Well, the radio gig aired last night and the overall response has been pretty tremendous. I got a ton of wonderful emails – and of course, there’s always a few jealous, hateful a-holes – lowlifes with nothing better to do than cut others down. I guess when you’re 40 and live in your mother’s basement, surfing metrosexual midget porn sites all day, what else do you really have? But in reality, those were far and few between and I can really only look at the Brightside, and it was very bright for sure!

Tons of great feedback on my interview with Lew Rothman, the big cheese whiz here at JR’s Cigars emporium and happytime shoppe. He was really great and busted my cojones pretty good about our trip to the DR and Honduras. My wife dug that part, of course. My neighbor had a listening party on his patio as we smoke gars and drank single malt. That made it pretty special.

Seemed a lot of people really loved my discussion on guy food. The cheeseburger discussion got us all pretty hungry at around 10:30pm and our very own Roadlizard was the caller from Houston discussing BBQ! Great job, Jim!

And the Zman Cigar Special is just nuts and I can tell you they are NOT making a dime on this! Eight brand named, top of the line Churchill sized cigars for …GET THIS..$19.95 plus an issue of Cigar Magazine! Holy crow! Just click the box on the left side of the blog. Guy’s – I ordered one!  This deal was too good not to! Here’s the rundown…

Romeo y Julieta 1875 Churchill (E) 7.00 x 50
Don Diego Churchill (N) 7.00 x 54
H. Upmann Monarch (E) 7.00 x 46
Montecristo Platinum Por Delacroix (E) 7.00 x 50
Onyx Reserve Churchill (M) 7.00 x 50
Romeo y Julieta Reserve Maduro Churchill (M) 7.00 x 50
Santa Damiana No. 100 (N) 6.75 x 48
Royal Jamaica Gold Churchill (E) 7.00 x 54

And guys, please visit my new website, www.planetzman.com! It debuted last night and the feedback has been great so far. It’s going to grow huge and the plan is to have great contributing writers from different area of the Man’s Man genre.

Damn, I’m tired. Was up until 3am answering a plethora of emails and well wishes for the Zman faithful! But I’m pretty fired up and excited to make my site something you guys will love reading! So visit the site and leave feedback comments under the articles. Plus, take my Manly Man test if you’ve got the nuggets!

Ick.

There’s all kinds of questions to be answered here. Why do these people feel the compulsion to make these videos? How do they always get in the hands of the media? Why must we watch them? And why do we feel obligated to even gives a rats’ blower? Now, when I say “these people” I don’t mean the “wee” folk, I just mean these celebrities in general.

Of course I do admit that the same curiosity that killed the proverbial cat is giving me a beatdown as I can’t help but wonder about the circus act antics on this video. You could see it being really popular at college dorms, as a gathering of under aged youths are swilling Busch light in cans while roaring with wanton delight as the diminutive star uses a step stool and a gps unit in order to find the elusive g-spot. (As a matter of fact, I’m still looking, myself.) Man, I could have a metaphoric field day with this story, but that would be unfair and much like picking low-hanging fruit off of the cheap-shot tree. Yeah, right, like that ever stopped me, before.

Again, I wonder why celebs do this, but I would imagine many ordinary folks do, it’s just that no one gives a shit about your auto mechanic bopping his mistress or watching the brutish stumpy legged, cropped haired lesbian couple who own the janitorial supply store enjoying a tangy meal of deep pile shag.

Again, I say ick.

I think it all started back a few decades ago when Hogans’ Heroes star Bob Crane died, and then his life of debauchery was revealed as it was discovered that this dude was kinkier than Mr. Freidman himself. He made scores of tapes where he and his lovers got down, as well as friends getting it on with many a randy bimbo. Then we flash forward to the nineties where a sex tape of Motley Crue drummer, Tommy Lee, and Playboy bombshell, Pamela Anderson made it to the open market. I believe Lee claimed that a cleaning person stole the much-heralded VHS from a safe in his house, and then sold it to internet marketers who made millions watching these two horny beasts go at it like a Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom special on mating in the open wild. To say Lee is “well-endowed” is like saying Hitler had anger management issues. There’s one scene (yes, of course I watched it, I’ve got nothing better to do for crissakes) where Lee is driving and Pam releases his anaconda from its cotton-fiber holding cell and THA-WA-WAAAAAANG…the mother of all one-eyed trouser trouts makes his screen debut. It was one of those cliché, “Put that thing away before you put somebody ‘s eye out” moments. The big climax is a scene on their boat as Pammy holds a camera on Tommy as his piston is firing at 7,000 rpms, all while talking dirty to each other and repeating “I love you baby,” over and over. All right…maybe I’ve seen it more than once.

Then we had rock singer Brett Michaels and Heather Locklear, and of course Paris Hilton smoking a 76 ring gauge, captured on a night vision camera. But this most recent vid of Dr. Evil’s sidekick is just flat out wacky and perverse. And I think it’s just natural for one to wonder if the man-part on this diminutive Casanova is anatomically correct – or an accessory he wears as a belt when it’s not in “happy” mode. Hey, I’m just asking aloud. I personally think Tommy Lee leaked his video intentionally, then made millions giving websites permission to post it for all to see. But Troyer is suing TMZ.com for (now picture Doc Evil holding his pinky to his mouth and saying) Twenty meel-yun doll-ers! And if you’re wondering, the dinky Geico spokesman dates regular sized women, including ex-wife, celebrity yoga teacher and swimwear/lingerie model, Genevieve Gallen, who he wed then had the wedding anulled a month later. Now that’s what I’d called a “short-lived” marriage

Ok, ok, that was just way too easy and I couldn’t help myself. What…you actually thought I’d go 800 words plus without resorting to blatant and irresponsible journalistic stupidity? Listen, calling me a journalist is like calling your drunken Uncle Fred a surgeon just because he used a beer can lid to pull a roofing nail out of his forehead.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

Have a great weekend all of you, and remember to support your local neighborhood Zman as
Planet Zman makes its broadcast debut Sunday night on
XM Satellite Radio, 202, the Virus and Direct TV channel 879.

The one thing I can express is how unbelievably hard it truly is to sit behind a mic with total enthusiasm and actually have something halfway decent to say for three whole freakin’ hours! I don’t think I even remember three quarters of the things I said but I did listen back to a few parts and it actually sounds pretty friggin’ good if I say so myself! Kind of shocking that I don’t sound like a babbling retard and I can carry a halfway decent professional demeanor.

The Planet Zman platform is simply for the Man’s Man – real guys who enjoy life and living the male bonding experience.

The show is broken into five segments, much like a magazine: The PZ concept & the Dangers of Political Correctness, Cigars and the Good Life, Guy Food, Sports, and Entertainment. I do a great interview with Lew Rothman, the big cheese wiz here at JR land (and he breaks my balls about our trip to the DR and Honduras), and Larry Winget, the irritational speaker and best selling author that did a blog on a couple of months back.

JR is celebrating this most glorious event with an unbelievable Zman Cigar Special that will break Sunday night and be available on the blog during and after the show. You won’t believe what an amazing deal Lew has put together for you guys!

And, to make it even better, Christain Eiroa and the good peeps at Camacho are donating 5 boxes of their amazing Corojo cigars for a random drawing to some very lucky fans! Wow! That’s something like $150 per box!

Damn guys, this is a hell of a show! My neighbor is having a listening party on his patio, so I’ll be smoking gars, downing a few brews and listening to myself yak it up til the midnight hour!

Hope you all can join me and I appreciate everyone’s support like you wouldn’t believe. And a special thanx to Ron And Fez (and the Super Bowl Champion New York Giants) for making it all come true!

All the world love a clown. Send in the clowns. And even though your heart is aching, laugh clown laugh. God, what a crock of Shineola.

I hate clowns.

Every since I was a toddler, I’ve always possessed a disdain for these frightening looking beasts. They are a socially retarded lot, with their floppy red curly hair, bulbous noses, baggy pants and signature over-sized pontoons for shoes. They’re society’s misfits, outcasts from everyday life who sought refuge under the big top, the only place where “their” kind can find acceptance.

I’ve always hated clowns. They are annoying – getting in your face, commanding a reaction , looking for the smile that never comes – just a wince of sheer terror on the circus goers face as he or she cracks a faux grin only to appease this clod, hoping he moves on to the next unsuspecting victim.

Why would anyone want to be a clown? Of all the vocations on the planet, they pick one that requires them to dress like cross between Cher and a hobo, while wearing more make up than Tammy Faye Baker at an Avon party. Your job is to make people laugh, to make them happy – all the while thoughts of despair run through that wig covered dome, knowing you could have had the successful accounting firm that mom had always hoped for you. But instead of numbers you crunch soda cups, spray a seltzer bottle in the face of a monkey, and act as if the steel bucket you’re carrying is really filled with water, instead of the confetti that we all know is really in there. The act is old, bro, and even a five year old knows you’re a fraud.

Take a trip to the circus and they’ll greet you in the doorways, descending upon each patron like blood sucking locusts in need of a fresh kill. Half of these tards don’t talk, which is a gig I’ve never really understood, but thankfully huge name badges display their monikers so you know who to report to the authorities after the molestation. There’s Squeeky and Sunshine, Doodles, and Fraggle, Beenie and Pom Pom, Chibbles, and Mr. Fugnut. I remember Mike Smiler approaching my three year-old daughter, years back. She tried to remove herself from her own skin, violently squirming from my grip, somehow sensing that Mr. Smiler had plans to marinate her in hot sauce and share the carcass with Wiggles and Captain Zookey. He just smiled as his name suggested, signed our program and moved on, looking for other fresh meat to disembowel and hang in his meat locker / clown van.

And what of the infamous clown car where a never-ending gaggle of over-zealous dolts climb out from the backseat, confusing you into thinking that some kind of magic was taking place before your eyes. But again you uncreative turds, we know the deal – an infant knows the score and you are the unsuspecting rube, not us.

I remember as a child watching Emmett Kelly on stage – shuffling about within a three-foot spotlight, pretending to be mopping the floor, wearing his patented frown as if someone filled his bucket with a fresh load of tiger excrement. He’s billed as America’s favorite clown, but that is only a bizarre oxymoron that some sick marketing huckster dreamed up to get his ten percent cut of the action. And Bozo was another strange anomaly, a ghastly looking behemoth who wore a Grand Canyon smile by day, and for certain, drowned himself in several liters of distilled grains by nightfall. Yes, take your Bozo no-no and shove it up your ass.

And would you believe that to become a certified clown, one must attend a real-life clown college? I swear I’m not making that up. Can you imagine a campus overrun with balloon animals and cotton candy vendors, where instructors squirt you from the flower in their lapels and teach you the fine art of shoveling elephant crap. The only mode of transportation is via unicycle and a steady diet of popcorn and franks keeps your bowels fresh and steamy throughout the day.

All the world loves a clown, my ass. Remember the character Joe Divola on Seinfeld, the sociopathic opera fan who disturbing demeanor made Kramer soil his chinos? I think that Krusty the Klown from the Simpsons is the real, true description of this pathetic and sickening vocation – An inebriated, chain smoking letch, who spends his lunch hour at twenty-five cent peep shows while grappling with his clown sized loins for fun and pleasure.

Please, do NOT send in the clowns. I will not laugh or take pleasure in their skitzophrenic silliness. If that sorry son of a bitch comes anywhere me with that confetti filled bucket – I WILL forcibly remove the seltzer bottle from his mitts and give him a carbonated enema that he will never forget. I feel sorry for these wretched goons whose resume will never allow them to assimilate into the real world of respectable employment.

God, I hate f@#kin’ clowns.

And I’ll tell you one thing for sure – I didn’t need no stinkin’ clown college, I got this way all on my own, thank you.

Remember to Smile Today,
Tommy Zman
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

My good friend and cigar buddy, Ron Bennington, host of the Ron and Fez Show on XM Satellite Radio, Channel 202 is a former stand-up comic, owned a comedy club in Florida for severel years, and now performs his daily looniness for the XM faithful. But best of all, he hosts an amazing show on the Satellite network called Unmasked. It’s an hour of “in-depth” one-on-one talk with famous comedians where Ronnie gets them to literally “unmask” themselves, allowing their real personas to rise to the surface. I’ve had the opportunity to sit in on several sessions and I have been blown away by his uncanny ability to get these funnymen (and women) to drop their guard and allow their true inner-selves to show. I’ve personally never seen anything like it – Mr. Bennington has a true gift for “allowing” these very private people to open up and get more candid than you could EVER imagine possible.

At first, many of the comics are reluctant to appear on the show. They are actually quite terrified of the concept of revealing their foibles and pratfalls the world – and rightfully so – I mean, who wouldn’t be? I’ve been trying to figure out for months what talent the man posseses that allows him to instantly befriend these people, and it finally dawned on me. I told him last time when I was on their show that because he is truly a “professional ball-buster”, he owns a keen sense of timing on how to push a person’s buttons. He seems to have a unique gift for letting people speak, then coming back with a retort, while not allowing for that dreaded “dead air” to take place.

My first Unmasked was his session with Carlos Mencia, a comedian whose style I never particularly cared for. But after and hour of showing the world the REAL Menacia, (the “UNMASKED” person inside) I couldn’t believe how brilliant this guy truly is and now I understood why he says the things he says. I swear to God that I actually came away loving the guy and now I enjoy his act. Another comic I didn’t care for was Patrice O’neal. His gig is the “angry black man”, dissing whitey, and all the world for that matter. But again, after time in that chair, an unbelievable side of the man revealed itself – one that was honest, sincere, and full of heart. I was wowed, to say the least – and again, I now enjoy his comedy.

A most shocking interview was with comic Jim Norton of the Opie and Anthony Show, fame. He exposed (interesting choice of words) a dark and frightened side that almost had me in tears as I sat uncomfortably at the edge of my seat. Jeff Garlin of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” was just a fantastic and lovable guy to listen to. His stories of working with Larry David and that talented crew are hysterical. Brian Regan was just flat out  genuinely funny as hell. But Bob Saget, a guy I once thought was brutally funny, acted like a total ass, stepping over Ron the entire time and doing EVERYTHING he possibly could NOT to let the unmasked man come into the open. I came away thinking, “maybe there is nothing underneath, after all.”

David Brenner was great, but he was an angry and surly son of a bitch, venting his anger and frustrations of years past upon the audience. The one thing that has always eluded Brenner is that hit sitcom, something so many other comics became wealthy doing, and he let the world know it. His stories about his 150 plus appearances with Johnny Carson are classic. He may be pissed, but he’s still funny. Now, Robert Klein is a guy I loved since childhood, but his appearance was just flat out weird and border lined on alzheimer’s and dementia. I know that sounds kind of mean, but I think the man is sadly and unfortunately loosing it.

By far the weirdest and biggest train wreck was Gallagher, the man with the cabbie’s cap and a penchant for obliterating watermelons with a huge wooden mallet. This dude is still stuck in the 70’s and is certifiably insane, in need of medicinal help far beyond what today’s medical world can prescribe. He is a sociopath and frightened everyone on the set. Conversely, by far the best interview Ronnie had was with one of the most talented men in the history of comedy, Mr. Bob Newhart. Newhart is a very shy and private guy and was very reluctant to appear on the show, but it took all of two minutes for him to bloom like a flower. Ron knew he was in the midst of comedic greatness as he coaxed story after hysterical story out of the stammering and lovable aging comic – whose mind is as still as sharp as a tack, possessing the ability to fire and let rip as he dissed his old buddy Don Rickles with a few pointed zingers. This show was a masterpiece, one Ronnie B. should be forever proud of.

The most unfortunate thing of all is that the very first episode of Unmasked was an interview with the late, great George Carlin, but someone else hosted the show and Ron didn’t step in until the very next show. Damn.

I’ve always loved great comedy and Ron Benington’s Unmasked is worth signing up for XM Radio alone. If you are a fan of stand-up funnymen and insightful talk, you’re going to dig this show and without question, make it a part of your regimen.

And…if you want to give XM a try, there’s a FREE 3-DAY download of XM for the internet at www.xmradio.com. Just click on the top right where it says “LISTEN ONLINE”.

- George Carlin

If you haven’t heard, the infamous George Carlin passed away yesterday at 71 years of age.

Coming on the heels of Tim Russert’s death, the news media will certainly be filled with stories of Carlin, famous footage, and friends who are in shock by his passing. And it is shocking. George Carlin is an icon in American culture and it seemed like a man such as he will always be around.

Carlin changed the face of comedy and brought a new sound and look to the way stand-up comics performed. He was the ultimate rebel, pushing and grinding against the grain of what was considered “moral decency” in the U.S. His “Seven dirty words you can’t say” changed everything. I remember as an early teen when my dad bought that album. He let me listen to it and we both laughed until we were ready to pop. There was the Hippy Dippy Weather Man who said that tonight’s forecast called for darkness – with occasional scattered lightness by morning. Who can forget the “football” versus “baseball” bit where football was played on a GRID IRON, and baseball was played in a park! Yeah, we’re going to the park – weeee! And he did Biff Barf speaking of sports where, William and Mary defeated Nick and Tony.

It was a live show seeing a Lenny Bruce gig in the sixties that changed George from a suit and tie, short-haired conservative comic, into a brazen, pony-tailed rabble rouser. He became a modern-day philosopher whose cerebral brand of comedy made us think a little more deeply about the absurdities in life. He loved teetering on the edge of the taboo, enraging his critics while endearing his fan base even further. Yeah, it was those seven evil words that brought him tremendous notoriety where in 1971 he performed the bit on stage in Milwaukee and was arrested on charges for disturbing the peace. But the judge quickly set him free citing that even though the material was deemed “indecent” he felt the matter came under the guise of “free speech.”

"So my name is a footnote in American legal history, which I’m perversely kind of proud of," he said earlier this year, citing the Supreme Court’s ruling in 1978, upholding the government’s authority to sanction TV and radio stations for broadcasting language that was considered to be offensive.

According to the Associated Press – Carlin appeared on the Tonight show some 130 times
He produced 23 comedy albums, 14 HBO specials, three books, a couple of TV shows and appeared in several movies, from his own comedy specials to "Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure" in 1989 – a testament to his range from cerebral satire and cultural commentary to downright silliness (and sometimes hitting all points in one stroke). He won four Grammy Awards, each for best-spoken comedy album, and was nominated for five Emmy awards. On Tuesday, it was announced that Carlin was being awarded the 11th annual Mark Twain Prize for American Humor, which will be presented Nov. 10 in Washington and broadcast on PBS.

Comedian and radio talk host Ron Bennington of the Ron and Fez show and I have talked extensively about the “great” comedians of our time, and Carlin’s name would come up a thousand times in our conversations. We came up with our list of the very best comedians of the modern era, but I think we kind of agreed that Carlin almost kind of “invented” the modern day era of the stand-up comic. Names that make the hallowed list are immortals like Rodney Dangerfield, Richard Pryor, Jackie Mason, David Brenner, Bob Newhart, and Robert Klein – but it was Carlin who pushed the envelope like no other. He spoke with such a brutal “in your face” irreverence, poking a pointed stick into the belly of our culture, making us muse about how silly and fragile life truly is.

I have personally been a student of comedians since I was a kid, and in my opinion, I don’t think there has been a more influential comic who has been entwined in the fabric of American culture than George Denis Patrick Carlin. On his Wikipedia page it lists his comedic genres as: Observational comedy, Wit/Word play, Satire/Political satire, and Black comedy. He had a way of breaking things down, turning them inside out and exploiting the side that you never really seemed to think about – until he made you lift your head and say “Oh yea, you know, that’s really true!”

Wow… this man will be sorely missed. The world of comedy has lost and icon, and the human race has lost a philosopher we may not see the likes of again in our lifetime.

Put me in front of good food and I fold like a Texas Hold ‘em player with a seven / two draw. Bring me to a buffet or an outdoor barbecue and like Flounder in Animal House, I am worthless and weak. I always intend to be good and control myself, but when that checkered tablecloth is displaying big juicy cheeseburgers, bbq’d wings, fresh potato and macaroni salad, and other summertime goodies, I just completely loose my marbles. I’ll eat like its Red Dawn and the Russians are invading Newark. I really am a horrible slug and my wife gets so damned pissed. I always tell her that people love when you gobble their food because they feel complimented – as I’m dribbling viscus gravy down the length of my body.

Another thing I do to compound my self-induced idiocy is that I rave about the food and I go on and on how everything I had was the best ever. Just something else the old lady beats the piss out of me about. I can’t help myself. I’m a very passionate person about many things and food drives me wacky. When I was in Honduras with Lew and the JR crew, I wouldn’t shut the hell up about the amazing food (And for the record, it was off the freakin’ hook.) Lew would just shake his head like he was pretty sorry that he brought such a loathsome sloth along, while Daniel Nunez, president of General Cigar would just laugh and giggle like I was a circus act they flew in from the states. Every meal he would ask me while chuckling, “Tommy, how is everything?” And my answer was always the same, “Like you have to ask?” I think I was like the Polish Homer Simpson to these people.

Is it lack of will power… deep-rooted passion… or both? OK, lets look at chicks – I mean literally. I make it so obvious that I’m oogling at a woman and again, pathetic isn’t even a strong enough word. Like many of my faithful readers, I love hot looking women. But when you start getting a little older your standards drop as the field of play widens considerably. A few weeks ago I took the family into New York’s Little Italy for my daughter’s birthday. On a hot day the ladies seem to forget to wear much clothing and the sights are better than any Big Apple tour bus could provide. First off, I realize I have the will power of a drunk in the Budweiser basement, so I always wear dark glasses (you know you do that too, ya freakin turd, so don’t act all indignant.) Over the years I’ve contorted my head and neck so much that I can do a Linda Blair on command. It’s like I’ve developed some kind of genetic swivel between my shoulders as my head can almost do a 360, but it scares the hell out of people so I keep it to a minimum.

I fully admit that I’m a barbaric oaf – staring gratuitously at honeys when my wife and kids are strategically four and a half steps in front of me. All right, just to clear things up – I don’t leer and salivate like I just put a quarter in the slot and I’m preparing for a peep show – but I’m sure I make it pretty obvious that monogamy is a questionable practice and if God intended man to commit to only a single female, he would have made our johnson bars detachable with a sturdy Velcro strip for when the woman finally decides that SHE’s ready for a romp in the playpen. 

Let me say that I realize that I’m the guy two spaces from the left on the evolution chart and in dire need of psychiatric surveillance. Admitting your foibles is the first step to recovery so at least I got that going for me.

There is one more area where I am a blithering Neanderthal, and that is without question – the cigar store. I’ve been in JR Cigar in Whippany, New Jersey nearly ten thousand times, and every single time I’m like a street dwelling crack addict – dark circles under the eyes, sweating profusely while panting in deep, short rhythmic breaths. If you’ve never been to a JR, there’s a mile long rectangle display counter that you can walk completely around as hundreds of open boxes of naked cigars are exploited for your orgasmic delight. Actually, they should do 25 cent peep shows where say you pull a curtain around the Camachos and the Ultimates and grunt like the Geico caveman. God, I am truly a troubled soul.

Now, imagine me at a big barbecue bash, tons of tangy smoked ribs, coleslaw and frosty brews – there’s a gaggle of hot mommies dressed down in their summer garb and showing more legs than the triple crown – and a humidor chock-filed with premium smokes of every shape, color, and country of origin, just ripe for the taking. Just picture that scene for a moment

Like Shoeless Joe Jackson, I would turn to Ray Kinsella and with pure innocence ask…

“Is this heaven?”

Later Dudes,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

Today I’ve read of a new group who feels that they have been unjustly discriminated against. They are making noise and demand that something be done about the injustice they face. They are pointing to a manufacturer, claiming that the cold-hearted neglect towards their group is unfathomable and that society simply cannot tolerate this type of vile and discriminatory behavior.

For real – there is a women’s group that has gone public stating that the Apple iphone discriminates against women because those with long nails cannot use the product effectively. I kid you not my peeps, add this on to the list of human atrocities and vile miscarriages of justice.

The iphone’s touch screen is designed where every application is accessed by the use of your fingertips. The body’s natural electrical charge connects with the screen and manipulates the sensors. It seems that women with long nails – especially glued on French nail types – are having terrible problems trying to work the gadgets. And as I stated, women are up in arms about Apple’s lack of common sense, claiming the company to be "sexist", and they want retribution and changes to the product…NOW!

People, I’m not joshin’ ya. You just can’t make this shit up. Erica Watson-Currie, a consultant and professional lecturer from Newport Beach, California seems to be the culprit behind this little hissy fit. (Why are they always from California?)

Watson-Currie asks, "Considering ergonomics and user studies indicating men and women use their fingers and nails differently, why does Apple persist in this misogyny?" She demands the company create a stylus to navigate with or reconfigure the device to accommodate the many women who are being discriminated against.

MISOGYNY?! WTF? Dictionary.com definition says: “Hatred, dislike, or mistrust of women.”  Let me say it again…WTF, lady?! You’re saying that Steve Jobs and his high-tech fruit company displays hatred, and mistrust towards women because broads who like to get all gussied up and make their nails all perty have a hard time using the phone? Again, the politically correct whine, kick, and scream all in the hopes and dreams of taking down “The Man”.

I really wasn’t sure this subject was worth dedicating an entire blog to, but I was so taken aback by the absurdity, the unmitigated gall of people who think the world should stop rotating and cater to their very special needs. This one is just plain friggin’ ridiculous beyond believability. I truly hope to hear Steve Jobs quoted as saying, “Screw the crazy-ass, troublemaking bitch.” And those are MY sentiments, exactly. First off, if you don’t like the product – don’t buy it. Gee, that was easy. Or hey, maybe Apple could supply a nail clipper with each unit? Hmm. Maybe if you really feel you desperately need to use this product, just don’t have long nails. Hmm, again, that’s just way too simple, isn’t it?

For some reason this “nagging” problem (good choice of words) hasn’t seemed to hurt sales any. I read that Apple has sold six million ipods since its inception and one third of all users are female. So what the hell is your problem, lady? You know this chick is just opening the door for other groups to bring possible legal action and public humiliation to Apple. I mean, what about prostitutes? It’s the world’s oldest profession and is legal in Nevada. I’ll bet those $1,000 an hour hoo-waas use iphones to keep schedule of their appointments, use the map and gps to locate where they’ll meet their Johns, and maybe just set it to vibrate to let go of a little stress, if ya know what I’m getting’ at? Now this broad from the land of fruits and nuts is going to get dragon ladies everywhere up in arms over this incredulous debacle. I can only imagine that transvestites will be next in line and I’m sure that Rue Paul is in a purse whipping tizzy as we speak.

Of course the makers of Lee Clip On Nails will be entering litigation in no time, and I fully expect a massive class action lawsuit from Korean salon owners the world over all because one instigating sociopath who must be on the heavy flow day of her cycle decides to take on the evil corporate giants of humanity. OK, I admit it… now THAT was sexist.

See yaz later,
Tommy Z.
Blog With the Zman

Do you remember that feeling of sheer elation when you knew that you had two and a half months of righteous freedom ahead of you? God, the joy was overwhelming. Thoughts of baseball and bike riding, swimming and hanging with your pals until the sun went down – but there was no school the next day so you hung out even later! You could camp out, do sleep-overs, eat barbequed stuff, and at least one week was put aside for a Griswold family vacation.

When you grew up as a kid in Jersey, the “Shore” was the fun and memorable place to hang out. People who think New Jersey is just a skeevy pimple on New York’s butt have watched the opening credits of the Sopranos one too many times. We’ve got hundreds of miles of white sandy beaches along the dark blue Atlantic. Seaside Heights, New Jersey has been the ultra popular place for a hundred years with its huge boardwalk and pier. Perusing the boardwalk can awaken the senses as the smell of salt water and Coppertone melds with the aroma of sausage and peppers, cheese steaks, pizza and zeppolis (look it up on Google , that’s why you have a computer, ya goon.) The scores of fattening food vendors, carnival games and pinwheels beckon for your hard earned dough, as the bikini clad honeys drive a dude’s testosterone levels into a silent hormonal rage.

One thing to this day that I could never understand was, why do Jewish people ship their kids off to summer camp? It’s like a law or a religious rite amongst the chosen people – once school was kaput it was off to some lake with a bogus Indian name in New York State or north west Jersey. While I was playing ball, hanging at a rich friend’s pool and dining on grilled doggies and PBJ, Steven Cohen and Irv Goldberg were singing dumbass campfire songs while learning 300 mundane ways to tie a goddamned knot.
 
Some of us had tents in our yard so camping out at home with a few buddies was always an awesome adventure. All you needed was a sleeping bag, a gargantuan sack of chips, and a dozens sodies to keep you awake half the night while one jerky kid held a flashlight to his face and told tales about the bloody head in the old oak tree that talked. Crap, that still scares the crud outta me. I remember pulling the sleeping bag over my neck so the vampires would have a hard time enjoying their dinner – like a layer of padding and cloth would deter a blood-sucking demon from hell. One time Steve Wolters brought over a bag of garlic and the life-size crucifix off his parents bedroom wall to ward off the undead. That didn’t get him in as much trouble as the bottles of vodka and Mad Dog from his old man’s liquor cabinet. You have never seen a group of twelve year-olds puke up that much chunky chowder in all your life. I can still smell it.

I remember those hot summer days were tough as no one had central air back then. My dad put a wall unit air conditioner the size of a refrigerator in the kitchen. Pop loved it icy cold – and god damned if that kitchen floor wasn’t thirty below zero! Many of you probably had the same, where the one air unit had to cool off the entire house. I practically got frostbite during breakfast every morning and only a trip to the far side of our house reduced the effects of oncoming hypothermia.

It was a real treat living in the New York area at that time, as we would spend summer nights watching either our beloved Mets or the cross-town rival Yankees. I grew up in the era of the ’69 Mets World Series win over Baltimore and the ’73 Mets loss to the Oakland A’s in seven games and marveled at the battery of Tom Seaver and Jerry Grote. I also got to see Mantle play out the end of his career in pinstripes, as well as Willie Mays hanging up his cleats in the very city he started in. As James Earl Jones said in the classic film, Field of Dreams, “The memories are so thick you have to brush them away from you face.”

Summers as a kid has some of the most vivid memories I can remember…hearing the Good Humor or the Mr. Softee Truck jingling his bells and playing that Pavlovian ice cream music while the chocolate eclair or the strawberry crunch bar slowly melted down the back of your hand…turning a super market cart upside down and creating a makeshift Koolaid stand…running back and forth through a two dollar sprinkler head for hours…but most of all just being OUTSIDE because their was no Play Station, XBOX, and Wii.

Ah, something tells me I have struck the nostalgic nerve again with my loyal and faithful readership.

Yes, Alice, “School’s been blown to pieces.”

Enjoy,
Tommy Z
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman