel Nunez. From the minute I showed up at the airport, Lew has been breaking my robustos about the gargantuan steamer trunk I brought for my clothes. I’m admittedly worse than a woman with over packing and had to get a smaller bag in the DR and ship my Polish Cargo Trunk back to Jersey. And when we landed in West Palm for refueling to the DR, Lew told me they all took a vote for me to shut the f@#k up. So, I’m excited like a five year old with a new Hess truck. This is old hat to these guys and I’m like a puppy who’s jumping up and down to take a pissin the backyard. Someone please remove the “L” from my forehead.

A day and a half in Santiago gave me a crash course in the General Cigars way of life. I toured two cigar factories, their plantation farm in Mao, and their box manufacturing facility. The Dominican people are all wonderful with warm smiles, but there’s also those “Who’s the porky gringo?” looks I kept getting as well. I’ve been given the royal treatment and have seen basically every aspect of the business, up close and personal. I’ll be writing an article for Cigar Magazine on my excursion so I can’t get into too much detail here, lest my editor gives me the Zarzecki beatdown I so richly deserve.

I’d have to say the main takeaway from the DR trip is this: When people think about cigar making they generally envision the torcedor behind his table with trusty chaveta in hand. But the cigar roller is maybe one percent of the entire operation. There are so many steps to the manufacturing process of cigars that it boggles the mind.

General employs over four thousand hard working people in the DR and I was fortunate enough to watch many of them from several feet away applying their trade. The dedication, skill, and massive patience it takes to work in this industry is unparalleled. Row after row of tobacco sorters, devainers, bunchers and rollers filled huge rooms as the heavy smell of tobacco laces the air. They took me into a couple of the fermenting rooms and the stench of ammonia knocked me flat on my culo. THAT was wicked.

The managers gave me free reign to pluck freshly rolled gars right off the tables and I pilfered some beauties including a few of my fave Cohbia XV Figurados - nice and oily just how I like ‘em. One of the biggest surprises was how much respect I gained from the machine made operation. You can’t believe the skill and craftsmanship it takes to make smaller smokes. The plantation, nestled in a valley between huge mountains, was like going back to 1930 as the curing barns baked in the sun with banana trees swaying in the background. The barns can hold up to 15,000 pounds of tobacco each, where the leaf hangs to dry 45 feet up to the rooftop. The following morning I toured the box making facility and watched every step of wood being sorted, cut, nailed, painted, and polished. The boxes are works of art, especially for the Stratovarius and the Decades.

Daniel Nunez is the consummate gentleman and treats everyone with the kind of dignity and respect that many in the U.S. have long forgotten about. His management team boasts 26 MBA’s and I’m not surprised by the efficiency that prevails. Modesta Fondeur is second in command and is a woman who has earned tremendous respect throughout the cigar world for her knowledge and passion of this honorable industry.

The one thing these people are known for is their hospitality and the home cooked lunches and amazing dinners probably packed on a pound or ten. I’ve never tasted fruit like this, so fresh and exploding with flavor. And you haven’t lived until you’ve has freshly squeezed Dominican mango juice. I’ve never tasted anything like it. Knock on Spanish Cedar, but I haven’t got the runs and the ice cold Presidente beer has kept me happy and hydrated.

Dinner followed by cigars and great conversation will be a listing memory for me. My humongous suitcase, constant chatter, and voracious appetite gave Lew enough fodder for Zman jokes through the next decade. I think he really loves me and I just keep telling myself that over and over.

As you can imagine, the trip is quite the adventure and I’ve smoked more cigars in a couple of days than I do all winter. Awwww, poor, poor Zman. Tomorrow I’ll give the lowdown on Honduras.

Til Tomorrow,

Tommy Z.
JR Blog With the Zman

Today my little group flies into San Pedro Sula, Honduras as Central America readies itself for the Polish invasion of the most righteous Zman. A parade complete with entertainers, floats and flower girls are expected to greet the blogging giant of the cigar world. Yes, it’s good to be the King. (God, I am so full of shit and full of myself. But if I don’t do it, who will?)

I’ve been reading a lot of really annoying stories lately about the new trend where the politically correct do-gooders of the world are now banning both dodge ball and the game of tag from school gym class and recess. The PC crowd has to protect everyone from any kind of possible mental or physical harm. If just one person is offended then everyone must become part of the bland and milquetoast society that the PCers see fit.

This is just awful and outright asinine. Dodge balls didn’t get any harder and today’s kids aren’t all jacked up on steroids, hurling the rubber sphere at breakneck speeds. The game has been played for a
hundred years and all of us were either in the circle of death, trying to avoid the humiliation of being nailed – or we were the lucky ones with the ball, looking to cream the tortoise-like fat kid who simply
had no where to run and no where to hide. Sure it can be a little rough, but god damn it, so is the world – and when life fires a large rubber ball at your dome are you gonna just lay there and cry like a
wounded feeb or are you gonna grow a pair and fire back? I didn’t intend to make this dodgeball / life analogy, but I think it has merit. But the damned PC f@#kers don’t. Protect everyone – no one must ever be hurt. How the hell can our kids gain any character if they don’t face a little “non-life threatening” adversity? Getting knocked down enables one to get back up and realize that yes, you can get back up.


And now the game of tag is being outlawed in grade schools. Unfortunately, the game requires that someone has to be “IT”. God help us and god forbid that someone is IT. One child has been singled out from the herd and can only be part of society again until he or she tags someone else and make that poor and wretched soul, IT. Lord in heaven what kind of unholy barbarians are we to single out an innocent citizen and make him earn his way back into the colony by use of his cunning and his fight or flight reflexes? According to the politically correct, absolutely NO ONE should face the shame of being IT and be forced to stand up for himself. That’s just not fair… Lord, that’s just so unfair.

God damn those who roll with the pussies of the PC crowd. Life isn’t fair for crissakes and when you get the proverbial red rubber ball to the kidneys or someone decides that you’re IT, you’re going to have to fight back, defend yourself, swing for the fences or run like hell. This nation was founded by a bunch of rebel SOB’s who had it with the Red Coats and their bullying ways. Our founding fathers picked up that ball and fired back, nailing those oppressive pricks in he sack and then stood up in their faces and screamed out, “You’re IT!”

I urge you all to stand up to the oppression of the politically correct who are also the ones who are trying to take our cigars away. Tell ‘em where you’re gonna cram that big ol’ dodge ball if hey even try.

Until tomorrow, the Worldly Traveler bids you Adieu,

Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

Well, I've posted my Monday blog a day earlier on Sunday because if you read Friday’s edition, you’d know that I’m basking in Santiago in the Dominican Republic as we speak (Another fancy drink with an umbrella in it my little Domincana honey.) Something tells me I’m having a pretty damned good time and smoking cigars like a demon, too. The posts will be short and sweet this week as I’m crammed for time and whatnot.

On Saturday my Cigar Club in Fairfield, New Jersey, The Metropolitan Cigar Society had a nice little open house to attract new Brothers of the Leaf for membership. Our founders did things right and we have this awesome bastion for guys who like to enjoy good company, good times, and good smokes. Please check out the website because you’re guaranteed to be impressed.

Web Address> www.metrocigar.com

Martinez Cigars of New York showed up and gave out samples of their brand new blend that is going to hit the market – All Nicaraguan with a Sumatran wrapper. Mmm mmm, damn, I’m telling you these guys are a hot little company. Jesus Martinez is one hell of a hard working guy who is doing his best to put this awesome boutique company on the map. The good people from Altadis were there with some great new stuff including my fave, the Rome Y Julieta Habana Reserve. That is one hell of a gorgeous looking and smoking cigar – medium to full bodied, Nicaraguan wrapper, Nicaraguan binder, and a Nicaraguan /Honduran filler. Also, Rosario Cigars, another boutique company from the Bronx New York had their rollers making up some outstanding smokes as well. This was a heck of a nice shindig and the BOTL’s were out in full force.

It seems with the smoking laws, the taxes, and the smoke-Nazis from hell, people who love cigars are going to have to find a way to beat the system that is trying to eradicate our right to smoke. They don’t care that they are trampling on our rights because they’re on a mission and they won’t stop until the world is rid of tobacco. One way to fight back is to try to start a club like the guys did in Jersey – it’s private, we don’t sell tobacco, and therefore no one can bother us. You don’t have to get fancy or spend a million bucks, but you do need to do things right. I’d say to email the administrators at the Metro Club (Dan M. or Bob L.) and ask the questions you’d like answers to. We’re all in this together and starting your own cigar hangout may be just one way we can beat these wretched bastards who want to take our cigars away. It was a great day at the club and I really wanted to share it with people like you who I know would appreciate it.

email> admin@metrocigar.com

Gotta go my brothers, there’s a chick with a carafe of wine and peeled grapes waiting to make my acquaintance. I-chee-wowa.

Have a great day all, I know I will,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman