We ate, we drank, we smoked, we conquered. The typical Thanksgiving fare and festivities took place at the Z house – my wife all crabby and crazed, giant birds slaughtered to perfection (including Cardinals and Sea Hawks), yard apes running wild through the home, and my best scotch being devoured by people who truly couldn’t tell you the difference between Johnny White or Blue Label which is always terribly always disturbing. (Two years ago my father in law popped open my bottle of Jordan Cab ’97 and filled his glass with crushed ice. Oh the humanities. I had the boxed wine chilled and ready this year.)

I actually had a pretty damned nice day, yesterday. It was brisk in northern, NJ – mid 40’s – warm enough to enjoy a few excellent stogies. The keeper of the day being the Olvidados that was given to me fresh off the roller’s table at the Villizon factory in Cofradia, Honduras, some seven months ago. That and a fine Martinez NY Gold Series Torpedo made the day just a tad more festive.

You know, I love appetizers, (of course, what sloth doesn’t?) but they always put too much of a dent into your dinner. The pepperoni, chips, dip and veggies are scarfed in an animalistic fashion because that damned turkey smells so friggin good and it’s still four hours plus until dinner. Even though I’m a loathsome piglet, a barnyard animal who inhales whatever is put in front of me, I definitely can’t eat as much as I did when I was younger. Anybody else notice this for themselves? I used to fill my plates a good three times with absolutely everything imaginable, and now I really just do one big plate of the mainstay traditional chow – bird, stuffing, mashed, and a little slaw. At least that lets me save a few pieces of pie for the pie hole.

And I’m sorry, but my town’s local Pop Warner slugs could kick the shit out of the Detroit Lions on any given Sunday. That team is a grotesque display of bungling assholiness and I may be first in line next year to whine about the tradition being pulled from Motown. It’s a tradition of losing, ineptness, and disgrace and NO ONE wants to watch a game that’s a first quarter blow out! God, that was fuggly and Seattle sure didn’t look a whole lot better. Dallas toyed with their asses and again, a horrible game to watch. I don’t have the NFL Network so I didn’t see the night game, but Philly stuck with McNabb and they trounced the Arizona Cards as Kurt Warner and company may be turning back into pumpkins before our very eyes. The Cards are something like 0 for their last 15 games when coming into an eastern time zone.

For those who have to work today, that truly sucks my hairy giblets. Actually I’m working “write” now, but I know that will only garner a laugh from you brutal turds (whom I love so very dearly, of course.) My head hurts but I’m hungry from stretching my gut during yesterday’s gathering of gluttony. Turkey on rye toast, slathered with mayo is not far away, and wow, I actually have a few brewskies left in the fridge. Tonight will be turkey day 2 as we all know that sometimes the leftovers taste even better. Yummo, Rachael.

Sure I’m a hog – but I’m a happy little hog. Where’s my Romeo Y Julieta Edicion Limitada? I’m going to continue this hangover in style.

Have a wonderful weekend my bruthas,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

It may be a glum day for turkeys across the great plains and purple mountains majesty – but a good day for us who love to devour their plump breasts and crispy golden skin. Hell yeah.

I’ve got family coming over and of course my wife is a psycho wreck. She doesn’t want us eating breakfast because appetizers are at noon. But if I wait until noon to eat, the appetizers will annihilated before anyone gets a chance for seconds. Remember, I’m a degenerate sloth – the original food rapist – and no one stands between me and my gorging pigfest on Turkey day.

On October 3, 1789, George Washington decreed… “Whereas it is the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor, and whereas both Houses of Congress have by their joint Committee requested me “to recommend to the People of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness.”

Now he didn’t mention the maniacal engulfing of large birds with mashed potayties and sausage stuffing with gravy – but hey, leave it to us Americans to improvise. He also didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout the Detroit Lions giving us a most boring game year in and year out.

But I have a surprise for you…

I predict the lowly Lions (from the city that hopefully still makes cars) will defeat the Tennessee Titans – straight up – no point spread needed.

There, I said it. The world will know my prognosticating powers when this day is through.

Detroit over Tennessee, Dallas over Seattle (But I shall root otherwise), Arizona over Philadelphia (Even though their record traveling east is atrocious.)

In 2000 I took the family into Manhattan to see the Macy’s Parade. It’s a nice memory as the kids just went bonkers, although it was 39 degrees and driving rain (fyi – it was nice when we left.) Pretty damned cool seeing those big ass balloons in person even though Snoopy took a dump on me. They said it was liquid helium runoff – but I know beagle shit when I smell it. The only real problem was: NO bathrooms and absolutely no places were open to eat or even grab a coffee. I remember guys were lined up peeing in alleys as women everywhere had their legs crossed. The other problem was 3 hours in the car with crawling traffic trying to get out of the city.

Hey, short and sweet today from yours truly. To all my readers – a great day of gluttony and barbaric eating. All hail the Lions… or is that, Aw, HELL, the Lions?

And…make sure to pick out a nice after dinner smoke and enjoy the moment.

Til Tomorrow my bird eating, stogie chomping peeps,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

Word is out that the still current first lady, Mrs. Laura Bush has been approached by several prominent book publishers to print her personal memoirs. I honestly think that the book will be a hit and probably quite interesting to boot. She really could mud sling back at the people who have hurt her family over the years, but I’m sure this lady has too much class for that… But don’t you just wish she that didn’t?

She claims that the book will focus on the “positive” about her eight years in Washington, but nobody is going to want to read a fairytale like that. We’re Americans and we want dirt, goddammit! If you ask me, Jerry Springer should interview Mrs. Laura for the book, complete with pimps and ho’s being bitch slapped on stage, while nude midgets in spiked neck collars play Stars and Stripes Forever on kazoos. (If you’re a visual person like me, that’s one helluva site.)

Obviously, first and foremost, Mrs. B. could throw her dumbass spouse under the bus for about 600 pages, that’s for sure. And she could slaughter that scowling Dick Cheney son of a bitch, and of course take wild pot shots at Willie and the Hildebeast, Al Goreknob, and a host of liberal swine. God, it could be such a fun read if she wasn’t such a downright nice lady.

You know, I think I’ll just go ahead and take the liberty to ghost write a few paragraphs here, and you guys can tell me what you think. Hey, this could land me a super high paying gig… or land me in a ton of horse hockey – but gosh fellers, ya gotta take a shot at these kind of things sometimes in your sorry, stinkin’ life. So here’s how I’d word it for the Firstest Lady…

Chapter Four: WOMD Debacle
You know, Georgie means well, but Lord knows he is a stupid ass. He woke up this morning trying to get me to salute old glory standing firm through the front pouch of his feetie pajamas, but I just rolled over and told him I was vetoing his petition. He told me as a “good ‘Merican” it was my duty to wreak havoc upon his Weapon of Mass Disruption poking out towards the heavens, and not to make him go “half-mass” before breakfast. So like the good wife I have always been, I “hummed” the Battle Hymn of the Republic, and sent my little Texas cracker off to work with a smile on that jerky face. Of course I packed the goober his favorite lunch – peanut butter and marshmallow Fluff on an onion bagel, a sippy box of Yoo Hoo, and a bag of Gummy Worms for snacks. He loves his Gummies. One time I accidentally gave him Swedish Fish and the spoilsport didn’t talk to me for a week. Come to think of it, that’s when he decided to invade Iraq, so I guess you could say that one’s partially my fault.

Chapter Six: The Maniacal VP
Let me clear the air right now and remove all doubts that Dick Cheney is more crooked than a pirate’s asshole – and I know that analogy makes no sense whatsoever, but neither does Cheney. If he’s not shooting his mouth off about some foreign country, he’s shooting his hunting partner in the head. One time at a dinner for the Prime Minister of a turd-sized county in Europe that we could wipe off the face of the map with a couple of water pistols filled with dog piss, ol’ Dick-head put his hand on my thigh while dessert was being served, so I dumped a platter of figs and jello on his wretched crotch then yelled out “whoopsies!” The clown-ass never tried that crap again. I don’t hate a lot of people, but this guy makes Saddam look like a pre-school finger puppet.

Chapter Ten: Snake Oil Al and His Magic Elixir of Doom
The sky is falling, the sky is falling… Auntie M!…Auntie M! Listen folks, before you buy that poncho to keep you dry from those melting polar ice caps, let me remind you that Uncle Albert makes fifty to a hundred grand per speech while preaching his doom and gloom prophecies of global warming. I’ll tell you exactly what’s going green for that windbag – it’s his his bank account and that’s about it. The man’s head is made from corrugated board and he has all the personality of a sun-faded garden gnome. And Tipper is a fat-ass biotch. The two morons deserve one another.

Chapter Fourteen: The Amazing Hillary Rotten Clinton
She’s a greedy ho who has ice pops in her panties and is a capitalist’s worst nightmare. If the queen of cankles is made Secretary of State I will personally borrow Zman’s Whiffle Bat and make an unannounced visit to her front porch. Of course her old man will be diddling some girthy tart inside while the ice queen is strolling the deep-south pretending to be a black person for the day. Keep working on those “ya’lls” ya Commie.

Chapter Seventeen: The Obamanation
I have GOT TO get me one of those collector’s plates for him to sign.

Chapter Twenty: Buh Bye!
OK, so there were no WOMD’s…he started a war that’s cost billions in dollars and thousands of lives…the financial crisis is sucking the taxpayers dry, mortgage company CEO’s should be unmercifully Whiffled over a live internet broadcast, and the Dow Jones is hovering at around 8. Yeah, I know he’s a dumbass, but he’s my little dumbass and I’m stuck with the schmuck. Whaddya gonna do? We are talking about opening an Italian Ice stand in Key West next February, but getting a loan for the kiosk is gonna be tough. Maybe we’ll roll cigars in Mallory Square – unless the new jackass approves the SCHIP bill or becomes chummy with the Castros. I KNOW that I’m ready for some change.

Happy Wednesday,

Mrs. Laura B. Filling in for Tommy Z,

JR Cigars Blog With the Bushes

“Jess…Keen I halp ju?” were the garbled, yet kind words coming from the speaker as I sat in my car attempting to order my morning java.

“Medium coffee, with regular milk and one packet of Splenda.”

“Okee,” replied the voice, “Do ju won a dat Ehg Meeknoofin wit hom or wit sussege?”

“I don’t want an Egg McMuffin.”

“No?! Wut ju won den?”

“ I would like a medium coffee, with regular milk and one packet of Splenda.”

“No Mcmoofin?”

“That’s correct, no Mc-moofin!”

“Okee… ju drive around, den.”

As I get to the window, there’s my steaming fresh hot cup of coffee – a small, with cream and regular sugar. I shoulda ordered the Mcmoofin.

Outback Steakhouse will be advertising a recession busting deal going on – a six ounce grilled steak, salad, baked potato and bread for $9.99. The Aussie steak joint will be doing a TV commercial blitz, but fail to mention that you get no plate or silverware and have to cook your own meal – otherwise it’s $24.99. For $6.99 you can gut your own steer.

Yesterday as a man was being carjacked by a local scumbag outside of a grocery store, an on-looking Good Samaritan rushed over to aid the victim by beating the assailant over the skull with his Thanksgiving frozen turkey. (Totally true.) The dirtbag managed to get away, but police arrested him a no more than a mile up the road. I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that the thief sustained multiple serious head wounds – along with two Idaho potatoes and a bag of frozen broccoli stuffed up his ass. The human crock-pot will be spending his own holiday tradition by picking up the soap for Bubba.

After 119 years, Lenox, the makers of fine dinnerware have filed for bankruptcy. It would be a tad ironic if they had to start making the plates in China, now wouldn’t it?

Waitress Jessica Osborne is a well-loved server at a local Pizza Hut and always sits and chats with one particular family. At one dinner she mentioned that she had to twice drop out of college because she couldn’t afford the tuition. The following week when she served the family, a check for $10,000 was left as the tip (Totally true.) A teary-eyed Jess was grateful beyond words and immediately did the right thing – blowing the entire wad at the Luxor on craps, cases of Dom P, and a brand new set of 38 D’s. Yes, Jessica still serves bad pizza and her “tips” are indeed larger than ever.

The Dow was up to 12 this morning. That’s a good sign. Oh wait…it’s back to three.

For anyone who doesn’t think that singer Amy Winehouse is a skank – well as they say, a pictures worth a whole lot of words. Whoa, people… we are talking major-league skank-a-roo! Good Lord, somebody please make it go away. My eyes…MY EYES!

Turkey day is coming and Detroit Lions fans will be protesting this year by attending the game as always and once again, ruining America’s favorite holiday.

I am preparing to smoke may fine cigars this holiday weekend, available from the good people at JR. I suggest you do the same.

That’s all I got…what say you?

Later Dudes,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

Again I say, “Global Warming, my hairy Polack dupa!” It’s absolutely freezing the past couple of weeks in the northeast and someone needs to ask Al Gore to refrain from the continual hits on his groovy-green colored crack pipe. And for those of you who found that statement offensive – please allow me to refer to it as a “crack pipe of color.”

This past weekend, I was in a local breakfast joint and people were talking about getting away to a warmer place, when one woman said she was taking the kiddies to Disney. Now, the owner “Bob” of the eatery is a good guy, but a curmudgeon personified, I mean such an old griping bastid who will throw a steaming turd on the top of anyone’s rose parade. The world sucks, people suck, even dogs suck. He was such a joy when gas prices were at $4 and he loathes Obama so when eating there you’re sure to get a helping of acerbity and umbrage with your western omelet. So why eat there?… The food is phenomenal and if you take the guy with a boulder sized grain of salt, you’ll love the steak and egg platter.

So Bob overhears us talking about Disney from the kitchen and decides to make his sugar coated opinions known. “That place sucks! Disney is the worst rip-off in America and it would have to be the coldest day in goddamned hell before I brought my grand kids to that piss hole!”

I was snickering at his classic sourpuss demeanor and decided to play along. “Bob, may I ask… what the hell is SO bad about Disney?”

And his answer was intelligent, well thought out, And of great value to anyone who was thinking of visiting the land of the world’s most distinguished mouse.

“Because you pay six bucks for a goddamned cup of Sprite in that pit!”

I broke out into laughter and it baffled old Bob. His statement wasn’t meant to be funny, whatsoever – in fact, it was meant to thoroughly defame the late Mr. Disney and his multi-billion dollar empire. But taken in context, it was quite humorous. The entire lot of Disney enterprises, a global conglomerate that has entertained children and adults alike for decades, has been chastised and deemed unfit for human involvement all because a plastic cup filled with lemon and lime soda sells for six whole dollars. Yeah, I don’t care who you are…that right there is friggin’ funny.

“Bob,” I says while snorting, “You go to Yankee games and you damned well know the cost of food, there. For crissakes, I bought hotdogs, pretzels, and sodas for four people last time I went and it was like eighty bucks.”

“Hey,” he snapped back at me with one eye opened wide while the other one was sneering, “ That’s the house that Ruth built so don’t gimme any of your crap. Plus its New York City so what the hell do you expect? You should be grateful they even let a piece of shit Mets fan like you in the place!”

“Bob, how would they know I’m a Mets fan since I wasn’t wearing any baseball attire?

“They just know… trust me they know. And Piazza is and has always been light in the cleats and you’ll never convince me of any different.”

“Listen Bob, do you realize you’ve denigrated Orlando, Florida and the entire Disney experience, right down to a measly cup of six dollar soda?”

“And your point?” he asks while cocking his head like an owl waiting to devour a helpless and defensless field mouse.

“No point at all – can I please have some ketchup for this tasty dish you’ve prepared for me this very fine morning?”

“Yeah, I thought that’s what you’d say,” as he plops down a bottle of Heinz 57 on the counter then heads back into to the kitchen while wiping his hands on a greasy dish towel as to say to us all, “My job is done, here.”

I think that even though being over-the-top cantankerous gives a person a twisted outlook on things, it is always right and justified somehow, no matter how ignorant it sounds to the average Joe. And the important thing to know is that YOU will NEVER win or receive any validation towards your side of the argument. Empathy is not something that exists to the Bobs of the world. You’ve got to let it roll off like water on a duck’s back. He’s bitter, acerbic, angry, and filled with piss and vinegar… but god damn if that isn’t the best freakin steak and eggs I may have ever had.

Salute to your Monday,

Tommy Z,

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

You guys know I’m into these dumb-ass web articles that feature stuff like The Ten Things you – fill in the blank: Shouldn’t eat while skydiving…Shop for while hung over… Buy in the nude…Drink with a Russian guy named Vlad… Should never bring to a hackey sack tournament…play with on the human body… yada, yada, yada.

Today they had the stupidest-ass one – Things you should NEVER buy used. You look at the list and common sense tells you to go DUH, I mean, how the hell is this worthy of an article to waste a busy blogging, humorist’s time? I mean light bulbs and car tires are on the list. And I’m like – swim suits and lingerie? No shit, comrade. Car seats and bike helmets? Come on. When I read information like this, I want to be edumacated, you know, properly informed about the world. Damn, do you know how lucky I was to know what not to drink when I was with Vlad?

So, AOL paid some dillwad to write today’s uninspiring drivel and naturally I thought I should submit my personal ideas to the list of – Things you should NEVER buy used. And first off let me say that I won’t reach for the obvious and list condoms, cause that’s grotesque and I know how you offend so easily. Ah what the hell, I’ll actually make that number one. There’s a lot of uniformed Polacks out there like me and this really is a good tip for those who don’t know any better. Damn, if that’s the case, put used toothbrushes up there, too. Hey, don’t go “EW!” This might save some poor unfortunate schmuck from a bout of really heinous hygiene.

Well, then next I gotta go with Q-tips. Yeah, that’s foul, you know sharing somebody else’s most intimate waxiness – unless you’re collecting to make a candle.

Never buy a used dog. They’ll just run away and find their way back to their original owner’s house in Vancouver. Then you’ll be on the news as the guy that couldn’t get man’s best friend to like him. What a friggin’ putz you are.

Cigars should always be purchased new. I mean, really, don’t you think? I think. That’s if you like a tasty cigar and not wet with someone else’s yuk on it.

Fireworks. Used fireworks bring no joy to anyone’s July 4th bash.

A whiffle bat. That’s right, you need pristine, new and undented yellow plastic if you want the best results when smacking the shit out of some a-hole who needs it most. My mom always said that a used whiffle is an ineffective whiffle. No, she really said that, I swear. I mean if you don’t believe me you could ask my dog Rusty – but unfortunately he’s crossing the Canadian border right about now.

Fruit. Used fruit serves no real good purpose unless you’re using it to hurl at the really bad acts at a local Vaudeville show.

Used business cards. Do you really want to keep crossing off someone else’s name and writing yours in? Plus, you don’t sell plumbing supplies so why confuse your customers. Geez, think for a moment – will you?

Dog food. Come on now, you know if you’re gonna buy “used” dog food it’s just gonna be shit – literally. Maybe Rusty WAS trying to tell me something.

The Clapper. You don’t know how many claps that old broad used up in that thing and you just can’t take that kind of chance.

Crocs. First off no one should EVER buy Crocs – especially if you are a card-carrying man… But used Crocs? – that’s a greater crime to humanity. You’re really breaking the rules here – hense the probable urgent need for an un-used Whiffle bat.

Definitely never buy a used trampoline. I mean, how the hell are you going to get that in the shower each morning?

And last on my list – the Popeil Pocket fisherman. Guys, fish will laugh at you if you show up to the lake with that stupid-ass hunk of direct marketing Tom Follery to begin with – but if it’s used – well I have lost all respect for people like you. I’m serious with this one. Don’t test me, I mean it cause once you cross that line, there’s no going back.

And that’s the definitive Zman list. Hope it was most helpful. Note that toilet paper and feminine products were left off the list because this is a family blog and why go so “low-brow” to reach for a cheap laugh or snicker from my readers. Wait, I think I just did.

Ew.

Have a new and unused weekend of joy,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

Okay…are you sitting down, people? You know, it’s an awful thing for me to announce, but Paris Hilton has broken up with her rock star boyfriend. People Magazine reports, “Paris is saddened by the breakup but they’re just too different and they wanted different things in life. He was loyal and sweet but it was time to take a break.”

The first words that entered my mind was, “What a friggin skank!” Then I thought, “You know, skank just seems to be the perfect word to describe Hilton. There’s no question that the general populous completely loathes the arrogant and brain dead heiress, yet she continues to dominate the entertainment world’s gossip rags and TV retard shows like Access Hollywood and Entertainment Tonight (with Mary Hart, who I think turns 93 next week.)

It’s weird but there’s definitely this love-hate thing with Hilton where chicks are jealous of her but would love to be in her $8,000 ruby studded otter skin shoes if just for only one day. And guys always say terrible stuff about the dirty little rat-faced git (Python reference) but for some reason we’d still tap it just for shits and giggles because it’s kind of like “conquering that mountain” sort of thing. And the weirdest thing of all about her is that she has no job, no skills, no nothing. She is referred to as a socialite and that is pretty pathetic – unless you’re her that is, then everything is just bitchin’ and groovey.

I started thinking about other famous chicks who fall under the skank category, and while it may be a subjective list, I’ll probably get support from the Zman faithful. These ladies are lauded by the press and the fans, and the paparazzi, but are the worst examples for any young girl on the planet to emulate. Take Britney Spears for instance. Used to be this hot nubile babe years back but she turned into a raging skanky ho right before our very eyes. Like they say, you can take the ho out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the ho. Then there’s singer Amy Winehouse. Now that broad is a skank personified. Oofah! And what of cute lil’ child actress Lindsay Lohan, now a car crashing, party hopping skankasaurus, indeed! I’d throw Madonna on that list as well. God, she’s such a horrid skank.

These woman all seem to have something in common and it may just determine what a “skank” actually is. I looked up the word in the Urban Dictionary and there’s over 120 definitions and usages of the term. As you would imagine, it generally applies to low rent hags with black eyes and summer teeth, who drink Coors Light fer breakfast and put Jolt Cola in their baby’s milk bottle. (For you dullards out there – Summer Teeth, as in some are yellow, some are black, some are missing, yada, yada, yada.) The Urban Dictionary describes the generic skank as: A derogatory term for a (usually younger) female, implying trashiness or tackiness, lower-class status, poor hygiene, flakiness, and a scrawny, pockmarked sort of ugliness. May also imply promiscuity, but not necessarily. Can apply to any race, but most commonly used to describe white trash. Example: “You know that girl Crystal that lives in the trailer park? She’s a total skank.”

Yeah, I think we’ve all know a Crystal in our lives at one time or another.

But, the definition I found of the word skank that best describes these woman of fame and fortune that I have mentioned is as follows… “A person, usually female, whose attempts at vanity result in a used, vulgar, or unhealthy and lewd appearance. Example: Kathy Lee Gifford, with her over-processed hair, heavy make-up, and flashy spandex outfits, is a skank.”

While there is a plethora of skank terminology in the Urban Dictionary, several grabbed my funny bone. A Skank Badge is: A tattoo on the lower back of a woman that indicates to anyone viewing it that she is, in fact, a skank. Skank Aid: The money you give to the sleaze bag you just jumped so she can get the subway back to Jersey or to the bridge she lives under. (Funny as all hell, but why is it always Jersey?) Skank Anchor: An award bestowed on an individual, voted on by convention, to be worn for a specific period of time for committing a most heinous act (usuallly sexual in nature) with a most heinous partner. Skank Fight: A fight between two girls, who have been around the block. There is usually hair pulling, and biting.

I admit this may be one of the weirder and more low-brow subjects that I’ve blogged about, but the whole Paris Hilton mystique thingy continues to boggle my mind because of the importance the media gives these, these, oh well, these SKANKS! I’m glad we could share this little skank-fest together.

Damn – writing Pulitzer Prize material like this day in and day out sure does wear on a guy.

And a final Note: The amazing photo I found of the three chicks on a joyride…I definitely hit the Skank Trifecta with that one!

Later all,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

OK, boys, it’s finally happened – the invention that is SO monumental that it will literally change the lives of the male populous across the globe.

TIVO and Dominoes Pizza have teamed up where by the push of a button on your tv remote, you can order a fresh and tasty pie, wings, breadsticks and sodie – delivered to your door – without no more effort than using your thumb and forefinger.

Now I guess it’s a matter of perspective, here. To a guy, this is more ingenious and life changing than the George Foreman Grill/Cell Phone. But to a chick, this is a horrid idea, one that only adds to the insipid and grotesque laziness that we fellas portray, let’s say on Sunday afternoons during football season. To a woman, this kind of device only enhances our sloth-like behavior, and I’m sure the fairer of the two sexes will have something to say about it.

But can you imagine – it’s the start of the second quarter, hunger pangs kick in – and you use the free hand that not scratching your boys to order up some grub that a pimply-faced college dork will drop at your doorstep by halftime? OH MY GOD… you wonderful and beautiful people at TIVO! I’m going on a limb to say that this even rivals Al Gore’s infamous internet!

I think what has me so jazzed up is NOT the fact that it’s Dominoes – I mean come on – it’s basically one step above frozen pizza and about as far from real Italian as it gets – but the other amazing opportunities this will instantly lead to is endless! Will the corner liquor store now drop off that Heineken mini keg? Will the dry cleaner pick up and drop off your clothes for the week? Will the gas station guy come and fill up the car? Will a couple of local high school buttheads come and do your yard work? Will JR have a local rep who brings you a box of Ultimate maduros after your lunch? Will the massage joint up the road send Su Ling over for a happy ending to your football game, no matter the outcome?…All while you lay there in a heaping sweaty pile of your own pungent man musk?

Yes, there is a God.

This is the kind of thing you saw in movies 30 – 40 years ago – and now technology rears it’s most thoughtful and glorious head and delivers us men from any physical responsibility whatsoever! Nap all you want, boys, cuz all you ever dreamed about is only the push of a button away! Watch every goddamned sport and every goddamned game the weekend serves up because TIVO has got you covered, baby! A service will take the rugrats to soccer while someone visits the grandparents in their place. Shit, I’ll even have someone jog for me and attend Weight Watcher’s meetings! This is all too perfect!

And you’ll probably even be able to set up a weekly calendar on your TV that pre-arranges all this stuff – again, just by moving a few fingers away from your most private of areas for about two whole minutes.

I believe laziness is man’s god given right and it is about time someone put our most inner thoughts and feelings first. This is our time, fellas! God has smiled his loving face upon us and we’re ready to seize the day! Yeah, Dominoes may be sucky-ass pizza, but it’s a start. It’s the beginning of an era where a man’s couch or recliner becomes the command center and his thumbs have all the power of mighty Zeus himself!

I am delirious with anticipation – but greatly annoyed that I must still walk around with mere mortals.

Excited to a pinkish hugh,
Tommy Z.
JR CIGARS Blog With the Zman

Turkey Day is around the corner and almost all Americans consider Thanksgiving to be their favorite holiday. It’s a holiday based around food and family and there’s no real pressure on anyone – well except for turkeys and Detroit Lions fans.

First we’ll talk about turkeys. The dumb bastids don’t stand a chance this time of year and it’s their own fault for being so goddamned tasty. Something like 50 million turkeys are consumed on the holiday, which equates to around 700 million pounds devoured. That’s a lot of triptiphane putting our fat asses to sleep on the couch in front of the little kids with our mouths open and drool running down our necks.

Remember I told you guys that where I live in north jersey there is a ton of wildlife here? Well in the woods on the side of my house there is a family of wild turkeys that always come out in the fall. This year there have been seven of them that walk on my front lawn and they are really an amazing sight because they’re so friggin’ huge. When they fly, their wingspan is like 5 feet across. The other morning my son started yelling for me at the living room window as there were over 20 of the gigantic birds hanging out in front of my walkway. I told my kid to get his bat so I could bash a few of their heads in for next week’s din-din. That would be a hell of a site, huh? Me running around my front lawn in my boxers with a $300 Easton composite, taking swings at these stupid f@#king animals who would basically just stand there and let you do a Barry Bonds on their skulls.

Then there are the Detroit Lions who since 1939 have played the traditional afternoon Thanksgiving Day game. Their record for playing on the holiday is 32-32-2. (Yes, Donavan McNabb, there were two ties, you goddamned stoopit son-of-a-bitch! You’ve been in the NFL for a decade and you didn’t know that there were ties? The last one was six years ago you jack-ass. HTF does a guy who runs his team for the past ten years NOT KNOW that a game is deemed a tie after one quarter of OT in regular season play? A Whiffle for Donavan, no if, and, buts, or ties.)

Detroit has played the Packers 17 times and da Bears a total of 15 times on Turkey Day. They even played the Boston Yanks in 1946 and the New York Yanks in 1950. Did you even know those were teams? (I know Donavan didn’t, that’s for sure. Hey McNabb, what’s that brown thing with the laces on it?) Even though they hold a .500 record, as of late the Lions have been horrendous and the holiday game is usually a boring blowout that has families sitting at the dessert table about an hour before they planned on it. Many in football are publicly calling for the traditional game to be stripped from the franchise because of the lack of competitiveness, which has given the game little meaning to fans other than the two teams playing. The truth is that Lions fans may get upset, but the team sucks so goddamned bad that there’s no question the league’s fans would rather see a better game – like maybe a local Pop Warner battle.

And this year could turn out to be a weird one for sure as the 0-10 Lions are taking on the 10-0 Tennessee Titans. Now both teams play this Sunday, but chances are there will still be zeroes in both teams records come next Thursday. Maybe that Gilligan’s Island Marathon ain’t such a bad idea.

So who has it worse on Thanksgiving…the turkeys or you Lions fans? Anybody wanna take a stroll across my front lawn here in Sopranos country to find out? Oofah!

Enjoy,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

The Massachusetts Institute of Technology did a survey of 1,023 adults and 500 teenagers, asking them to name their top 3 most hated technological inventions. While a host of items made the list, the overwhelming picks for the top 3 are…

1. Cell Phones
2. Alarm Clocks
3. Television

Others to make it high on the list were Shaving Razors, Microwave Ovens, Coffee Pots, Computers, and Vacuum Cleaners. (Personally I can’t see how Microwaves made it to this list… I mean how the hell else would you dry off your cat?)

The consensus of the feedback is that people have a love/hate relationship with these items – you know, kind of a can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em mentality. Obviously cell phones have become a necessity, but if 85% of the earth’s populous drops dead from water melon sized brain tumors, maybe the remaining few will have to go back to land lines – yes, I know, how ghastly. But come on, how many times does your phone ring and you just wish you could have some peace and quiet for maybe half an hour? My 13 year-old son calls EVERY SINGLE TIME I’m in the middle of a Texas Hold ‘Em game – maybe four or five times while the other players are getting increasingly annoyed. Yeah I could shut it off, but what if there’s that one time that the call is crucial? See – you can’t take that chance. And the fact that he really loves his dad is not something to get bent about, that’s for sure.

And then there’s those Alarm Clocks – I mean what the hell is more rude then in the middle of a dream where Dana Delaney is playing volleyball in the raw while Nancy O’dell is wearing a nurse’s outfit and feeding you White Castle Slyders and then you suddenly get awoken from that terrifyingly grating – EHH, EHH, EHH, EHH, EHH, EHH, EHH, EHH, EHH, EHH!!!!! I HATE when that happens. And about television… I think those teens who haven’t been exposed to anything else but That’s So Raven and reality shows may have tipped the scales there.

So I started thinking about inventions that I personally use quite often and feel that even though useful, they have become somewhat of an annoyance to my everyday life.

First I’ll have to say the George Forman Cell Phone, Grill. Yeah, I’m hungry all the time and popping some fresh chop meat in for a delicious burger on-the-go is such a convenience – but the charred grill marks on the right side of my face have become very unsightly to small children and pets.

Then there’s the Mini-Fridge Burger Bags that keep your meat fresh while resting in your pocket all the live long day. While this is certainly a great convenience, I’m getting tired of the TSA taking away my chopped beef every time I board a flight. You know that they’re just taking it in the back and cooking it up during their break. That annoys me.

The all-important Elevator Fart Catcher. Listen guys, I fart a lot – maybe one fart to every three breaths of air – and nothing is more embarrassing then cracking a rat on a crowded Otis. Now I do think that this is a good and vital invention – but the fact that it weighs 72 pounds and the filters need rinsing every three hours of flatulence is truly a pain the culo. And don’t tell me to change my diet cuz lots of veggies make me shart myself and that’s infinitely worse.

The Talking Inflatable Miss Magic Mouth. She shouldn’t talk. Why does she have to talk? I don’t want talk or any snuggling afterwards with a vinyl woman. I wanna watch the game and drink beer and curse at the refs. At halftime I’ll hang out with her, but NO talking. And please don’t ask me “Does too much air make me look fat?” And now she wants me to meet her parents. I wonder if they suck, too?

The Novel, Comic-Book Translator. This handy dandy device scans any of your run of the mill, 600 page novels (King, Crichton, Clancy, Koontz, etc.) and turns them into easy-to-read Marvel comic books. For the learneredly challenged or the ADHD crowd, this is the greatest thing to come down the pike since the BVD Shart Filter with built in 40 GB Hard Drive, but does have one big draw back – every main character is turned into the Hulk, Ironman, or Spiderman and it does tend to skew the story quite a bit. Hearing Annie Wilkes in Misery screaming HULK YOUR BIGGEST FAN – NOW HULK SMASH PUNY AUTHOR does make you look like a low-brow turd at your weekly book club meetings.

Do you see how complicated my life has become and all of the crazed and inane things I have to wrestle with in my daily on goings? It’s not an easy life for a cigar-blogger I’ll tell you that’s for fuggin-A sure. Oops, hey., gotta go… the grill is ringing!

Have a Great Monday You Peeps of Mine,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman.