Yes, the year of 2008 can certainly kiss a lot of people’s asses, that’s for sure. We all had to endure the longest and most painful presidential campaign in the history of mankind… guys who ran our mortgage system sent it down the toilet while collecting multi-million dollar parachutes… the stock market went ballistic as retirees life savings went the way of poofsville, a disgruntled little foreigner threw his shoes at our Commander in Chief, and carpet-bagging Cankles Clinton is somehow back in power. But the New York Giants won an amazing Super Bowl as the undefeated New England Patriots dined on crow for their post game meal. The latter was a fine start for the new year for this blogging, self righteous dirtload.

Amazing how only a couple of months ago, people were touting $5 a gallon for gas and now I’m filling the tank for something like $19. WTF you ask? Me too. This whole oil thing is dirty, rotten and stinks to the high heavens of foul play. One has to wonder if Plaxico Burress’s self inflicted mishap had something to do with all of this? I wouldn’t put it past the stupid son of a bitch.

On a personal note, I got to go to the Dominican Republic, Honduras, and Las Vegas thanks to a good-hearted man named Lew. We were guests of General Cigar and our most gracious host, Mr. Daniel Nunez. I learned more about cigars in 5 days than I ever thought possible. I also smoked more cigars in five days than I ever thought possible. The private jet rides alone were amazing, let alone the factories, farms and people. It was cool blogging live from the two countries that week. And while at the IPCPR show in Vegas I blogged live from the Venetian Hotel as well. The show was amazing and Christian Eiroa and Dylan Austin of Camacho are to be awarded medals for putting up with my whiny fat ass for three whole days.

I got to meet and become good friends with author and speaker Larry Winget who I wrote a feature story on in Cigar Magazine. I would be doing you all a disservice if I didn’t plug his new bestseller which was released yesterday, entitled: People Are Idiots and I Can Prove It. The man is such a good person and I GUARANTEE YOU he will be a household name very shortly. Most of all – he speaks the truth!

It’s weird how as I try to look back upon the happenings of 2008, some stand out as I have noted, but most of it almost seems like a total blur. I guess when you hit the half-century mark, things get a little hazy to say the least. Well, my eyesight is still good, I only have a twinge of gray in the hair, and I don’t have a need for Viagra as Uncle Woodrow still salutes old glory each and every morning – so I got that going for me.

And starting a few weeks from now we move forward with a new president who is out of his f@#king mind for wanting the job at hand. The guy has some set of balls thinking he can turn things around for the country. For all our sakes I hope he can and I can say I was wrong about the liberal smooth talking high priest of change.

So, I bid both you and 2008 adieu. Pick a good smoke for the evening’s festivities and think positive thoughts. It’s all we can really do.

Happy New Year My Peeps,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog with the Zman

If you flip me over and look at the tattoo on my ass cheek, much like a bottle of Budweiser, you will find my born-on date: December 30, 1958, at 3:44am in Weehawken, New Jersey. (Weehawken is the famed spot where the most infamous duel in American History took place as Aaron Burr gunned down Alexander Hamilton. I maintain to this day I had nothing to do with it.) Yes it is my birthday, today, and for you Rainman wannabees, I am officially half a century old. (Why are we always born at such ungodly hours in the morning? Do you know anyone who was ever born during lunch?)

They call it the BIG Five-Oh. I’d have to say that I probably feel more like 40 but act more like 13. I still have all my hair with only a slight amount of any gray and I still get my morning woody (settle down, Lucie.) Okay, I’m a porky bastid yes, but that means there’s just so much more of me to love.

I’m a weirdo who actually likes his birthday and enjoys celebrating. And I love gifts, although I’ve always been ripped off by friends and relatives who give me my “birthday/Christmas” gift. Anyone who’s birthday is around the holiday gets the same shaft. Now, if you just happen to feel the urge, you can choose to shower me with any of the following if you wish…Hockey tickets, a nice bottle of hootch, anything signed by Wayne Gretzky, a heavy metal CD, membership to a milf site, and of course…CIGARS! People think because I work with JR I get all the free cigars I want. Untrue, my misinformed friends – I pay for ‘em just like any other Joe Shmoe. Really. So, if you feel the urge to send some leafy treasures my way – I say knock your self out! Oh yeah… and I like money, too. The color is perfect and it goes with anything. (Maybe even Cotty Gee will put aside his anally retentive ADHD psychosis by not pointing out a misplaced comma or a vowel left out of place. That would be a special treat.)

I checked Wikipedia for interesting events on December 30, and wouldn’t ya know, in 1981, my all-time favorite player, Wayne Gretzky scored his 50th goal in 39 games, which is still a National Hockey League record today! And that wonderful humanitarian, Saddam Hussein was executed by hanging and that’s always nice. As for cool birthdays that are shared with me…Sandy Koufax, Tiger Woods, Le Bron James, Kerry Collins, Bo Diddley, Sean Hannity, Heidi Fleiss (Yeah baby), both Davy Jones and Michael Nesmith of the Monkees, Bert Parks, Jack Lord from Hawaii 5-0, Rudyard Kipling, and my son’s fave, professional skateboarder, Ryan Sheckler.. I’d say that’s rather good company, don’t you think? BTW, people who were NOT born on my birthday include: Chief Jay Strongbow, Bea Arthur, famed radio personality Buddy Culver, Greg Louganis, William Hung, Pontius Pilot, Zane Gray, the Doobie Brothers, and porn queen Christy Canyon.

Today I am the king so I will waltz around in my underwear and peruse the finest cougar sites that our world wide web has to offer. For lunch I will dine on lime Jello with strips of bologna in it and then this evening I will celebrate by going to dinner with a few pals and then head to the Metropolitan Cigar Society for some primo smokes and a splash of some good hootch.

So be nice to me – as it is my birthday, my most specialest of days. Yes, I look like a monkey and I smell like one, too.

And least I forget…

Today is the official release of my friend Larry Winget’s new and future NY Times Best Selling book entitled: PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS AND I CAN PROVE IT! Make sure you pick up a copy of it immediately!

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

The NHL’s Washington Capitals had a 8-67-5 record in their first season in 1974-75. In 1972 the Philadelphia 76ers went 9-73. In baseball, the ‘62 Mets with had 40 wins and 120 losses and the worst winning percentage is owned by the 1935 Braves at .248 and went 38-115.

But today we raise our protective cups high, hailing the National Football League’s hapless Detroit Lions who made pro football history by losing to the Green Bay Packers, dropping their 16th game in a row for the 2008 season. I can’t even imagine the pain that the local fans feel, although they do have the NHL’s Detroit Red Wings to counterbalance some of the horror.

Worst records from a season’s start:
2008 Detroit Lions @ 0-16.
1980 New Orleans saints @ 0-14.
1976 Tampa Bay Bucs @ 0-14.
2007 Miami Dolphins @ 0-13.
1986 Indy Colts @ 0-13
1962 Oakland Raiders @ 0-13
2001 Detroit Lions @ 0-12
1977 Tampa Bay Bucs @ 0-12

Yesterday spelled happy times for some and collapse and misery for others as the NFL season came to an end. The New York Farve’s fell apart, and as fate would have it, Mr. Chad Pennington had the very last laugh. Amazingly the Dolphins and the Atlanta Falcons made the playoffs – gazillion to one shots just a few short months ago. Tampa Bay was eliminated by losing to the lowly Oakland Raiders. The Minnesota Viking had to muster up every ounce of strength they had to defeat the David Carr and the New York Giants second-string squad with a field goal in the remaining seconds of play. The Brady-less Patriots are taking a painful and permanent breather – as are the Dallas Cowboys who were unmercifully bitch-slapped into total delerium by the Philadelphia Eagles, 44-6. Just about every prognosticating blowhard picked Dallas to win the entire NFC hands down this season thinking the New York Giants were a one-hit-wonder fluke. God, I’d love to be a fly on the wall in Cowboy’s owner Jerry Jones office today. That megalomaniac prick has probably already fired anyone who has come within a mile of Texas Stadium, today. Now THERE’S a pompous jackass who deserves what he’s feeling this very fine Monday morning! Better not hold that spot in Canton for Tony Romo just yet…

Next Sunday is Wild Card mania as the Arizona Cardinals (9-7) host the Atlanta Falcons (11-5) and Cards fans should rejoice that it is a home game because their team’s record on the east coast is about as successful as Rosie O’donnell’s variety hour of fun and frolic. I like Atlanta to move forward as the Falcons are hot and the Cards are not.

The Indianapolis Colts (12-4) are riding the backs of Peyton Manning and will kick the San Diego Chargers (8-8) .500% asses. Philip Rivers is a classless big mouth and will make like Dracula’s hooker by going down for the count.

The Baltimore Ravens (11-5) visit the Miami Dolphins (11-5) and yes it was an amazing season, but the fish are going away and the Ravens are here to stay – ‘til next week at least.

And lastly, the Philadelphia Eagles (9-6-1) are red-hot as they visit the Minnesota Vikings (10-6.) Like I said above, the Vikes barely beat the Giants practice squad yesterday and I simply cannot see them moving to the next round of the playoffs.

And finally, no one is talking about it, but the possibility of a Peyton vs. Eli Super Bowl is a very real possibility – but I’m sure the other ten teams in the playoff will have something to say about that.

So those are my thoughts and my picks – but then again, I name my own farts and categorize them by scent and volume so take everything I say with one huge grain of Mortons.

Happy Monday Mon Peepes,

Tommy Z

JR CIGARS Blog With the Zman

Jezuz criminey…about 20 minutes after I woke up this morning I wanted to go back to sleep. The day after the big holiday is a drain like no other and if you have to work today, you have my deepest condolences.

I got up at 9:15 am and strewn out on the kitchen table are all the desserts from yesterday as my kids were sampling from an assortment of pies, cakes, cookies, doughnuts and even chocolates. And you have to admit, a fresh hot coffee with a slice of banana crème pie sure can cure what ails ya – all except your heartburn. Yes folks, the pie-hole comes in handy this time of year.

As usual, I ate like a sociopathic food rapist with no redeeming value for life. Appetizers are definitely the downfall of my personal Polish empire. Put me near a bowl of dip with chips or pepperoni and cheese and my hands go on autopilot. I must have lived during a famine in a past life cuz I eat like it is my last meal on the planet. I’m pretty sure I was some kind of barnyard animal too. Good Lord, I can’t even keep my eyes open while typing.

Thank God, no more Christmas carols for another eleven months. But the After Christmas sales are on today and Mrs. Zman is already on her way to her mall of choice. She heard that men’s pants are half off and she figured it was time for looksee.

Yes, my son got an X-Box and hasn’t stopped playing the thing since 9am yesterday morning. He’s been in his room skateboarding across the country and slaughtering Nazi soldiers for 24 hours and you think he might come up for air.

Today I promised to take the wife and kiddies to Manhattan to see the big stupid ass Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center. I have seen this tree a thousand times and it is no big deal whatsoever. Yeah it’s nice to look at, but that’s all you do. The crowds are horrendous then you walk around 30 Rock, look up and say, “Oh, there’s the tree,” then some Hari Krishna sticks a bundle of roses in your face. And like clockwork there’s always some total poor slob on one knee, proposing to his chick under the tree while the throng of women watching go “Ahhhhhh” in unison, while the throng of guys watching yell out “Dumb Ass!” (Gosh, I hope he went to Jared…)

After the tree it’s off to Little Italy to eat at my favorite hang out in the world, Florios on Grand Street and Mulberry. The place is authentic Italian and SO classic New York, and like a throwback to when times were good and men were men. I’ve eaten in that joint for 5 to 6 hours at a clip and if you come to New York, I HIGHLY recommend it. The wife will go into these Chinese run stores on the outskirts of Chinatown and look for a fake designer pocketbook. They’re all the rage and the places get raided every few months by the cops. They’re in these secret back rooms with rotating walls and they all smell like rotted carp from the fish market next door.

Wow, I’m tired just writing about it – never mind actually walking for hours. Damn, what the hell did it get myself into?

Well that’s my little day after story. How are YOU holding up, bucko?

Have a swell weekend recovering from holiday hellness,

Tommy Z.

JR CIGARS Blog With the Zman

Well, I didn’t get an official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle with a compass in the stock, but I did get a wonderful feeling of satisfaction watching my kids opening their Christmas presents. Things are a bit different since my son and daughter are now 13 and 17 years old. Not too long ago they awoke at 5am and yanked the covers off the wife and I, begging us to see what the fat bastid left beside the tree. This morning my daughter refused to get up at 8am and that is a first.

They opened their gifts, and with each one they said the words “Thank you, dad, thank you mom.” And you know – that was nice. Even though the days of believing in Kringle were most magical and merry, it was nice to be recognized as the ones whose hard earned dough and time spent shopping made the morning bright.

There were no expensive foreign autos in the driveway with massive bows fixed atop, no kiss began with Kay, and nobody even dreamed about going to Jared. I personally couldn’t care less about getting a gift. While my kids are still at home, Christmas is for them. Retailers got their asses handed to them this holiday season and it’s about time a new paradigm was set in place. Even years after the great depression, people were brutally frugal with their spending and kept money in pillowcases nailed to the back of their headboards. Maybe this financial crunch will teach folks a tad about fiscal responsibility and we all learn to exercise better judgment – especially those who reside in positions of power.

Today I am most grateful to my maker for my family, my health, my home, my work, and without question, the wonderful people I’ve met through this blog. You guys are awesome (even Garfiend who is everyone’s bright light.) I am grateful to the people in Iraq, Afghanistan, and across the globe who chose a job that asks an awful lot of them. I am even more grateful to the ones who did not make it back. Two years ago when visiting Arlington Cemetery, the feeling was overwhelming and indescribable as I gazed upon the thousands and thousands of tombstones, knowing that I live like I do because of them.

Yeah Christmas is about family and giving, but today I have made it about gratitude. Whatever supreme power or being you believe in, acknowledge that you appreciate whatever it is that you have. He/she/it is listening.

Wow… a tad different than yesterday’s poem, but that’s how I felt yesterday. Today I feel blessed.

Enjoy the break my peeps of Cigardom,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

The Zman was hoping for a milf with no blouse,

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes for a cougar with dirty blonde hair;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Churchills danced in their heads;

With mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,

I felt like a champ from my post dinner crap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I rose kinda slowly cause I’m a bit fatter.

In front of the window I started to flash,

Which caused my neighbor to throw up on the sash.

The moon on the breasts of the cougars below,

Were cause for my winkie which started to grow,

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

Was a few of my pals with cigars and some beer,

With a little old driver, who was made the designated,

They brought Opus X, which are so overrated.

More rapid than eagles into my house they came,

And I whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Roadlizard! now, Brians! now, Darren and hey Cotty!

Sometimes your diatribes can be so f@#king snotty!

To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

You’re drunker than shit and you’re all gonna fall”

As dry heaves that before like a hurricane fly,

I drank too damned much and thought I would die,

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

I don’t know what coursers are – do any of you?

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing of Garfiend who can be such a goof.

As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,

Down the chimney came a guy who looked like a clown.

He smoked a cigar from the head to the foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;

A bundle of Alternatives he had flung on his back,

And for me he had an assorted 5-pack.

His eyes were all bloodshot, his arms were all hairy!

If this was Santa, god damn he’s sure scary!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

Then he asked “where’s the bathroom, man I gotta go;”

The stump of a Papayo he held tight in his teeth,

As he whipped out his Yule Log and pissed on the seat;

He had a broad face and a little round belly,

His clothes were too small and all crusty and smelly.

He was chubby and plump, and damn wide in the seat,

From eating fast food and a lot of red meat;

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

The guy was half crocked and his nose was all red;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And I thought that was rude of the fat friggin’ jerk,

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

He blew out a hocker like out from of a hose,

His work was all done but before he’d depart,

He lifted his ass and blew out a fart.

Then he hopped in his car and as he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, yeah – the Zman ain’t right.”

The scene – two cackling hens are sitting (one is a huge mouthed brunette hottie who drives me nutty.) The two are looking at their Blackberry screen.

Chick 1: “He took her to the ballet.”

Chick 2: “He took her to Chez Francois.”

Chick 3: “He took her to Jared!”

Chick 4: “He took her to Jared!!!”

Both Chicks: “Ahhhhhh.”

Wow, oh wow… wow – I loathe that commercial with every ounce of fiber I can muster – as do guys virtually everywhere across humanity.

Nauseating – disgustingly, incredibly, grotesquely nauseating beyond reproach. The commercials for Jared jewelers have dominated the airwaves (and cable waves) and have without question pissed off men from coast to coast and all parts in between. I didn’t think anything could rival the Lexus bow on the car spots in pure scumbaggery, but Jared has managed to make the average American man look like a piece of reindeer excrement for not shopping at their abode for expensive jewelry.

Yeah, a dude will go to great lengths to get his dobber wet, but this is asinine and brutally unrealistic. Let’s get this straight – the economy blows, people are jobless in record numbers, and no self respecting card carrying man takes a selfish broad to the goddamned ballet – then a four hundred dollar French restaurant – then buys the ungrateful who-owah a glistening, diamond studded anything.

Okay, no punches pulled, here’s the Tommy Zman, “real guy” version of that commercial…

Chick 1: “He made her watch football the entire day on Sunday.”

Chick 2: “He ordered the Panormous Pizza from Pizza Hut and ate 90% of it himself.”

Chick 1: “At halftime he made her do anal!

Chick 2: “He made her do anal!!!”

Both Chicks: “Owwwwww.”

Or… maybe the dude takes her to Subway where Jared is eagerly awaiting to show the two ladies his five-dollar footlong. “Yes,” they utter in anticipation, “I’ll have mine toasted.”

Even though I may be on unemployment and the only job in town is scrubbing urinals at the middle school and there is a three-year waiting list, I will gladly blow my last remaining dollars that I was going to use to feed my children – I will spend it on my harlot of a wife – buying her some ridiculous set of earrings that are way too fancy fer bowling. Yes, I will shop at your mall store with the enormous rent that requires you to mark your jewelry up 100,000 percent. Yes, I will volunteer to be the mindless lemming who will plunge aimlessly off the cliff because the marketing jerkwads at Jared tell me to do so.

Not.

Admit it, that second scenario would make a lot of holidays seem bright.

Two Days ‘til Fatso destroys your shingles,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman.

That’s what true sports fans are – Die Hard, No Life Morons. And I am first to admit that I’m an offender extraordinaire. When it comes to my team and hating other teams, I am a first rate infantile jackass.

Let’s look at last night’s Giants / Panthers game. Probably the best regular season game the NFL could have ever hoped for – two powerhouses with the same record of 11 – 3, playing the game for home field advantage in the playoffs. It goes into overtime and the New York Football Giants outscore the Panthers 24 – 7 in the second half of the game to win an absolute classic thriller. So am I happy for my team? Of course I am… so happy that I have to rush to my computer and brag like a childish bore to the guys on my cigar forum board. What an asshole. No really, I have no semblance of a life, whatsoever.

After the Giants victory in the Super Bowl this past February I was walking around in a euphoric daze for weeks. When my all-time favorite New York Rangers won their first Stanley Cup in 54 years back in 1994, I had a smile and a boner for months. And I’m still ecstatic about Mookie Wilson’s grounder going through Buckner’s legs!

What the hell is wrong with us hardcore fans – living vicariously through a bunch of spoiled multi-gozillionaires in their 20’s? Are our lives so pathetic that we actually live and die by “our” team’s performances, or lack there of? The economy blows and we’re getting older by the day, yet we place so much emphasis – so much hope for happiness on a sports franchise that couldn’t really give a shit about us when it comes down to it. The Baltimore Colts moved to Indianapolis in the middle of the night. The Cleveland Browns set up shop n Baltimore. Hell, baseball’s Dodgers and the Giants moved several thousand miles away to the land of fruits and nuts. They couldn’t give a rat’s ass about us so why do we care?

Last week I was pissed for two days when Dallas beat the Giants. It’s like I lost the game, I threw the interceptions and couldn’t protect Eli. And now this week the Giants triumphed and the Cowboys got frigging hammered by the Ravens and I’m all Mr. Smiley pants this morning. What an absolute, fourth grade, retard. Anyone know where a guy can rent a life?

But then there’s you Lions fans – your team about to go 0 and 16 but you’ll be back for another year of disappointment next season and like the inhabitants of the Island of Misfit Toys, keep hoping and praying that some little boys or girl will want them. Well Rudloph ain’t coming to Detroit, I’ll tell you that much. But football fans are pitifully loyal, I think more than any other sport. The Giants were dreadful back in the 70’s yet the stadium was filled. The same with NHL teams from the original six – no matter what the record, the fans are there hoping , screaming…dying.

In each league there is only one champion crowned – making for ecstatic fans who prance and dance and burn automobiles in the street. But shouldn’t it be the losing fans that tip cars and set them ablaze? Hell, Detroit is where they make cars for crissakes – the city should be in total flames.

I’ll never figure it out. We sports fans really are a moronic lot and of course we pass this onto our children so they can grow up to be as big a wankers as their daddies.

But I will say one thing… that was one hell of a win for the New York Giants last night. Nah!

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

Here are some of the more interesting stories in today’s news. Ya just can’t make this stuff up I felt I had to share – but hey, that’s just me.

Say, Anybody Seen Where Friskie Went?

You know how some urban myths aren’t really so mythical? Or just sometimes a racial stereotype isn’t so untrue? (Take for instance me being a dumb-ass Polack and a psycho Italian. So, I have a body in the trunk of my car – I mean, come on, who doesn’t?) Hey, I’m talking about the protest in Bejing, China yesterday, where a famous soup is made from – cat. Me-ooow you bitch, no way!

Yes way.

A butcher in the Guangdong province chops ‘em up fresh daily and serves a steaming bowl with a smile. “Cats have a strong flavor. Dogs taste much better, but if you really want cat meat, I can have it delivered by tomorrow,” said the butcher of Guangdong! Chinese newspapers claim that over 1,000 cats were transported by train each day, crammed into wooden crates. Sadly enough, the felines were told that they were visiting a mouse farm where they could dine freely and chase balls of yarn for days on end. (OK, I made that last part up, but it sounds plausible.) The whole thing kind of reminds me of the Twilight Zone episode “To Serve Man.”

According to AOL Online this morning: Zhu Huilian, a nutrition and food safety professor at Sun Yat-Sen University in Guangdong’s capital, Guangzhou, said people usually eat cat in restaurants, not at home. “There’s a famous soup called ‘Dragon, Tiger and Phoenix,’” Zhu said. “It involves cooking snake, cat and chicken together. In winter more people eat cats as they believe it’s extra nutritious.” While the soup isn’t particularly harmful in any way, protestors say side effects may include eating face-first from a can and crapping in a box of sand then covering the feces with your hands and feet. That’s not right.

Whoa, Baby!

Mrs. Duggar of Arkansas delivered a seven pound, three ounce baby girl on Tuesday. Big whoop, you say? It kind of is since it is Michelle and Jim Bob’s 18th child. I know – you’re scratching your head and saying WTF?!… there really are gun totin’ procreatin’ goobers in Arkansas named “Jim Bob!” (Now what was I just saying about stereotypes?) That sure as hell is a lot of bumpin’ and grindin’ and no doubt that Michelle walks with a permanent limp. Now JB, is picking yourself up a box of Trojans really that difficult a thing to do? The worst part is, these freakin’ wackos actually said “We would love to have more!” And of course, the TLC network now has a reality show (17 & Counting) based on the Duggars life, trumping the sappy-ass Jon and Kate plus eight by more than double. At 43, Jim Bob still has some serious potent special sauce – and damn, I’d bottle and sell that goo to fertility clinics everywhere if it wudn’t for the fact that every kid will be born with an ’86 IQ and no doubt hear the words “Run Forest, Run” about a thousand times before his sixth birthday.

Gosh, Ya Don’t Say…
According to an article this morning on AOL news site: Former President Bill Clinton’s foundation has raised at least $41 million from Saudi Arabia and other foreign governments that his wife Hillary Rodham Clinton may end up negotiating with as the next secretary of state. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia gave $10 million to $25 million to the William J. Clinton Foundation, a nonprofit created by the former president to finance his library in Little Rock, Ark., and charitable efforts to reduce poverty and treat AIDS. Other foreign government givers include Norway, Kuwait, Qatar, Brunei, Oman, Italy and Jamaica.

Those two are just so incorrigible, I just wanna eat ‘em up – they are so darned cute, yes they are, yes they are.

If the Shoe Fits…

An Iraqi judge claims that Al-Zeidi, the man now world famous for tossing his shoes at President Bush was beaten after the incident, and authorities are reviewing footage to reveal who laid down their own brand of justice. Insiders say that it was indeed First Lady, Mrs. Laura Bush who removed her pumps and bashed the brazen Iraqi journalist repeatedly with her size 12, triple E’s. As Zeidi lay there with deep facial lacerations and blunt head trauma, you can distinctly hear Mrs. Bush in the background yelling, “You don’t f@#k with Texas!” as secret service agents whisked her away on an armored camel. And, as Zeidi was taken out on a stretcher, reports say that he incoherently babbled over and over, “Gooney google…She’s a Bigfoot, Gus.”

And that’s it for today’s top stories. North Jersey is predicted to get a foot of snow dumped upon us today as I sit here waiting to build a fort and throw snowballs at my neighbors cars, like the mindless tard I really am.

Good Day To You, too, Sir,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

My 17 year-old daughter, who started driving back in June, was in her glory a few weeks ago when her radio station started playing nothing but Christmas Carols. “Dad, it’s so great and it just puts me in the best Christmassy mood!”

Give it time, girl.

Yesterday we get in her car and she has a different station on. I wonder what gives, and she says, “Aghhhhh, I’m sick of those songs! There are only SO many, and they play them over and over! And besides, Little Drummer Boy is just downright creepy – didn’t his parents get brutally murdered or something?”

THAT’S the spirit, honey! Kind of fun, yet twisted watching a teenager turn into a curmudgeon right before your very eyes.

I told you that back in the beginning of November that department stores started playing those ghastly tunes and I wasn’t mentally ready. But I’m quite sure that the people who work there must be ready to take and axe to their families by now, if they aren’t already on heavy doses of behavior inducing medications.

Let’s get to it…

Grandma Just Got Run Over By a Reindeer is downright grotesque, hillbilly horse hockey. By the way, what has seven teeth and 100 legs? The front row at a Willie Nelson concert. But you knew that.

Johnny Mathis, who supposedly enjoyed his share of candy canes always sickens me with his nuts roasting, and that drunken fool, Jack Frost nipping at his private parts. Who the fark dresses up like Eskimos, other than Eskimos? And kids from one to ninety-two? Oh STFU you nog-chugging douchebag.

NOTHING…I mean absolutely NOTHING is worse than Babsy Streisand’s attempt at joyous Christianity than her album of carols – the most heinous being her liberalized version of Jingle Bells. Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jin – Jing – Jing – Jing Jingle Bells, all the way, way way-up your ass you out of touch, bottle nosed cracker. About ten years ago my wife had it in her shoebox of Holiday faves, but while packing up in January, I took the cassette and flung it off our then condo deck into a small pond that was in the back. That F’er sailed like a Frisbee and hit the water like a Polish scud rocket with a purpose. The next Christmas my wife opened the box enquiring about her “fave” and I shrugged my shoulders while delivering the classic “I dunno.” The other day my daughter told me she heard that song and agreed to how awful it was. I then told her and her brother about the cassette tape and they laughed for an hour. Me too.

And a Walking in a Winter Wonderland may sound swell and all festive to you in the south and west, but try driving in a foot of snow, shoveling your driveway thru blurry eyed headache and back pain, or not playing golf for six months and you’ll want to permanently maim the song’s author.

We all know that Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer is a violent tale of racism filled with pure hatred for those who are different. Of course the social outcast ends up guiding Santa’s sleigh, but what they don’t tell you is how afterwards he is sold into slavery and ends up in a sausage grinder by the following fall. Sick and perverse – yes – but why not tell our youths the entire story?

And yes, Little Drummer Boy is a slow and rhythmically creepy tale of an orphaned kid who’s mom and goat were gang-raped while dad was taken out in a Camel-ride-by shooting. Then the kid plays the drums for the Christ child – and of course the place is crawling with agents and the urchin gets signed to play with a lounge act in Vegas. The little turd ended up rump -a-bum-bumming three sets a night at the Sands before Sinatra and Sammy for about a decade. I read it on Google somewhere. No, really.

And of course, Frosty is a drunken pedophile snowman whose computer was confiscated for having disturbing imagery of carrots in compromising positions. There are just too many to talk of and I’m sure you all can add your own twisted and most unholy thoughts.

Just a Week Til Fatso Breaks Into Your Home (Unless you’re Jewish and going to the movies.)

Ho ho ho, ya ho, says Jessica Alba,
Tommy Z.
JR CIGARS Blog With the Zman