I’ve lived all my life in the New York metro area and have never attended a New Year’s Eve in Manhattan. Quite frankly, those who go are basically all from outside of the NY area, and are truly out of their skulls. First of all, it’s generally freezing, raining or snowing that evening, all the stores are closed and there’s no where to take a leak but into your champagne bottle. Year’s back, the cavorting and the drinking in the streets was out of control. There were hoodlums who would bandy about copping free feels, then feeling it from the cops. But now with security at an all-time high, people are actually quadranted off into areas they must stay within – like ten thousand rats in a cage for 500, there is absolutely NO drinking – and if you have dark hair, a tan, and look like you might have had stewed goat and flat bread for breakfast, you’ll probably be getting fingerprinted in a makeshift terror wagon by a couple of dudes who look like Agent Smith from the Matrix. Go through ten hours of freezing your cojones off while folks all around are in a state of berserk hysteria – wearing glasses where the zeros are the eyeholes, and to see a big, lighted ball drop. How strangely festive.

I know very well that this night is about nostalgia, but has Dick Clark not had his thousand days in the sun? The man is a f@#king fossil. He makes the Crypt Keeper look like Brad Pit for crissakes. Of course I’m sympathetic to the stroke the poor dude had, but the guy who was once deemed as the “world’s oldest teenager” is long in the tooth and a poster boy for Depends. (Did you have any idea that his middle name is “Wagstaff?”) And PLEASE don’t replace Dickie with that other whore relic, Regis Fill-in. Another walking ad for Metamucil, Regis seems to be the consummate standby for who ever breaks a hip. A young, suave replacement is in order, or maybe even a hot babe. Ryan Seacrest actually wasn’t too bad. Anyone who interviewed the Righteous Brothers or the Dave Clark Five in their hey-day should be in a 98 degree pool in Boca Raton with a white hat and a sailfish on it.

Then there’s the song, Auld Lang Syne. It’s absolutely amazing that when you hear this relic by Guy Lombardo, you instantly get put into a state that throws you back into another place and another time. At the moment of mid-night, people hug and kiss, throw streamers, blow horns, and bang pots and pans all because a year has ended and a new year has commenced. As I said in the beginning, it really is kind of freaky weird. Remember the New Year’s Eve scene from Forest Gump when a legless Lt. Dan sat at the bar in somber as the room around him exploded in jubilation? That was very sobering, and unfortunately a reality for many on this most famous evening.

The most interesting New Year’s Eve for me was at my friend Bruce’s house who is married to a Dominican woman. She had the whole clan over and all they did was blare salsa music, drink wine like animals, and dance non-stop for hours on end. When it came to the final minute of the 20th century, me, my wife Robin, and Bruce sat on the couch, holding our kids in our arms, marveling that a new century was about to take place. But the crazy-ass Latinos didn’t care as they shook their culos screaming “arrrrriba” at the top of their lungs. Bruce’s wife, Virna leaned over the couch and shouted out, “What the f@#k is wrong with you f@#king white people?! Why aren’t you dancing? You are all so god-damned boring!” They weren’t even aware of the final ten-second countdown as they flailed about, screaming at the top of their lungs. The cultural differences that exist were apparent that evening.

Well, whatever you choose this evening, it is a good idea to be thankful for what you do have in your life. I’m a believer that what you concentrate on is what you bring more of to yourself. Truly be thankful for what you “DO” have and honestly wish those around you a prosperous new year. And of course, I wish this all to you.

And don’t forget, tonight is a night for a fine cigar if there ever was one! I’ll be going with an El Rey Del Mundo Flor de Llanza www.jrcigars.com/index.cfm and a LA AURORA PREFERIDOS TUBED from the JR Luxury Cigar Club www.jrcigars.com/index.cfm

Later my good peeps, see you in 2008,
Tommy Z.
JR CIGARS with the Zman

I can’t explain it, but I am one of those sentimental weenies who truly enjoys my birthday. There are those who want nothing to do with the bloody day, then there are those who wish we had a crown and scepter and could beckon the world to do as we please. I’ve just always thought that it’s the one day out 365 that I get to do what the hell I want and when the hell I want to. So I’m a douche bag. At least I like to have fun at it. I knew a guy who would disappear to his shore house alone for a week, he despised his date of birth so much. Me? I’d call strangers on the phone all morning asking them to wish me a happy day. (Yea, I got problems.)

I was born December 30, 1958, at 3:44am in Weehawken, New Jersey. (Weehawken is the famed spot where the most infamous duel in American History took place as Aaron Burr gunned down Alexander Hamilton. I maintain to this day I had nothing to do with it.) Yes I’m 49, for you Rainman wannabees. And, why are we always born at such ungodly hours in the morning? Do you know anyone who was ever born during lunch?

I always maintain that on my birthday that I should be exonerated from all chores and don’t have to lift a finger or do a thing. Unfortunately, my wife says that’s what I do for the remaining 364 days, so what the hell is so special? (The woman does have a valid point.) Yes, I’m a playful sort, and enjoy picking a nice place for dinner and bringing family and friends. This year will be Ruth’s Chris Steak House in Parsippany, NJ. If you’ve never been to one, my god, you are missing a treat. A mouthwatering Porterhouse cooked in their patented 1,600 degree oven, drizzed with butter and sizzling in your face. Top it off with some tangy garlic mashed and their signature creamed spinach and you swear for only a moment that you have visited the gates of heaven and lived to tell about it.

Of course I love presents. You can choose from the following if you wish…Hockey tickets, a nice bottle of hootch, anything signed by Wayne Gretzky, a heavy metal CD, membership to a milf site, and of course…CIGARS! People think because I work with JR I get all the free cigars I want. Untrue, my misinformed friends – I pay for ‘em just like any other Joe Shmoe. Really. So, if you feel the urge to send some leafy treasures my way – I say knock your self out! Oh yeah… and I like money, too.

I checked Wikipedia for interesting events on December 30, and wouldn’t ya know, in 1981, my all-time favorite player, Wayne Gretzky scored his 50th goal in 39 games, which is still a National Hockey League record today! And that wonderful humanitarian, Saddam Hussein was executed by hanging last year. That’s nice. As for cool birthdays that are shared with me…Sandy Koufax, Tiger Woods, Le Bron James, Sean Hannity, Heidi Fleiss (Yeah baby), both Davy Jones and Michael Nesmith of the Monkees, Bert Parks, Jack Lord from Hawaii 5-0, and Rudyard Kipling. I’d say that’s rather good company, don’t you think? BTW, people who were not born on my birthday include: Andre the Giant, Shirley Chisolm, Re-run from What’s Happening, Fez Whatley, Chief Sitting Bull, Rue Paul, Baby Bop, Zack Wylde, and Secretariat.

So I was little self indulgent on the blog today. Hey, I’m in need of love just like anyone else, OK? It’s my last year before I’m half a century old and I’m trying to enjoy it before any major parts fall off. Oops…wait a minute…too late.

Have a great weekend – I know I will, and we’ll talk again on Monday, New Year’s Eve day!

McRib Sandwich -
I have no clue why, but I actually enjoyed this little hunk of particleboard slathered in bbq sauce. It was first introduced in 1981 and made several returns, but Mickey D’s is sending this little piggie out to market for good. From what I understand, it was quite popular with the ethnic crowd, but for some reason, the folks in the Hamptons found that it clashed miserably with their Bordeaux.

Coke Blak -
When I first heard of this, I thought it was Cocacola for black folks. I remember thinking, what’s next…gay Coke? Now, I never tried this drink, mainly because I have enough crap in my body, and adding more sugar and caffeine just isn’t worth it. Otherwise known by its street name, “Buzz Coke” this was the new drink that "fused Coke effervescence with coffee essence." Yuck. For the life of me I don’t get the need for these drinks that bring you into hyperspace, such as Rock star and Monster. They taste like absolute shit but the teens think it’s a safe alternative to Barry Bonds juicing. Up next: Anabolic Yoohoo.

NFL Europe -
Something you will no longer hear: “Ya…Hurry up over Gunther and Fritze – I got da wings and da beer just like dee Americans – and da Rotterdam Hellgramites are kicking off to da Luxembourg Shinsplints in two minutes!” Holy Christ, I choose Rachael Ray making her party time meatloaf over this snorefest. No no-name football in a place where they don’t even know what “yards” are? Next…

House & Garden Magazine -
Sorry Grandma, You’ll have to switch to the Martha Stewart brand.

Topps Hamburgers -
A beloved and trusted brand I grew up with on the east coast, fell prey to the dreaded E. coli contamination. The company founded in 1940 suffered one of the worst beef recalls (22 million pounds) in US history, and I guess even insurance couldn’t bale them out. Topps were a staple for me growing up as a kid – just break the frozen patties apart, toss them on the grill, and watch those fat laden saucers cause a three-alarm blaze! There were times I swore my dad was recreating the Chicago Fire! What an honest shame for these guys.

Dodge Magnum -
Yes, please, give me a red hearse with mag wheels. I think I’m Grandpa Munster, god damn-it. “Hey hot babes, look at me! Dorks in pseudo station wagons can be ultra cool”…NOT! Somebody bring back the AMC Pacer while we’re at it, please!

Cingular Wireless –
The little orange X guy was great branding and the TV commercials where people’s signal got cut off were excellent (the butcher can’t get his 50 lbs of roast beef and asks the guy if his wife wolfed it down for breakfast – freakin’ classic.) But then the global giant AT&T gobbled them up and people were forced back into using the company they were purposely trying to get away from. Oops.

They might not be back for 2008, but the Zman will!!!

Christmas Eve and Day are a non-stop food fest as we punish our bodies beyond reproach with meats and sauces, side dishes and sugar-laden treats. Of course there’s the wine, beer, and other libations, and if you’re like me, you throw a couple of fine cigars into the mix. There’s just so much good stuff and we have to sample it all. We HAVE TO  – it’s almost a divine right to gorge like a wolf. (I swear next Christmas I’m installing a vomitorium.)

So I woke up around 3am with acid reflux that basically burned a hole in the back of my skull, I peed about ten times, and I won’t even go into the other foulness that I purged in the wee hours. As I sit in front of my computer, my eyes are a total blur, my temples have knives sticking in them, I feel like somebody’s playing Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots in my gut, as large field mice run free though my out my bowel tract. And why do we commit to such madness? It’s simple – it’s tradition!

Somebody’s gotta put an end to this god forsaken “tradition.” I mean I like Christmas and I love making the kids happy, but celebrating the birth of Christ should not mean pissing away all your frigin’ money and poisoning your body. How the hell did THIS become tradition? Times were definitely simpler when Ralphie got his Red-Ryder Carbon-Action 200-Shot Range Model Air Rifle BB-Gun (with a compass in the stock. How I live to see him kick the living snot out of Scut Farkus.) Now women demand diamonds from Zales, Japanese imports perched in the driveway with large bows on the top as children leave Bud Light by the fireplace for Santa.

Didn’t mean to bum anyone out, just talking aloud here – wishing a group of highly regarded public figures would unite in a TV commercial saying that it’s OK not to spend your life’s savings at Christmas. Johnny doesn’t need X-Box 12,000, wifey doesn’t need the “I Love You Forever Pendant”, you aren’t a bad father or husband if you go a little lighter this year. And we don’t have to eat like lions at an injured water buffalo convention. Lets just take it easy and enjoy how it was once meant to be enjoyed. Capeesh?

OK- are we all clear on this? Good! …Now get ready for New Year’s Eve and Day.

This blockhead Polak was a bit ambitious thinking he could write a full-blown blog post this morning. I ate like a python last night (swallowing everything whole in my path), stayed up until 3:30 wrapping and stuff – got up at 8am for the kids gifts – cooked bacon and eggs for the crew – and now company is coming to my house at 1:30pm.

But hey, there’s no reason that YOU guys can’t post today and tell what cool gifts you got, or what nice stoags are being smoked. Got me Fonseca #4 Maduros www.jrcigars.com/index.cfm  (I picked up in the JR 12 Days of Christmas Sale) that will be thoroughly enjoyed this very fine day.

Got my son Tommy, Guitar Hero 3 and we’ve been head banging all friggin’ morning. There are some awesome cranking tunes on the new game, including some great oldies like Mississippi Queen and Slow Down. That is one addictive extra curricular activity. We also got into a little NHL ‘08 and a quick round of knee hockey. And… the kid went nuts over the NHL Vintage Collection Wayne Gretzky, Edmonton Oilers jersey I got him. It is WAY cool with sewn on name and numbers. As for the daughter, sixteen year olds are quite happy with clothes. And for the wife, I gave her the big present last night – even though ol’ Santa here came a little early it was the thought that counted. TMI – perhaps.

The ham is in the oven, potateys are being mashed, and I really gots to go!

Everyone have a wonderful Christmas day, and to my Hebrew Friends, enjoy the movies.

For tomorrow we shall blog again.

Happy, Merry, to all,
Tommy Z.
JR CIGARS Blog With the Zman

As we prepare for turkey, ham, biscuits and eggnog this evening, there’s a rather rotund bastid who’s preparing for one hell of an exhausting trip, tonight. His fat to body weight ratio is immense and his cholesterol level reads like a perfect bowling score, yet he’ll wriggle that big fat ash of his into that ramshackle sleigh and take flight once darkness falls. OK, ramshackle my ass…the sled has been retrofitted with satellite global positioning, Doppler radar, a carbon composite stealth body type to slip through terrorist nations, ergonomic computer controlled cockpit, hydraulic boosters, contour electrical heated seating, and an ipod cranking with nothing but 1980’s heavy metal (“You’ve got another thing comin’, baby!”)

Before take off, Claus has a pre-run meal that consists of a balance of protein, complex and simple carbs. Even though he’s a girthy old dude, his personal trainers have him in optimum game shape so his energy lasts through the 24-hour trek. The cushy red velvety jacket and pants have been replaced by a mesh composite with an Under Armor lined interior. The threat of hypothermia has always been a reality, but this year Santa will stay cool and dry as the 30 gallons of sweat will be whisked away from his body. (Rumor has it that the people from Febreze have been brought in to deal with the smell.)

There is much controversy this year surrounding the tubby Mr. Yultide as the reindeer steroid controversy has grown to new heights. The Reindeer Mitchell Report (compiled by George Mitchell, a disgruntled Santa’s naughty list member) has named 6 of the nine reindeer as users of RGH (Reindeer Growth Hormone) with Rudolph expected to be named later next week. Just yesterday, both Comet and Dasher released video statements on their websites, thoroughly denying the claims. Comet merely said that he has never needed to stoop his antlers so low, and Dasher says it’s sheer jealously from those who are looking to take his job. This week in the North Pole Press, Santa also denied any knowledge of foul play, but sources say an elf informant close to the bearded big man has spilled his little guts to the Christmastown feds.

On a side note, Santa will consume approximately twenty boxes of fine cigars this evening in order to kill the taste of all those cookies and milk. (Most notibly, The Claus dude is quite particular of Belinda Black  www.jrcigars.com/index.cfm , El Rey Del Mundo Choix Supremes www.jrcigars.com/index.cfm , the Martinez New York Patria www.jrcigars.com/index.cfm , and his favorite Punch Grand Cru #2 www.jrcigars.com/index.cfm . When he stops through Cuba, the old boy picks up a motherlode of Habanas to thank the elfs for all that hard work over the past few months. Elfs also have a penchant for rum, so he’ll bring enough back to have the tiny dudes soused until February. 

There’s a new book out this season that deals with explanations on how Santa Claus can transport himself to every home in the world within just one night. Quantum physics expert, Raj Poontangya says that Santas’ magic is really a clever way of bending the time and space continuum. Through the use of meditation and chanting, his vibrational level climbs so high that he becomes literally invisible and can manipulate time and space at ten thousand times the normal human pace. Wow, my Polak brain hurts just thinking about such things. And who really cares – I just want my f@#king Hess truck.

Well my peeps, I hope Topher Kringle, aka Santa, brings you and the family everything to your hearts desire. I’m leaving out by the fireplace a Heineken Keg can and hot wings for the old boy, hoping maybe this year he leaves me a Lexus with the big stupid bow on top. And maybe I’ll even be luckier to get my greasy mitts on a Mafia Life Cigar created by my buddy, Chris, and Don Rigo! One can only hope!

And, YES – there will be a special Christmas Day Edition tomorrow for those of you who just can’t get their fill of Zman holiday goodness.

It’s funny when you think about the gadgets we never had in our lives a few years ago, but couldn’t possibly do without now – like the microwave. I mean how the hell would we roast a scintillating Hot Pocket or warm up a slice of left over pizza to a rubbery consistency? Oh the horror. And now suddenly the thought of getting lost is a major threat to our lives and to the sanctity of our entire family. We can now find the route that is a minute and thirty-seven seconds quicker than we even thought possible. Yay! Guaranteed if Will and Holly’s dad had a Garmin they would have never battled them pesky Sleestacks in the Land of the Lost. But everything happens at the time it’s supposed to. I mean if Columbus had a GPS, you wouldn’t be reading this blog right now because you wouldn’t be here. That crazy Italian bastid was so off course that he ended up around the Dominican Republic – and I’m sure enjoyed a few beautiful Ashton Cabinets www.jrcigars.com/index.cfm during his mishap.

The funny thing most people talk about is the chick whose voice who lovingly guides you to your required destination. But miss an exit or make a wrong turn and Ms. Charming-Pants turns into a freakin’ shrew, berating you for being a dill-weed and not listening, “Recalculating route you dumb-ass, I mean, WTF?”

I think it would be entertaining and highly lucrative if they made the GPS available with a choice of different voices. Say… let’s look at a few of them shall we? Howz ‘bout the Schwarzenegger, “Turn Bock You ahs-hole!” The GW Bush, “Merica, I know we’ve got a long journey ahead of us. And I’m aware of the pain that you and your loved ones are being caused at the gas pump, bla, bla, bla, bla, bla…” The Rosie O’Donnell, “Yes, I’m a big, fat, angry, rug chewer and your turn is coming up in 500 feet.” The Ron Bennington, “Sure you’re gonna do a left turn ahead, but that don’t make you a bad person.” Stewie from Family Guy, “Oh dear, you have made a wrong turn you insolent clod. DAMN YOU!” The Jenna Jameson, “Oh yes, faster, faster! Oooooooooooooh God, yes, right there, right there…that’s it, faster… yeeeees!” The Rush Limbaugh, which only turns right. And the Hillary Clinton which will drive us all to the depths of socialist hell if we allow it to.

And I saved the best for last. I call this one: The Wife. “Turn left you idiot. What the hell is wrong with you…I SAID LEFT! Did you call the landscaper yet? It’s almost November and it’ll be too late to do the seeding. If you had any brains you’d know that you just missed your exit. What kind of husband are you? I remember that time 15 years ago when you didn’t hold the door open for me in the Chinese Restaurant. And now you’re missing exits. What an ass. I’m making sure our daughter marries for money. Are you aware a U-turn is coming or are you just going to listen to that god damned hockey game all night? Turn right in point two miles you worthless piece of f@#king garbage…"

Holy good God, kill me now.

Love to all, and thanx so damn much to Ron & Fez for letting me make a grotesque weenie of myself doing impressions on their XM Radio show, yesterday.

Today, Thursday, December 20, Tommy Zarzecki will infest the Manhattan XM Studio once more as he has been invited to appear as a guest on the hit radio comedy talk show, Ron & Fez. Of course he’ll talk cigars and a host of manly issues that affect our world today! And, he’ll be giving last minute Christmas gift advice for that stogie lover in your life, courtesy of JR Cigars.

Don’t have XM? …Well you can still hear the Zman!
XM Radio offers a FREE 3 Day trial internet download enabling you to hear any station they offer for 72 hours. Go to this URL and the download is simple! 

> xmro.xmradio.com/xstream

Ron & Fez airs from 12 noon to 3pm on the Virus XM 202, immediately after Opie and Anthony.

Meatheads Among Us

The Spears family. Wow. F’ing meatheads – every last one of them. Big Sister is a white-trash rollercoaster ride sponsored by the makers of Paxil. Little sister is only sixteen and is now with child. My daughter is 16 and that thought is SOOOOOO unfathomable that I can’t even image how that whole thing is going down. Jamie Lynn Spears, star of Nickelodeon’s Zoey 101 announced that she did indeed perform the nasty and is 6 months away from popping out a rugrat. So much for that lucrative television contract playing innocent little miss honey buns in Sunshine Valley, USA! And to really toss cider vinegar on the open gash, mommy Lynne Spears has written a book that ain’t NEVER gonna make it to Amazon,com. Seems she wrote a poignant epic on the subject of parenting for a Christian publishing group entitled: Pop Culture Mom: A Real Story of Fame and Family in a Tabloid World." If lil’ Jamie could have just kept her relationship to an oral agreement, only boneheaded Britney would be in the limelihght. This family is the perfect example of why tigers eat their young. Oops…they did it again.

Then there’s the Dallas Cowboys smiling-ass quarterback, Tony Romo who is smiling for good reason – he’s now $61 million dollars richer and has hottie pop-star Jessica Simpson to personally toss his salad. But of course, that infamous rocket surgeon of a tight end, Terrell “I can’t shut my f@#king mouth because my ego is bigger than Rosie O’donnell’s lunch bag” Owens made the following statement after the Cowboys loss to the Eagles this past Sunday, "(She) is not a fan favorite – in this locker room or in Texas Stadium." Although Romo probably saw more action the night before the game, it sure doesn’t mean that Goldilocks was the reason for the Cowboys defeat. Once again guys, we’re talking major-league meatheads across the board here. T.O. also added, "With everything that has happened, obviously with the way Tony played and the comparison between her and Carrie Underwood, I think a lot of people feel she has taken his focus away," The human boner also added, "Other than that, she was high on my list until last week.” I do admit I was nauseated every time they showed miss honey-britches in her pink number nine jersey. But now Owens is doing the tap-dance back pedal saying that he was just joshing the fresh faced little white boy. If I was Romo, first play from scrimmage this week I’d drill a tight spiral right into Ownes jimmy-sack. I mean why throw it at his gigantic head – he wouldn’t feel a goddamned thing.

And, In Austin Texas, a 70 year old woman had a knock at the door. It was the Animal Control police coming to remove the 237 dogs she had in her house. (some where in a Georgia jail cell, Michael Vick is going “SHWING!”) 70 years old or not, you’re a friggin meathead lady. Can you imagine the stink? Can you imagine the disease? And the leg humping must have set an all-time world record.

Today’s diddy is proof that we should start neutering people and not animals.

And, hey – please be careful out there my good buds. There are meatheads who walk amongst us.

I’m headed over to XM in Manhattan. I’ll be checking your comments there!

Don’t have XM? …Well you can still hear the Zman!
XM Radio offers a FREE 3 Day Trial internet download enabling you to hear any station they offer – on your computer – for 72 hours. Go to this URL NOW - the download is simple! 

> xmro.xmradio.com/xstream

Ron & Fez airs 12 noon to 3pm on the Virus XM 202, immediately after Opie &Anthony.

Sometimes, just sometimes the system goes a little too wacky-ass relegating everything to being black or white. Yesterday in Florida a ten year old, fifth grade girl brought a piece of steak to school to enjoy for her lunch. And with it, she also brought along a 4 1/2 inch steak knife to use to cut the meat as the cafeteria’s plastic knives would not do the trick. And just guess what happened? A couple of teachers freaked and confiscated the knife. Students sitting at the girl’s table all swore that she only used it to cut her food and in no way used it to harm anyone. Wait, it gets better…School officials called the police in. Wait, it gets better…deputies placed the girl under arrest and took her away in the back of their squad car. Wait, it gets better…Not able to reach the girls parents, the police stuck her in a child detention center – a place where “real” bad kids carry “real” knives and not for cutting steak. Wait, it gets better…the fifth grader now faces a felony charge for the possession of a weapon on school property and has been officially suspended for ten days.

Holy cuttlery Batman, this is certainly one of those stories where the proper response is “This country is going to f@#king hell in a hand basket.”

Seems that there is a “50 page” parent’s handbook that states the school’s zero tolerance policy regarding “weapons” on campus. And yes, even a pocketknife at that matter is considered a weapon. In any situation it’s hard to argue your case when there is a zero tolerance law, but Jezuz Ka-ryst man, it’s not like she was brandishing it about the cafeteria, showing off her “Bloods” tattoos, and saying to her pals, “I’m gonna cut you, bitch!” Witnesses clearly corroborated that this kid was innocent, there was absolutely no intent of malice, and she really was just cutting her lunchtime meal.

“Flabbergasted” is admittedly a pretty gay word for any good standing heterosexual to use, but what else can you be but that after hearing such acrimonious behavior on the part of the school and the cops? First off, school officials could have dealt with it internally and kept the child in a detention room or something. And the police do not “have to” arrest someone if they feel an arrest isn’t warranted. Unless this kid had previously painted “Red Rum” on the teacher’s lounge door or was doing collections on the Dolphins first win this past Sunday, I’d say these borderline retards went brutally over the top and everyone of these heartless bastids should be publically admonished, starting with a good old fashioned public caneing.

Supposedly the cops finally got a hold off the child’s uncle who was rightfully enraged, claiming his niece was mortified and cried hysterically at the way she was treated. Good Lord, I think anyone of us would cry if we were treated like that. Like I said, unless this girl was truly endangering another student or had a past history of violence (which doesn’t seem to be the case) there was no need for such hostile reaction by everyone involved. Is there a stronger word for “over reacting?” – because if so, I’d really like to use it here.

Good God – what the hell has our society become but a politically correct putrid dung heep, denigrated with self-appointed do-gooders who are motivated by mob mentality fear? Everything is NOT black and white. There are gray areas. There are extenuating circumstances. God dammmit people, get a f@#king life! Wow, this story really roasts my chestnuts on an open fire. Welcome to the new Disney attraction, boys and girls… it’s the hand basket to hell and you’re all invited along for the ride.

In other news, a man is beaten within an inch of his life by an agnostic co-worker for saying Merry Christmas in a local department store.

Tis the Friggin’ Season,
Tommy Z.
JR CIGARS With the Zman

My case is a common one – kids on the go – travel hockey for my son and the high school swim team for my daughter. It’s just about every damned day that I’m Zman’s Taxi driving about the eastern seaboard. Sit down dinners are not like they were when we were kids – they’re far and few between as our lives are consumed with extra- curricular hell. Sure we bitch about it (but we know we wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.) Fast food was made for this lifestyle. Kids love it and adults put up with it.

So we know of fast food foibles before entering, but still get ticked when the inevitable happens – especially the wrong order. When jonesing for onion rings then a mile later down the road you realize they’re not in the sack, you feel like Braveheart, wanting to go in and slaughter everyone in the place. You only drink Diet Coke but they give you a regular – you asked for cheese and it’s not on there – your kid wanted her burger plain but they just mindlessly load it up with gook and now she won’t eat it. You know very well that all of this may happen, but you chance it out of necessity. You hope this time you can get through quickly without incident.

But the other night, I had an incident – one that caused a nuclear cheesey meltdown.

My daughter’s swim meets are 40 minutes from the house and there’s no time for dinner, so she always does the Burger King ritual on our way home. The other day I hadn’t eaten either and felt I’d take a stab at their new burger melt sandwich. (The one where the house fraus are chasing down the creepy King.) I like the buttery toasted sourdough bread and was pretty damned hungry as the swim meet ended at 8:30 pm.  We pull up to the drive-thru board where the speaker is ancient and it sounds like Buzz Aldrin talking to the Neil Armstrong in the lunar module. I have to repeat my self several times to Forrest Gump at the other end, then roll my Jeep up behind three cars at the window. And we wait. And we wait some more, and we wait some more. I’m talking over twenty minutes in a line of four cars, at a place that is supposed to be know as a fast food joint. As we finally made it to the window, I asked the woman if they were killing the cows fresh in the back. All I got back was a frighteningly blank stare and change of my twenty.

By now as we pull away I’m a ravenous animal. I tear open my burger and the bread is NOT toasted and buttery – It’s plain white. I open up the sandwich and both burgers are ice-cold, the cheese is not even close to melted and there’s no ketchup that I asked for. My daughter has the same luck – her double cheeseburger is literally cold to the touch. I’m serious – not even a bit warm, but a few cold slabs of particleboard they call meat. Even for fast food standards, THIS is friggin appalling. We know that this particular BK always has sub-par service, but we always end up with our food being halfway decent. I looked at my daughter and said “This is bullshit!” as I spun my Jeep around and headed back. With all the things I mentioned in the beginning that we know can and will happen in this kind of an establishment, I was about to have a conniption and take down a few burger flunkies. This was definitely one of those “Network” moments of being sick and tired and not going to take it any more!

I bolted thru the doors like Arnold entering the police station in The Terminator. I charged past everyone as if they weren’t there and stuck my stinkin’ mug in the burger boy’s face as he asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

“I don’t know if that’s possible, Sparky!” I yelled out like a recently escaped loon from the nut house. As I flung the frigid burgers onto the counter, lettuce, onions, pickles, and condiments flew in various directions. I had the tone of Jack Nicholson’s acerbic character in a A Few Good Men (Col. Nathan R. Jessep) and god damn if I wasn’t about to order myself a f@#king code red! I took umbrage upon the pimple-faced toadie, admonishing him and his co-workers for gross burger making negligence. I wanted answers…I wanted retribution…I wanted blood…I wanted my f@#king buttery toasted sourdough bread! This was an outrage! I demanded that the stooge feel my burger. (Yeah, this is where I went over the top.) “Go ahead, and feel it! Feel it and tell me you would eat this yourself! You can’t handle the truth! You’re a goddamned disgrace to that uniform – every last stinking one of you!”

OK, so I lost it. Again, I knew going in what the possible pratfalls might be, and I still went nuts. But I ask you guys – should we really put up with sub-standard service like this any longer? I don’t give a frig that it’s a fast food place, this is my hard earned money – this is my daughter – and in my line of work I get held to a certain standard so why shouldn’t these people? Yeah, I know they’re flunkies at minimum wage, but that’s not good enough anymore. These are multi-national companies with public stock offerings and they owe it to the consumer to make sure that their franchise owners obey stringent guidelines. If say a local pizza place had service like that, word would spread and the joint would be out of business in a month’s time. So why does a company like this get away with such crap? Why do we just shrug it off and take it? My experience is not isolated and I bet every single one of you reading this has a fast food nightmare, or local place by your house that just sucks to no end.

The thing that pisses me off the most is that if I stop going there it will not make a difference. I’m like a flea on an elephant’s ass to them. I went to Burger King’s website to write a long-ass complaint, and guess what? Consumer affairs doesn’t take email correspondence. There’s no doubt in my mind that’s to deter people from having to write a letter and get off their fat asses and mail it. Well my fat Polak ass has sent this company based in Miami, Florida a letter of wrath and injustice and I will absolutely share the results with the Zman blogging brethren.

Damn this long-winded rant got me hungry. I wonder who’s open late?

Later Burger Meisters,
Tommy Z.
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