I Think that Senator John McCain looks like the Cryptkeeper and I don’t know how the American public can vote for a corpse. His smile frightens small children and most farm animals. I think the only way a Republican stands a chance is if they throw George Walker Bush directly under the bus – I’m talking where his head takes the brunt of all the wheels – I mean disown him and tell him publically: F@#k you and good riddance you foul hunk of politico excrement. I’ll even go further…In order for victory they must not allow him to speak at the Republican National Convention. I mean he just can’t. If GW sponsors or gives the nod too anyone, they are dead meat. This would be uncanny and an act never seen before but I truly believe the only shot in hell for McBrain or Romnuts is to disassociate themselves from the president completely. Don’t preach this “stay the course” horseshit. The course is loaded with huge divots and looks like Carl the greenskeeper still couldn’t catch that freakin gopher. We need a new course – one with freshly mowed fairways, pure white sand traps, and shiny emerald greens. And the worst part is for either of the Pub candidates – either way could be political suicide. Also, Dicky Chainsmoker could show up at the RNC and start pumping rounds with that shotgun into anything that moves. This shit is getting scarier by the day.

I Think Plaxico Burress of the Giants should have kept his yap shut with his prediction yesterday that the Giants will defeat the Patriots by a score of 23 to 17. God knows I love the NY Football Giants, but do we really need to give the 18 and zero team any more ammo than they really need? Jesus Christmas, Plax! Friggin Tom Coughlin already looks like he’s having an aneurism, do we really need to make the guy’s face any redder? Damn Plax…STFU! You’re all-world…your one of the best…please STFU and do you thing on Sunday.  The only thing is if the Pats double cover Burress, they have to deal with Amani Toomer, Steve Smith, and tight end Kevin Boss. Do I think the Giants can win? Of course, I really do, there is NO team hotter on this planet. But there is no doubt that this will be the toughest game any of these NY Giants have played. Plax and the rest of you – you’ve got four days…just STFU!

I Think there’s no way in this world I’m accepting Fez Whatley’s bet, from the Ron and Fez show. They did everything they could to beat my ass on the air today – to embarrass me feel like a piece of garbage. I’m a wuss, a loser, blah, blah, blah. And now I’m not a “real” fan, I’m a bandwagon jumper. Get the friggin hell out of here. Cutting off my beautiful, gorgeous locks (and they are beautiful) would be like some guys chopping off their Johnson. It’ll take me a goddamned year to grow this back. I just can’t risk it, looking like some fat cancer patient. Not gonna happen. Now Fez just said he will give me 25 free plugs on the air and I swear he was going to say $2,500 dollars. I think 2,500 bucks and 13 and a half points could have me swayed a tad – but the deal as it stands now is that if I win, I get to shave a another man’s dome. Wow, oh f@#king swell – that’s just a great prize, whoppie. GTFOOH! Ronnie, is roasting my chestnuts like a mutha, but it ain’t gonna happen. Uh-uh.

I Think Larry Winget is my new absolute favorite speaker / author and next week I’ll be featuring the Pitbull of Personal Development on this very blog. I was fortunate enough to have a five-hour food fest with Larry in Little Italy, NY the other day, and we also smoked a bevy of kick-ass cigars. I’m telling you guys that Larry Winget is the absolute “real deal” and I predict will be a household name within a year. I have studied personal development for 20 years and this man has the freshest and most dynamic approach I have experienced in many years. His “in your face” approach makes him contrary to many of the typical “you can be anything you want – I  think I can, I think I can” drones that are out there. Next week we speak with LW! Put your friggin seat belts on!

The Mac guy played by actor Justin Long is a kind of a confident dude – he’s cool, hip, young thinking, jeans and t-shirt, very today. And, he’s creative – very creative – which is what truly sets the Macintosh apart from a PC. The PC guy is a fuddy dud, a nerd, and a staunch conservative. He’s clad in standard business attire and is a proper example of what business etiquette has been for a hundred years.

Mac has introduced its new Leopard OS Ten operating system and gotten rave reviews, much to the chagrin of Microsoft whose Vista has gotten more complaints than Ozzy Osbourne at a Joel Osteen sermon. Many people are actually re-installing their old Windows because their Vista sucks like a Hoover.

An independent company did a recent survey to study the traits of 7,500 Mac and PC users and found that Mac users are not only just like the TV character, but even more arrogant, confident, with an air of superiority. They shy from dogma and are not modest whatsoever. They tend to be more “open” people and intellectually curious. They are also happier with their computer purchase, around 80%, as opposed to Dell and HP buyers at around 58%.

Now I’ve been a Mac user since around 1991 and won’t go near a PC, but I’m certainly not the smarmy-ass, eco driven, smug little dude from the commercials. He comes across as kind of nice, but underneath those jeans and Starbucks latte breath is a cocky little prick whose market share has jumped 6% in the past two years and he’s giving it to the un-cool PC guy right in the old mother board.

I thought it would be cool to put a hidden mic in the dressing room before a TV spot is shot and listen to a “real” conversation with these two, not the convoluted and trite pleasantries they exchange on screen.

So, the microphone is in place and you need to see that mental picture of each the PC guy and the Mac guy as well as their voices and inflections. Here goes…

Mac: Hey PC, what’s up brother? You’re here early.
PC: Oh, hello, Mac. Yes, I try to prepare for my lines in advance. These directors can be picky. Have you prepared?
Mac: Yeah, sure, but I’ll probably ad-lib a few zingers at you just to get that spontaneous feel. You know, that you’re nowhere near as fast as I am, yada, yada, yada…the usual shit.
PC: Yes, I’m sure you will. How Macintosh of you.
Mac: How’s that Vista debacle going? Heh, heh…
PC: Don’t ask. Those cretins couldn’t leave me the way I was – doing just fine and commanding the market.
Mac: Yeah, I guess you saw the new numbers. Seems I’ve taken a little chunk out of your fat  conservative ass.
PC: Do you have to be such a pompous asshole all the time? I still own 92% of the market, Mr. Hybrid driving, save the f@#king whales, let’s slay big tobacco, anarchist.
Mac: Whoa!… somebody got up on the wrong side of the hard drive this morning. Don’t be so hostile bro. In fact, why not loosen that tie, kill the glasses and put on some relaxing clothes – let people know that you can be cool, too.
PC: Yeah, right…so I can look like some liberal trash who just walked out of an Avril Levine concert.
Mac: Bro, I’ve got The Killers, Foo Fighters, System of a Down and some old Alice in Chains in my itunes right now. Ten bucks says you’ve got Harry Connick Jr downloaded….
PC: And what the hell is wrong with Harry Connick Jr?!
Mac: Nothin’…he was great in Independence Day, when the Aliens shot his Cajun ass out of the sky.
PC: You are the classic lowbrow creative type clown who was such a wannabee in school – while I was out solidifying the world…
Mac: Are you f@#king kidding me? I’m running Photoshop, Flash, and all kinds of high-tech software for animation, the music industry, movies, advertising, video games, you name it. Right this minute you’ve got a bunch of accountants and overblown gasbags creating their company Super Bowl pool on some antiquated spread sheet that hurts my eyes just to look at.
PC: That’s a cheap shot, Mac. And Harry Conick Jr. is the bomb.
Mac: Dude, you voted for Bush not once, but TWICE? WTF were you thinking?!!!
PC: Oh sure, if it was up to you, Greenhouse Gore and Herman Munster Kerry would be raping our military right now, raising taxes, approving gay marriages, and spouting that socialized healthcare bullshit! I cannot deal with you right now, Mac. Please just shut your mouth until we begin taping.
Mac: PC, if you think any of your sorry-ass conservatives stand a chance…
PC: Oh yeah…who are you siding with Mac…the inexperienced black fellow who doesn’t vote on issues and fights like a girl… or the ice-cold bitch and her charmer of a spouse who’s a lying, chubby chasing, hick? COME ON YOU LIBERAL PIECE OF SHIT! WHO’S IT GONNA BE, FRAPACHINO BOY?! I want somebody who will kick the terrorists ass not invite them through our airports with open arms!
Mac: PC, I’ve never seen you so worked up.
PC: I’m sorry, Mac, but you always get the best of me on these commercials and I’m getting a little frustrated. Can’t they have me win just once?
Mac: You mean like pro wrestling? Dude, Vince McMahon isn’t the client, Apple Computer is. They pay you to look like an antiquated hunk of crap.
PC: Well, you’re right. They do pay me so it wouldn’t hurt to stay civil.
Mac: That’s the spirit. Hey, you ready to shoot there, sport?
PC: Yes, I suppose so. No hard feelings?
Mac: Nah, f@#k that. I’ll be a ten share by summer.
PC: But I still don’t see what’s wrong with Harry Connick Jr.
Mac: Douchebagsezwhat?
PC: What?
Mac: Huh?

Woods is simply out of control greatness personified. He does things that no player can do with a club and a ball. Like in the movie The Legend of Bagger Vance, he is one with the club, one with the ball, one with the earth. His level of focus, awareness and commitment is beyond normal human. Personally I think he’s an alien implanted into his mother ala immaculate conception. No, he’s not the second coming of Christ, but I have heard rumors that when he shags balls into a pond, he walks across to pick them up.

What mere mortal can take this person down? You Ernie Els? You Vijay Singh? You Phil Mickelson? I think not fellas. You are mortal and need help in Tiger proofing the game of golf. For without an “edge” for the rest of the field, his domination will spiral out of control. Golf Digest predicts that by the year 2010, through golf and endorsements, Tiger Woods will be the first U.S. billionaire athlete. That is insane. Hey Furyk, Garcia, you want in on this? Get the rest of your PGA slugs together and meet me behind the halfway house in ten minutes because we are going to take that half Asian, one quarter black, one eighth American Indian, and one eighth Dutch son-of-a-bitch down. Bwahahahahahahahaha!

Ok, boys, Dr. Z-evil has come up with a small list of stuff that you can do to Tiger proof this sacred and most noble game. First, as instructed, I want a folded golf towel filled with ten thousand in large bills from each of you left in the clubhouse locker inconspicuously marked: Polak JR cigar blog writer. Now that we’re clear, here’s the deal that you must follow this to the letter. First off we know that when Woods married his wife, Swedish model Elin Nordegren, it was obvious that his game went to shit for a while. And can you freakin’ blame him? That chick is so hot that my Titleist 2’s go into shank mode when I see her picture. She is spectacularly gorgeous and he is a Cheshire Cat toothed looking dork. Face it…if he ain’t the greatest, she does a dog-leg left elsewhere. So, I say we put up life sized nekid pictures of her on every tee and every green that Woods is on. Since he’s on the road a lot, he’s gotta be missin’ them Swedish meatballs and this will for sure distract his attention away from the game. A question…uh, yes, Greg Norman…won’t the photos distract all the golfers, you say? Greg, you haven’t hit a decent shot in about 15 years so wtf are you worrying about, you old, sorry ass, shiraz drinkin’, goofy hat wearing’, Chris Everett lovin’ bastid? And somebody get Fuzzy Zoeler and Kelly Tilgman the hell out of here before I have to go back to bagging at the A&P again, please?

All right, the next one is a killer. All golfers in the match will be required to eat kielbasa, sauerkraut, coleslaw, chilidogs with onions exactly one hour before play begins. This deadly concoction will produce a molten gaseous mix SO vile that each one of you will be equipped with goggles, mask, and Tucks medicated pads. Hopefully the Tiger will be seeing three flags on his approach shots and you will all toot in unison as he lines up to putt.

Since we all agree that it is highly unacceptable and just plain wrong to ever use hurtful racial slurs about African Americans, Asians, and American Indians, it leaves us no choice but to throw verbal epithets at his Dutch heritage. This kind of gross misbehavior will fly under the politically correct radar as we are currently collecting some of the nastiest wooden shoe and windmill jokes ever written. Of course, there’s always the boy who stuck his finger in the dyke if we need a clincher.

And speaking of windmills, we have created full-fledged, life size miniature golf hazards that will be rolled onto the greens and fairways when Tiger is ready to shoot. He will be forced to drive around a three story lighthouse, chip between a live panda’s legs, putt through the rotating blades of the windmill, and land his final shot on eighteen into the clown’s mouth.

Now, you can all see that Dr. Z-evil has spent great time, money, and effort to bring this plan to fruition. Why?…because I’m a cheap-ass whore who will do just about anything for money. Like the time Zigfreid and Roy paid me twenty bucks to wear a helmet made of flank steak. Anyway, the sanctity of golf must be preserved. Other players must have a shot at winning titles again, marrying Scandinavian super models, and doing TV commercials for $250 Citizen watches.

Ah, forget it. He’s just too damned good. As you were, gentlemen. There’s always second place.

Marvel was always so bad-ass and rebellious. Spiderman was a wise-ass, gloating little bastard who always kicked villain tuckus. Captain America was thawed from an ice block he fell into during WW2 and came back alive to fight for justice! Ironman was high-tech robotic; Thor, with flowing golden locks and the hammer of all ass-kicking hammers, he was the mighty god of thunder; Namor, Prince of the Deep, aka the Submarnier, and the Incredible Hulk whose bad hygiene alone could wipe out an army had those pants that always turned purple and grew along with him. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” Now these guys were super f@#king heroes! Don’t forget the mega-teams of the Xmen and the incomparable Fantasic Four: a rubber dude, a guy who turns to flames, an invisible hottie and a fella made of rocks. Can you imagine when he would go for a massage with the happy ending? Hey Ben, is that Stonehenge in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

Super hero comics were a very cool escape for me as a teen, and I loved to draw the characters so much that I actually went to school for cartoon and comic illustration at the Joe Kubert school in Dover New Jersey. Not sure how the progression to cigar blog writer happened, but hey, I’m happy. I even had a massive collection of very early Marvel comics that were worth a fortune over 25 years ago, and I sold most of them to attend my final year of school, including Avengers #1 in NM condition with both artist Jack Kirby and inker Dick Ayers signature on the first page. Back then I sold it for $125. I bet that son of a bitch is worth ten grand around now. Well, at least it’s not the old story that my mother threw them out while I was at college.

One of the coolest memories from comics as a little kid was the corny, bullshit advertising inside it’s pages. We all remember the 98-pound weakling who got his ass kicked and his chick stolen? Yeah, Charles Atlas turned you into a man. In today’s politically correct version, the wimp would beef up and return to the beach just to walk off with the other muscle dude. FABULOUS! But the best were those pages filled with little display ads for Onion Gum, the Two-Man sub, X-Ray specs, Whoopie cushion, Black Face Soap, and the 7-foot Glow-in-the-Dark Monster, guaranteed to make any child soil his Underoos.

First off, X-Ray Specs was the ultimate weapon for a horn-dog little MILF Hunter like me. Damn, the thought of checkin’ out my pals cougar moms unmentionables was worth any price! All I would have to do was strap on a pair of these inconspicuous, giant, plastic-framed, red lens glasses and I would instantly turn into a super little pervert within seconds! Yeah, that’s EXACTLY how they worked…NOT! All they did was turn stuff to shadow leaving a young and spunky Zman, very high and irritatingly dry. But hey, a Two-Man Sub for only three bucks? Man oh man, we could navigate the world’s oceans and go on the most gnarley adventures…NOT! The bogus sub was nothing more than a flat, one-sided cardboard cutout with a little porthole window. Another blatant rip-off as Captain Zmoe, I was not to be. My friend ordered the 7-foot monster and all it was, was a thin plastic poster of a pseudo Frankenstein. I did not soil myself as promised by the manufacturer. I never got to order the onion gum or the black face soap, but I’m only 49 and there’s still plenty of time to accomplish my life’s goals and dreams.

The biggest con we all may agree on were those little ads that simply asked you to draw Winky, or Tippy the Turtle, or the Pirate. It was the Famous Artist’s Institute that asked you to draw this inane little character then send it in for evaluation by the school’s leading illustrators and design professionals. Yeah, it was bogus as you received a big-ass packet telling you that you didn’t win a scholarship, but they would love you to take the mail order course that wasn’t free. And worse yet, they called you on the phone three times a week for months with all kinds of incentives to join. I got so god damned annoyed at these bastards that I went and drew up Wonky, the Angry Penis Head and sent it in to the Institute. Wonky was a shiny little helmet with beady eyes and a nasty disposition. I even included a note that read: Evaluate THIS you f@#king frauds! Thankfully I stopped receiving letters and calls from the Famous folks, but was repeatedly contacted by Oui, Juggs, High Society, and Cherri for the next few years. Guess them people knew talent when they saw it.

Hey crap, it’s Friday already. Glad today’s blog was a nice little diversion from the POTUS candidates from hell. Enjoy the weekend and have a smoke on me. Tonight I’m going with the Gurkha Legend Torpedo for a change of pace. www.jrcigars.com/index.cfm  Tomorrow looks like the TTT Trinidad Churchill will get the nod. www.jrcigars.com/index.cfm

This has been going on for a while as Slick Willie has been campaigning for his wife. But now the two men are arguing like children and spewing some radical, off the wall hyperbole. While speaking in South Carolina, ol’ Billy boy accused the Illinois senator of doing a “hit job” on him and he also claimed that the media is much tougher on his wife. Senator Obama has all but said that Hilary is not trustworthy and has accused her of double-talk on bankruptcy laws, trade, as well as other key issues. OH MY GOD, PEOPLE – can you imagine a politician using double talk in a campaign? Especially a Clinton? No one in the history of politics could double talk and spin a conversation like Willie. Absolutely no one. Ask him a question about his involvement with Osama Bin Laden and by the end of the sentence he’ll be discussing the White House Christmas decorations, while you’re nodding your head and smiling.

Bill Clinton is and has always been a con artist and a scoundrel. He is and always has been a two-face lying son-of-a-bitch. And now he is hurling ten mega-ton mud pies at his wife’s opponent with reckless abandon. The Clintons are bullies and that stems back to their days running the Arkansas mafia. Jeez, have you guessed that I’m not a fan of the bogus New Yorkers? But I’m no fan of Obamarama either. He has reverted to the same juvenile name-calling and story spinning as the Klintons. And bottom line: this guy simply does not have the experience to run the most powerful office on the planet. I believe he was basically a cubmaster before senator and that just ain’t gonna cut it with the global powers.

Here’s what this is starting to boil down to: Bill Clinton has said that he expects blacks to vote for Obama and women to vote for Hilary. (Of course he has left a loop-hole of black-women to contend with.) So I ask you my fellow Americans, should the populous be voting for a candidate because of their race or gender? Is that what this is about? Blacks are voting for black man not because of his proven skils, experience and ability to become the most omnipotent man in the world – but because of his skin color? Are you kidding me? Hey Oprah, please admit it – you are behind Omama Barack simply because he is black. No one has called Winfrey out on this and it is so blatantly obvious. Anyone who tries to deny this, insults what little intelligence I actually own. Again I ask, how can you pick a person of this importance based on their race – white, black, Asian, or whatever? So I ask you a very heavy question: Is that racism? Is what Oprah doing, racism? If a white Hollywood star admittedly supported say Huckabee because of his color, would he be accused of racism? You bet your sweet ass in an Al Sharpton, New York minute he would. The double standard is outrageous.

We are in world crisis mode here, people. And may I state for the record that it is equally wrong to vote against a candidate for his color. If a martian was the best candidate, I’d say vote green. We need the most qualified person in there. And to vote for or against Hilary because of her gender is just antiquated thinking. I vote against Hilary because she is a lying, stone-faced, cold-hearted, carpet bagging, thief like her hubby. In my opinion she is everything that is WRONG for the U.S.A. I’m not gonna sit here and watch my country become the United Socialists of America. But I started to think – what if Hillary was kind of a hot cougar and spoke with real sincerity? Then you might have your first female president. Sexist? Shit yeah. But it is well documented through the ages that we the male species do not use the head on our shoulder to do our thinking. Blame mother nature (yet another controlling yenta.)

The world is in peril and we’ve got to choose the best of the best as our leader. Unfortunately the American people are in a quandary because their ain’t no “best of the best.” What we have here on both sides is a collection of career politicians. Career politicians lie, cheat, back stab, double talk, chain yank, pilfer, pander, over state, over promise, and under deliver. Career politicians are not to be trusted. Yes, they are evil. The only guy that doesn’t fit this mold is Rue Paul and I don’t know is America is ready to vote for a drag queen as their leader.

What is most disturbing about the Hildebeast and Slick Willard the rat vs. Barackatata Obambam fighting is that they are turning ALL of the attention to them It is all about them. And I believe Americans are going to get sick of it. It is repulsive to watch these three stooges saying on national televison, “I know you are, but what am I?” But the most humorous thing of all is that after all the nasty fisticuffs and insults and a winner has emerged, he or she will ask the other to become their running mate. Stupid is as stupid does.

Rock on my peeps,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

My son and I sit down to some tasty hot wings and a killer plate of penne with pink vodka sauce. Now we’re right next to the front counter and about 15 feet directly across from the ladies room. Dinner is great, the waitresses are cheery and all couldn’t be better. Until…

This dorky looking dude at the counter is fidgeting on his stool like a field mouse in a kitty litter box. He’s spinning and kicking and looking as if he was ten centimeters dilated. My son, Tommy was like, “Dad what is going on with that guy at the counter? He’s like nuts or something.” I had no idea what was going down. He looked like one of those agitated guys that pulls and axe off the wall and takes out the whole place. Suddenly he leaps off his seat holding his stomach and races past us like something was seriously wrong – and there was. This numbskull hangs a blazing fast right turn and rockets into the ladies room. “Dad,” Tommy shouted, “That weirdo went in the ladies room! What the heck?” Well, either this guy was a seat sniffing wackjob getting his freak on, or he developed a monster case of Montezuma’s Revenge. I guess we’d see any minute.

About five minutes later our insane patron steps out of the ladies room and heads back to his dinner at the counter – whistling and swaggering like he was a new man. You know, that “new man” feeling after you unload your natural resources. Every guy enjoys and vocally expresses that moment. It’s like you should get an award after dropping wolfbait and clearing out the pipes. It’s an accomplishment that we love to brag about. Now women act as if they don’t get that same rush. Oh, they do, they just won’t make retards of themselves, begging their spouse to go see the new world’s record.

So the waitress comes over to ask if we want anything else and all of a sudden her face turns green as she has obviously inhaled the fumes of firey, noxious, molten, methane death – and she looks at ME like I’m the one who fouled the joint! Uh-uh, honey! I quickly point to the retard at the counter and thankfully Tommy comes back in to corroborate my story. She said, “I noticed he was acting kind of weird on his stool.” I said “Yeah, I think the stool he left in the ladies room is probably a hell of a lot weirder.” Tommy finally braved the elements and with great courage pushed shut the rest room door. It looked like the scene in Poltergeist where they can’t close the bedroom door and the evil demon springs out. Poor kid is scarred for life.

Now we’ve ALL had that unrelenting explosive moment before, and it’s understandable. And every guy has that epic story that goes with it. Mine was on a two-mile jog after a dinner of grilled vegetables. Another good friend of mine has the classic tale upon Christmas Hill. But these are for another time and just a tad too graphic for this here fine blog. But this story is for real and last night I was dealt a foul ball right in the kisser.

I admonish you oh strange and inconsiderate dude at the counter of the Italian place in Sparta, New Jersey, last night. You know who you are.

Yesterday, Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, and John Edwards had an MLK day debate that seemed more like a WWF bitchslap fest than an exchange of ideas. The worst offenders were Obama and Clinton as Edwards stood on the side and said, “Hey ya’ll, don’t forget my little white-bred ass over yonder.” Without question, the former first lady and the Senator from Illinois are getting under each skin as they go toe-to-toe, jab for jab – each one a little uglier than the last. It’s becoming a road show that I know that many voters are already sick of. And as I’ve professed since the beginning of this blog, I loathe ALL politicians and am vying for the “none of the above” button for each and every voting booth.

Obambam threw a nasty left hook saying that while he was helping unemployed workers on the streets of Chicago "you were a corporate lawyer sitting on the board at Wal-Mart." The Hildebeast retaliated with an upper cut to the throat, "when you were practicing law and representing your contributor … in his slum landlord business in inner city Chicago." Ouch, ooo, ouch. Heavens ta mergatroid, it’s getting hot in here. Then Barack reached back into the Fred Sanford playbook and shouted, “Esther, you so ugly, I could stick yo face in some dough and then bake me some gorilla cookies!” To that offense, Hilary spun around, hiked her skirt and threw a full, doubled-cheeked moon at her opponent. Some experts claim that if you watch the tape in slow motion, you can see a package on Mrs. Clinton that falls under the category of “more than meets the eye.”

Obama is getting pretty pissed and quite vocal because Bill Clinton who is campaigning for his wife, has been so-called “distorting the truth” about the Illinios Senator.

"I’m here. He’s not," she snapped.

"Well, I can’t tell who I’m running against sometimes," Obama replied

Let Zman help you out, Obama – Hilary is the one with the thicker legs and the larger sack.

Now we all know that Obama stunned the caucus world by taking Iowa, but a slick and well-calculated crying move help Hilde pull the wool over the eyes of the New Hampshire voters. “It ain’t fair,” she said as she started to break down and shake. “That’s ma teammate. It ain’t fair that ya’ll say that stuff. That’s ma quarterback.”

Wait a minute – I think that was actually Terrell Owens after the Giants beat his sorry ass into the ground last week. I get so confused with these crybaby ordeals. Actually, I think they both used the same speech. Mrs. Clinton went on to say that Tampa quarterback Jeff Garcia was a pillow biter and Donavan McNab is no Jack Kennedy. Jeez, now I can’t tell the difference between Hilary and T.O. Ah, yes, she’s still the one with the thicker legs and the bigger sack.

I can’t even fathom that we’ve got ten more months of this ka-ka. “You suck!” “No, you suck!” Yeah, well, you suck more!” “Oh yeah, suck on this!” For crissakes you friggin children, go in the corner for a politico timeout. You’re annoying the shit out of all of us here in America.

From today’s Associated Press article: Clinton and Edwards compared their records on helping to alleviate poverty, while Obama was asked if he agreed with the famed black novelist Toni Morrison who dubbed Bill Clinton "the first black president."

"I would have to investigate more of Bill’s dancing abilities and some of this other stuff before I accurately judge whether he was in fact a brother," Obama said.

Well hardy har, har, har. Some soft toss racial humor from brother Obama.  Can you only imagine if Hillary had made that comment? Holy cripes! Al Sharpton would be on CNN faster than Rosie O’donnell on a White Castle slider. The New York Senator (that’s always been a joke) simply replied, "I’m sure that can be arranged," as she severely cracked her face by smiling and forced a gafaw, gafaw. 

Ten more months, people. Ten months of excruciating and agonizing name calling, mud-slinging, back-stabbing and insult hurling. And that’s just from my wife towards me. The political race is going to even be much worse.  You won’t be able to turn on the TV or open paper with the latest taunts and barbs being broadcast for all to see. And let’s not forget the Hollyweird backers and the Oprah brigade. Man oh man this is dreadful. That’s it. I’m watching the Gilligan’s Island channel 24/7. But with our luck, the Professor’s radio will carry the friggin’ debates.

I was with my buddies at the Metropolitan Cigar Club > www.metrocigar.com enjoying some tasty Italian take out, ice cold Chimay Belgian beer, and a bevy of fine cigars from a myriad of tobacco producing nations. I’m in the comfort of a cozy-ass joint sunk back deep into my chair watching men play football in minus 26 degrees windchill – and I’m the one saying it was unbearable. What a friggin weenie. Yet we’re all the same. Diehard sports fans are all pretty much childish morons. I spent the entire evening and early this morning bragging like a pompous ass on a cigar bulletin board forum – bragging about my Giants. Yeah – MY Giants. They’re mine, all mine. But you see the ENTIRE football world gave no chance in hell for a New York victory. There was a greater chance that baby Lindberg would show up for the Super Bowl half-time show than a New York victory over the Pack attack. All week – even after a mind-blowing NY victory over Dallas, every prognosticator had the Brett Farve vs. Tom Brady storyline all ready and waiting for print. The aged Favre – the God of the “frozen tundra” was attempting his last shot at immortal glory – the swan song to end all swan songs.

It was all practically said and done. The Giants can’t play in that kind of cold. Eli Manning is SO due to choke. The great Bett Favre has 12,000 wins when it’s under 20 degrees – don’t you know that? Nobody goes into Lambeau Field – home of gods and legends – and pulls out a playoff victory over the Meat Packers of Green Bay, Wisconsin. And no opposing kicker has EVER kicked a field goal over 40 yards in Lambeau in a post season game – EVER – until yesterday that is. Yeah, it took a few tries, but Giant’s place kicker Lawrence Tynes got a another chance to redeem himself by splitting the uprights with a 47 yard field goal – the same exact distance that Scott Norwood missed “wide right” in the ’1991 Giants Super Bowl victory over the Buffalo Bills. But Norwood’s attempt was in sunny Tampa Florida – Tynes was in two degrees below zero. And now the 2007/2008 New York Giants are headed to their fourth Super Bowl – shutting every doubting and NY/Eli hating mouth the hell up for two more weeks.

And now the early line on the Big Game is 14 points and the New York Giants again have no chance WHATSOEVER of beating the New England Patriots. Brady and Moss will roll and bring the Pats to 19-0, crowning them as the greatest team in the history of the National football League (whoa, I said crowning twice in one article – uh, make that three times.) Why even play the game? The Patriots are the team of destiny. Eli will finally choke and the Giants will turn back into a pumpkin…right? I said, right? If you’re REALLY believing that at this moment, go talk to a few Dallas and Green Bay fannies today. See how those boys feel about it.

Being a diehard fan is pretty bizarre. It is so mentally stressful. You take the wins and the losses so damned personal. There is no question that both Dallas Cowboy and Green Bay Packer fans are in mournful shock and simply cannot believe that Archie Manning’s little boy took them down and is headed to the big dance, while older brother Peyton is eating Mac & Cheese in his underwear, playing Guitar Hero on EASY level.

So we have two weeks to hear all the hype that is fit to be hyped. Giants defensive coordinator Steve Spagnola has two weeks to figure out Tom Brady. Plaxico Burress has two weeks to rest his torn up ankle that has had no rest for the entire season. And Eli Manning has two weeks to stay the hell away from Jessica Simpson. The stage is set for a monumental matchup. It will either be the Greatest team of all-time went 19-0 – or the spoilers from New York mounted the greatest comeback in NFL history. Either way, two weeks from now I will be in my birthing room sucking on ice chips and praying for a delivery sent from the heavens.

Later all peeps.
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

Why is Golf Week out of their skulls? Because they made the Tilgman story their lead story and put a large photo of a swinging noose on the cover, with the caption reading: “Caught in a Noose  – Golf Channel’s Kelly Tilgman slips up and can’t wriggle free.” Why in the name of God would you put a noose on the cover? How the hell could you not know that you just opened the door to hell and walked right inside? If you ask me, THAT was stupider than what Tilgman did. And of course, the black community and leaders are nuts over it. DUH! Do I believe Golf Week meant it as a racist slur? Of course they didn’t. They used it merely as symbolism of the event. But it’s the symbolism that is what this is all about, and I DO understand that. Now, I said this in the comments section of the blog last week – If you are white in this day and age, you must walk on eggshells and carefully guard every word you say to avoid being dealt the racism card – and it is getting very tiring because when you don’t mean it in a harmful way but someone twists it another way, it is frustrating. In the first season of Donald Trump’s The Apprentice, one of the girls said to the always troublesome Omorosa, “Look who’s calling the kettle black.” Now we all know that’s a saying that is used when someone basically does the same kind of thing they accused someone else of. But Omorosa, being a black woman, accused the woman of making a racial remark and actually complained to the producers of the show. I was flabbergasted and this is an illustration of my point.

Let’s take for instance the fact that I use the term “apeshit” a lot in this column: Giants fans went apeshit, the guys went apeshit over these cigars, my kids went apeshit over their Christmas gifts, etc. Now in this story I was about to use the term that Al Sharpton went apeshit over the cover photo. But suddenly I heard the sound of large screeching locomotive breaks in my head and a voice that screamed “Zman, use another term, please.” Now in NO WAY would I EVER consciously make that kind of insinuation because, A: I don’t think that way, B: It’s not funny. C: To write that with intent would be hurtful to many, including myself. But that’s the point – Announcers, journalists, writers, and people on the street who are white must consciously give thought to the words we choose. And let me assure you that I AM NOT trying to be humorous in any way with this example. When I write it’s like a stream of consciousness and the words just flow. But when I typed that word I immediately halted myself and had a very weird inner dialogue go on…

“You can’t say that Zman”
“Say what?”
“Apeshit. You can’t say that in that context. It might be construed as a racial remark.”
“Are you kidding? I use that term in every other blog. It’s a term I use – you know, going apeshit about stuff.”
“I agree…but think about it, dude. I know you meant nothing by it and you know you meant nothing by it, but there are those out there who will twist the meaning and claim that you intentionally meant it as a hateful remark. I know you don’t perceive things that way, but just pick another word choice, OK?”
“Oh my God… I never even thought about it that way. I would never write…”
“Doesn’t matter, brother.”
“Dude I’m Polish and Italian. I get the brunt of ethnic jokes all day. I call myself a Polak for crissakes.
“It ain’t the same, Z.”
“Good god, so I might get negative feedback myself on this for just the fact that I brought this up as an example of ‘walking on eggshells’ and how things can be misconstrued.”
“Uh… yeah.”
“But all I’m doing is illustrating a point with no malicious intent. Isn’t that pretty obvious?”
“Sure it is – to me – but go tell it to Sharpton.”
“Ugggggggghhhhh!”
“Ditto.”

Wow that was heavy. The inner dialogue of the Zman mind is a scary an hollow place. But jeez Louise, I hope I illustrated my point. Listen, I’m 49 years old and I’m well aware of the atrocities through out the past towards people of color. And I guess it’s no coincidence that Martin Luther King day is this coming Monday. And as a guy my age with my knowledge, I certainly would not have used the word “lynched” as Kelly Tilgman did. I believe she’s young and didn’t mean it racially. But if it were me, the locomotive breaks would have screeched and I would have maybe stumbled for a moment and would have chosen another word or term.

Which brings us back to Golf Week. Obviously they didn’t hear that train a comin’. With all that has gone down and all of the incredible sensitivity on this subject, the fact that the editorial staff chose a noose for the cover is just flat out insane. "We knew that image would grab attention, but I didn’t anticipate the enormity of it," Dave Seanor, vice president and editor of the magazine, was quoted as saying. "There’s been a huge, negative reaction," he said. "I’ve gotten so many e-mails. It’s a little overwhelming."

Once again, I don’t think you can accuse Golf Week of racism – but knuckleheadism and blatant stupidity based on prior events is more like it. Seanor continued with the following: "I wish we could have come up with something that made the same statement but didn’t create as much negative reaction," he said. "But as this has unfolded, I’m glad there’s dialogue. Let’s talk about this, and the lack of diversity in golf." Interesting spin, but good Lord, man.

Guys, this blog went in a direction that I never envisioned it going, but somehow, it went. I don’t always like to get this heavy, but it’s on a lot of people’s minds and my blog on Kelly Tilgman’s remarks last week had a Zman blog record for comments and feedback.

It’s a complicated world we live in, people. Hopefully we can all just light up our favorite cigar and enjoy each other’s company this weekend and this coming Monday. That certainly would be nice.

Oh yeah… GO NEW YORK GIANTS!