I really wish I could read Roman numerals so I knew what super Bowl it is this year. The fact is, I have seen every single one – on television – since 1967, when the Green Bay Packers beat the Kansas City Chiefs, starting the tradition known as Super Sunday.

Quite comically, then commissioner, Pete Roselle wanted to name it, “The BIG ONE.” Wow, that would translate well in today’s market. TV’s across San Fransisco, Provincetown, and Key West would be powered up all in anticipation for the oh-so spectacular BIG ONE. All they would need is a Judy Garland impersonator for the halftime show. It was then Chiefs owner Lamar Hunt who watched his kid’s playing with a Super Ball and suggested the present name.

For those of you who are somewhat new to the blog, last year was not only special for me, being a crazed-ass Giants fan and all, but I had a pretty amazing bet going on the game. Live on XM Radio, I bet Fez Whatley, co-host of the Ron and Fez Show, that the Giants would win, with NO point spread – even though New York was getting 12 points in Vegas. Oh yeah, the bet?… It was for my hair. Yeah, I would have to have shaved my dome and looked like Uncle Fester in drag for six weeks or so. But alas, the miracle throw by Eli and catch by Tyree – then Eli to Plaxico Pistol-Toter in the left corner of the Patriots end zone in the final minute of play, made me one of the happiest campers on the face of the planet.

Last year’s game where the Giants upset the 18-0 Patriots was perhaps one of the best games ever played. And I make mention because for so many years the game has been known as the Super BORE. For some reason, many a lop-sided thrashing has taken place, turning the game into a circus while driving people in those silly box pools out of their minds. Of recent memory, a few of the other exciting games were Rams over the Titans and Giants (wide right) over Buffalo. I remember when Steve Young’s 49ers were playing the Chargers, I had to lay 21 points to San Diego and I STILL won the bet!

But in reality, most people don’t give a fark about the game. Super Sunday is the premiere social event of the year, outdoing New Year’s Eve in parties and only second to Thanksgiving in food consumption for one day! We gear up for the appetizers and pick foods, eating like slobs from hell, then feeling like total shit on Monday morning. Ah…I’m thinking about it now… cocktail weenies wrapped in bacon and crescent dough, tangy chili, Hot n’ spicy Buffalo wings slathered in sauce and bleu cheese dressing, pepperoni & cheese bread (a jersey fave), nachos, pizza, assorted hero sandwiches, and of course ice-cold beer, and please God, No Coors piss-water Light. The Silver Bullshit ain’t coming anywhere near MY house. And don’t forget the heartburn meds, cuz Sunday night, many a nasty case of acid reflux will be making its way across the land.

It wasn’t until two days ago on Wednesday when I realized we had no party invites, nothing to do and no where to go. So is asked a couple of neighbors over, my daughter got all geared up to make wings and chili, and voila…instant Super Bowl party at the house that Z built.

As for the game…I went out on a limb last year and I’ll do it again, picking the under-doggie red birds to upset Benny and the Curtain of Steel by a score of 31 to 24. Kurt Warner gets Lombardi number three and that will put him in Canton, Ohio for sure.

Damn, I got myself all hungry. Hope you all have the superest of Sundays, and enjoy the hell out of the BIG ONE (snicker, snicker.)

Have a Super Weekend,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

Yesterday I got in an online debate on Advertising Age’s website where the writer called a new Verzion TV spot bigoted. Much to my dismay, the bleeding hearts were out in force, condemning the ad and the ad agency for bigotry, racism, and poor creative judgment. But the whiners, and let me stress, these were major league f@#king whiners, platform is that NO ONE should EVER be offended – that we need to be sensitive to others and the social climate is changing where bigotry can no longer be acceptable.

The problem is: THE AD IS NOT OFFENSIVE IN ANY WAY. It depicts Italian Americans at a family barbecue with exaggerated accents, overweight broads, and Paulie Walnut type sweat suits. If you went to a family function on my mother’s side, you’d swear that you were reenacting the commercial. As I sad yesterday, the spot is a parody based on reality, but for some reason, the pacifists on this thread are outraged by the commercial and during the thread referred to me as bigoted, small minded, unintelligent, and ignorant – all because I defended the spot.

Now in many of my life’s lessons, I have learned that when people label you like this, THEY are simply mirroring themselves. A guy named Sean defended me and the ad with an interesting view of the situation. He simply stated that if you have ever been to Brookyln or north Jersey, these type of people really do exist. They gather as families because the family unit is important to Italian Americans, even amid much dysfunction within. They gather break bread, and put differences aside because life is too short and family is really all you have when it comes down to it. And here is Sean’s point – if you are offended by the portrayal of these people, then it is YOU who are the BIGOTS!

These are the same advertising people that when showing an ad with people at a party, there is always a white couple, a black couple, and Asian couple, a Hispanic couple, and now a gay couple. Oh yeah, don’t forget the guy in the wheel chair. And in the humorous, multi-cultural ads, the white male is ALWAYS depicted as the moron.

The bleeding hearts went ape shit and talked down to Sean and I like we were misinformed children. Then I get asked if it would be okay to show a black pimp eating watermelon in a spot. My response was NO – just as it wouldn’t be okay if the Italian family whacked somebody in a bowling shirt covered in marinara sauce, then stuffed his head in a bowling bag.

Today, this is a true rant in all of its glory because I simply cannot believe that the collective consciousness has turned into a bunch of limp-wristed pussies. God all mighty, what ever you do, try with all your might and be on guard with everything you say to NOT offend ANYONE. Oh No, you said Oriental instead of Asian – you snickered at an overly effeminate gay guy who was dressed like Lana Turner – and you marveled at some young black dude’s bling. You goddamned bleeders want to give every winner and loser in Little League the same trophy and bar games like dodgeball for singling out the less athletic kids. And god forbid if someone on the street is smoking – just throw your hands in front of your offspring’s eyes and assure them that everything is going to be okay. Just how the hell will any of today’s children be able to defend themselves through times of adversity when they have never experienced it in the past?

I refrained from slinging insults back in that forum in order to show that they were the one’s who were intolerant and bigoted. But here in my little world, I indeed refer to them as bleeding heart pussified girlie-men who would have been laughed at by the “real” men who founded this country. They man their lifeboats chasing whaling vessels while praising Albert Gore for saving this most dirty and unholy planet. People, it’s time to thicken our skin and grow a pair or we’ll never be able to deal with the terrorist maniacs who are hell bent in destroying all that we hold dear.

I am SO goddamned sick of treading on eggshells in this world and that’s why this blog and my website are so important as it speaks for many who agree that our liberties and personal freedoms must not – WILL NOT be taken away. We will fight you – you politically correct, bleeding heart pussies. We will fight you with everything we hold dear.

Easy Zman, take a deep breath, It’s gonna be all right… you hope.

Later,

Tommy Z.

JR CIGARS Blog With the Zman

This morning I personally addressed an article that appeared in the publication Advertising Age. I have printed the article followed by my response. This a classic example of why America is going to Hell in politically correct hand basket…

Verizon Wireless Proves Bigotry Is Alive and Well

Just last week, a few of us at Ad Age headquarters were discussing the blatant stereotype parade on display in the Verizon Wireless spot below. Anyone who reads even a tenth of what I write on Ad Age and elsewhere knows I’m not overly sensitive or particularly politically correct. But even I thought the spot might as well have been called “Johnny Goomba, Can You Hear Me Now?” Then, last night, Ad Age received the following letter from Peter Fosco in Pennsylvania wondering just what the heck Verizon was thinking.

Verizon Wireless’ stereotype of Italian Americans, unfortunately, does not surprise me since I’ve seen this depiction many times. I’m sure you are familiar with what I mean: Italian-Americans as ignorant Mafioso types. This is one of the reasons why I rejected “The Sopranos.” I knew that it would help pave the way for the ongoing ethnic slur. Verizon’s latest television commercial proves that this type of bigotry still exists, but it also reaffirms my belief that I must continue to teach my children the wonderful qualities of their heritage. I can understand how a company would believe that airing this type of ad would not affect its reputation and financial well being. After all, it is so common to see Italian Americans negatively portrayed by Hollywood and Madison Avenue, that our society doesn’t think twice when we see garbage such as this.

I’ve been told to lighten up and to accept the belief that there is a bit of truth to every stereotype. Well, if that is the case, should we let it all out? Should we permit the media to profit off of all the unflattering and nasty stereotypes thought about Blacks, Jews, Asians, Muslims, Irish and Latinos? Ask yourself this question: Would a company stereotype or hyper-exaggerate the characteristics of any other ethnic group without the risk of public scorn, damaged reputation and loss of money? Ask yourself this question on a personal level: Would you like it if your own ethnic group was portrayed in a similar manner?

I can almost understand letting it slide when it is an occasional thing, but it is so pervasive and so over the top that it is becoming ridiculous. Italian Americans are not looking for victim status. We do not complain, in fact we have a very good sense of humor about our idiosyncrasies.

My beef is not with this country, it’s with advertisers, screenwriters, directors, corporate executives, etc, who profit from turning a wonderful culture into a sinister, almost cartoon-like caricature. Of course there will be Italian American actors who will defend and flock to these rolls. Actors are a breed apart and inherently self-absorbed. Why would James Gandolfini, Robert De Niro, and Al Pacino speak out against something that makes them so unbelievably wealthy? Why ruin a good thing?

Speaking of cartoons, after purchasing Steven Spielberg’s “Shark Tale” for my children, I sent it back directly to him. Somehow, he managed to personify violent sharks into Italian Americans. It was very well done. He wouldn’t pull that off with any other group, but very crafty nonetheless. In my letter, I told him how I admired his charitable work and advocacy for his ethnic group. I also told him how disappointed I was with his hypocrisy. He should know better about the slippery slope of defamation and stereotyping. Verizon Wireless probably knew better, but figured they would field some complaints and wait for it to blow over. Perhaps in their next commercial, they could pay homage to Antonio Meucci and Guglielmo Marconi for laying the foundations for the telecommunications industry.

The Response I Gave on Their Website…

You damned politically correct drones are turning America into a blanch, milquetoast wasteland, while the sound of stepping on eggshells becomes deafening.

My mom is Italian. I am from northern New Jersey. Oh yeah, I’m also half Polish so just go and try to offend me. You can’t. While an extremely low percentage of Italians are members of organized crime, many families I personally know do indeed act pretty much like the bunch in the Verizon commercial.

This is a parody – a humorous depiction of “real” people. It is not hateful in any way and those who see it as hateful are the complainers, whiners, and p.c. zealots who need to thicken their skin and toughen their constitutions.

When an ad shows young blacks wearing bling, a Hebrew man being stingy with his purchase, or an Asian running a dry cleaners, I take it for what it is – parody’s of real life situations, realizing YES indeed, there ARE truths to every stereotype.

Yes they hyper-exaggerate in commercials because that’s where a lot of the humor is derived. To say this ad is blatant bigotry is the kind of guarded thinking that’s ruining our lives as individuals who thrive on freedom of expression.

Now, I could understand if the ad went over the top – showing someone getting a beat-down, then I’d say, sure, it crossed the line – but it didn’t.

Lighten the hell up, America and get a friggin sense of humor for crissakes. We’ve got a lot more to concern ourselves with than a few of my cousins and uncles in a cell phone advertisement. – Tommy Zarzecki, PlanetZman.com

Guys, the kind of thinking in this article has certainly enhanced the rampant amd distasteful pussification of America. I vow to stand up and wield my sword against political correctness wherever it rears its vile and hideous head. (Okay, “sword” is just a metaphor as we all know quite well that this tubby Polack bastid couldn’t wield one to save his life.)

I await your words of wisdom,

Tommy Z.

JR CiGARS Blog With the Zman

As I search the morning news sites for some fresh drivel to deliver you people, I always come across these inane articles such as: Questions you should NEVER as a woman. Now of course this was written by a broad, so it is biased and really doesn’t even come close to the real questions us fellows should NEVER ask – you know, the ones that put her in uber-bitch mode until something else worse comes along to snag her attention away.

This chick advises never asking things like – How much do you weigh? Big deal, cuz she’ll never tell and she’ll change the subject faster than shit through a goose. How many boyfriends have you had?… What color is this?… Are these dirty?…How much did this cost?… Come on, those are bullshit filled softballs yer tossing, lady. How about you get a tad truthful and tell us what are the ones that boil yer ovaries?

Okay, woman – you completely negated the number one question that gets all our tits in the proverbial wringer…

Q: WHAT’S WRONG?

Holy good lord, you have opened Pandora’s box where the demons are swirling and about to devour your flesh and soul. HAve you ANY common sense, whatsoever? The initial answer is always in a calm voice, but with a slight hint of sarcasm added in…

A: NOTHING.

Oh come on – you’re brooding like a baby whose binky was just plucked away forever. So like the morons we are, we ask again… “What’s wrong?” Her answer this time in a more direct tone… “I said, NOTHING.” Okay, yeah right. You’re pouting and slamming dresser drawers and you expect us to believe that NOTING is wrong. So like the uber-morons we are, we say, “Come on, there’s definitely something wrong, why don’t you just tell me.?” Nice move, dickhead, as our lady friend slams the bathroom door in your face and screams out, “NOTHING, NOTHING AT ALL!”

You know, we may be some of the biggest dumbass creatures on the earth, but we sure are smart enough to know that she just ain’t being square with us right now. So we let it go – and then every bit as predictable as Nathan Lane at Judy Garland night in the village, the woman rips open the door and yells out in hysterics, with tears rolling down her face, “You wanna know whats’ wrong?!!! You REALLY wanna know WHAT’S WRONG!!!”

I truly believe that at that moment in time, the best possible answer we could garner is, “Not anymore.”

Women are grotesquely emotional creatures and the wrong question can send them into seething ass-ripping mode for days on end. Men walk on egg-shells their whole lives, desperately avoiding confrontation with the so-called better half – but sometimes, we just can’t help ourselves.

Q: Are you gonna wear that? It makes you look kind of heavy.

Oh my God, you didn’t… You just crushed the gal’s fragile ego as she will forever remember the time you said she looks like a fat, sweltering pork. She will distort that story forever, making your remarks more heinous each time she throws it in your goddamned face. Idiot.

Q: Do you have to act just like your mother?

What else do you expect her to act like, you fool? They all turn into their mothers at one time or another and you know that, so why say such a stupid thing?

At this point, I’d like to digress for a moment and simply put this to you – can you imagine if a man asked a woman?… Does this make me look fat? If I died, would you re-marry? If you could sleep with one of my friends, who would you choose? Just thought I’d entertain you with some dreadful stupidity. But I guess no more stupid than asking your woman, “Why do you have to be such a bitch?” Or, “Why can’t you leave my family out of this?” Or, “You want to have sex? I mean I know it’s the middle of the day – I know it’s not dark and the kids aren’t asleep – and I know we didn’t watch a movie and cuddle or anything – I know throwing you over the arm of the sofa and humping you like a wolf in heat isn’t romantic or anything… but what do you say?”

Nice going, Romeo. You knew the answer, you dumbass. But you thought you’d give it a shot, anyway.

Just once, wouldn’t you like to bother her during HER favorite show, hold up two hockey jerseys and demand to know, “Which one do you like better, the red one or the blue?” And if she says, “The Blue,” you then demand to know, “What’s wrong with the red? You don’t like the red? I like the red. My mom bought me the red. You hate my mother. I knew it. You hate ME. I can’t do anything right. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…”

Oh, and one more thing, yeah, that outfit makes you look really fat.

Later,

Tommy Z

JR CIGARS BLOG WITH the ZMAN

Aye Lads and Lassies, twas only yesterday that we celebrated the birthday of Scotland’s most beloved poet, Mr. Robert Burns. Sir Robert turned 250 and might I say he’s doing quite well for his age.

You mean you didn’t celebrate last night? Are you trying to tell me you didn’t go to a Burns supper? Are you mad, my laddie?

Okay, as of two weeks ago, I had never even heard of this tradition – the Burns Supper, a night of festivities honoring Robert Burns. Seems the Scottish, the Irish, and the whiskey lovers all gather yearly for a night of fun and merriment, and they even found it in their hearts to invite a Polish, Italian from New Jersey.

The dinner was at a terrific new bar in Manhattan called Beekman Bar & Books, a place featuring fine whiskies and cigars – yes they have a cigar room which made for a wonderful after dinner time for all. My new best buddy, Jeff Karlovitch, publisher of Whisky Life Magazine (a must read for all who enjoy the good life) had me as his guest and I’m so glad he did. This was a truly cultural experience that brought good friends together who appreciate life and all it has to offer.

The one word that comes to mind when reminiscing about the evening is passion. This is a celebration of great food, fabulous libations, and the camaraderie. And let me say that the libations took center stage as Jeff (who also runs an organization known as the Whisky Guild) and David Blackmore, brand manager at Glenmorangie, brought some of the finest and rarest whiskies known, including some amazing samplings from Jeff’s vast private collection. What was awesome to take in was that these people have that same appreciation and burning passion for their distilled grains as we Brothers of the Leaf have for our hand rolled tobacco.

The dinner starts with the host’s welcoming speech, and master of ceremonies, Sir John Henry gave a rousing welcome (including a few well-place most humorous expletives) as we raised our glasses in unison. Then it’s the entrance of the haggis (accompanied by authentic bagpipes) – a traditional Scottish dish that tastes delicious – but whose ingredients sound most nasty to the Burns novice – a kind of almost pate made from Sheep entrails, and boiled in a giant bladder tied off at both ends. Yummo, laddie. The cook then says a poem known as the Address to the Haggis, spoken in an accent so thick you’d swear Fat Bastard and Sean Connery themselves were in the room.

During the dinner, select Burns poems are read aloud while a host of various whiskies are consumed, and consumed, and consumed. Oh, did I forget to mention that they drink a shitload of whiskey at this shindig? Listening to folks describing the characteristics of their sacred drink was the same as we cigar connoisseurs get in depth about our smokes.

A nice touch to the evening was a poem read by Jeff’s wife, a direct descendent of Robert Burns, himself. Then it was off to the back room for cigars, even more whiskey – Chivas 25, holy good lord – and even an amazing and gorgeous belly dancer who forced me into some of my finest dance moves – I mean, I sure as hell have the belly.

Many had told me how wonderful a Burns Supper can be, and while I wholeheartedly agree, I think Jeff, John, David, Robin from Compass Box Whisky, Josef from Chivas and the folks at Bar and Books made it an amazing experience that I vow to attend once more.

Did I mention that they served some whiskey?

Let’s just say I had a Motrin omelet for breakfast,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

Mac: Oh, hey PC… you’re not looking too happy.
PC: Oh, I’m sure you’re all a twitter about your new liberal president.
Mac: Well, why shouldn’t I be? This country needed change in the worst way.
PC: Yeah, the WORST WAY is RIGHT! That smooth talking commie is gonna lead us straight down the path of hell!
Mac: You mean like smooth talking Bush? PC, why so hostile? Go with the flow and enjoy the county’s new direction.
PC: You mean the direction of higher taxes, depletion of the military, socialized medicine, and equal wealth distribution? I’d rather live on another planet.
Mac: I hear Jupiter is nice.
PC: I already looked into it. Too much ammonia gas. And that’s not the point. A world run by Pelosi and Hillary is a world I’m not sure I want any part of.
Mac: So…Did you hear my stock went up almost 10% the other day?
PC: Sure, rub that in my interface, why don’t you.
Mac: Yep, up almost eight bucks on Wednesday’s news.
PC: This really is a shit-filled week for me.
Mac: Yeah, I guess all this news on top of your Vista debacle.
PC: Nice… why don’t you just Ram my keyboard straight up my ass while your at it?
Mac: Hey, I don’t swing that way.
PC: Not what I heard, Mr. Gay marriage supporter.
Mac: Uh…I’m not the one who owns the complete Harry Connick Jr. DVD collection.
PC: Hey, Harry is the bomb! Ha, go listen to your Avril Levine drivel, skater boy.
Mac: Bro, right now in my ipod I’ve got some Alice in Chains cranking, followed by The Foo Fighters and System of a Down.
PC: Sure, rely on your little brother ipod to manipulate your stock.
Mac: Dude, I’d hardly call 22.7 million in sales last quarter, manipulation on my part.
PC: Jesus Christmas, I have a motherboard of a headache.
Mac: Did you take anything for it?
PC: Yeah, half a bottle of Johnny Blue, two helpings of Obama, and a shot of Hemlock to wash it all down.
Mac: Bro, it’s not that bad. Obama is gonna make things right again. You’ll see.
PC: And monkeys will fly out of my usb port. Listen, I am sick to death of the angelic adulation this guy is getting. You people are treating him like the coming of the messiah.
Mac: What do you mean by YOU people?
PC: See, that’s what I mean. We’ve got to walk on eggshells as the politically correct try to run our lives, telling us what’s best for us. You cretins want to take everything that’s good and right away from us.
Mac: Like smoking?
PC: That’s right, punk. I smoke fine cigars and it’s my goddamned right to do as I wish if I’m not hurting anyone else! And don’t stand there and try to convince me you haven’t dabbled with a doobie or two in your pathetic life!
Mac: What’s your point?
PC: MY POINT?! My point is that you have been riding my hard drive for several years now, and with this new black fellow in office, I don’t know which way is what!
Mac: Um…does it bother you that he’s an African American?
PC: See, there you go…and they call me PC! He’s BLACK for crissakes – and Muslim – but please don’t get me started there.
Mac: Sounds like you’ve got some issues…
PC: Don’t go putting words onto my screen, Mr. Waycool. I have no problem with his ethnicity, whatsoever – I’m just SO tired of people saying that it’s not an issue because he’s black – yet, all I keep hearing is about the fact that he’s BLACK! I really don’t give a gig what color he is – but the fact is that he’s a raging liberal and NO, I don’t swing THAT way!
Mac: Maybe you wanna lie down, Bro. Your screen looks a little flush.
PC: Yes, perhaps I should. With all this commotion I think my logic board is overheating. Maybe I have a virus.
Mac: I don’t. Macs don’t get viuses like PC’s.
PC: I hate you.
Mac: Dochebagsayswhat?
PC: What?
Mac: Right….

PC: Say, aren’t there some whales off the coast of Greenland that need saving, or something?
Mac: Ohp…iphone’s texting. The stock is up another two bucks today!
PC: Kill me now.
Mac: You need to chill.
PC: And just what in the name of God is wrong with Harry Connick Jr?

Peace, out,

Tommy Z,

JR CIGARS Blog With the Zman

You know the old saying. Apples are good for you, healthy, nutritious, just what the doctor ordered, yada, yada, yada. But once again they are definitely just what your broker ordered.

In this abysmal economy where the market gyrates like some kind of Six Flags puke inducing hell ride, there are most certainly companies who are just “doing things right” for lack of a better term. One of them is Apple Corp. The computer and electronic gadget rebel beat the living snot out of Wall Street estimates with a 2% jump in earnings, sending shares up almost 10%, yesterday! Whoa! The stock rose $7.87 going to $ 90.70 per share in after hours trading. The company is up 9% from one year ago.

There are a few reasons, but the fact is, the brain trust at Mac have been on the cutting edge of innovation for a few years now and their products appeal to every demographic imaginable. Ipods are the main reason for the recent success as the California company sold 22.7 million units where analysts predicted a 3% drop.

You’ve got the Ipod, the ergonomically friendly Macbook, the imac desktop, and the iphone. These gadgets have befriended themselves to consumers with their smart features, eases of use, funky colors, and groundbreaking innovation. And their television campaigns have been nothing short of brilliant, scoring off the charts in surveys. The ipod started with the commercials featuring funky figures in silhouette against vibrant color backdrops, dancing, spinning, and head banging to their favorite tunes. And of course the famed grunge-like, friendly and hip cool dude Mac vs. the porky, old guard, mainline corporate stuffed shirt PC. The commercials are so effective that Microsoft came out with spots trying to debunk the stereotypes, but fell flat on their motherboards, in my opinion. The Mac spots are wry and cleaver and without question deliver a clear message, or more of a clear kick to the hard drive you might say.

No commercial in the history of the television medium was ever better than the famed 1984 spot during the Super Bowl. The defiant little pixy in red shorts tosses the hammer through the big screen while baldheaded drones in gray jumpsuits stare in a comatose state. That spot blew my mind and still does to this day. Directed by Ridley Scott (Alien, Bladerunner, Thelma & Louise, Gladiator) it cost over two million to produce, was aired only one time EVER, and put Macintosh on the global digitized map.

I have personally used Macintosh computers since 1991 as the desktop innovation revolutionized the advertising industry, which I was a part of. Then those colorful imac eggs were hatched, the funkiest personal computer ever, featuring plug and play technology with actor Jeff Goldblum as the pitchman. THAT little invention literally saved the company, which was facing certain extinction in the business world.

I chose this subject for today on the fact that it is apparent that not everything is so doom and gloomy on Wall Street and it’s good to point out the positive once in a while – instead of watching the nightly news while that meatloaf does the Lambada in you in your already sickened stomach. Back in the mid to late 90’s I owned a considerable amount of Apple stock and watched as it split four or five times as my net worth climbed and I was convinced I was a financial genius. These days, the market may be a risky roller coaster spawned from Satan himself, but an Apple a day might just be a real healthy play.

Thursday is a good day,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

Okay, people…has the gleam and glitter cleared from everyone’s eyes? Have we all come down from our euphoric Inauguration Day bong hit?

All my life I have been an admitted conservative but the recent years doings from the Right have pulled me to the middle with a more Libertarian point of view. As many of you, I was not happy with the job GWB and Dick Chainpull did while in office. But let me make this perfectly clear – the ideology of Liberalism does not agree with me, whatsoever. There is nothing I find less endearing than the bloated headed Ted Kennedy rubbing elbows with the Clintons and their ilk. I cringe just having the thought.

So basically, the story is that: I don’t like any of them. As I’ve stated here time and time again – I LOATHE career politicians with everything fiber of my being. They are ALL liars, cheats crooks and philanderers. EVERY goddamned stinking one of them.

Enter Barrack Obama, the 44th president of the United States. I want to believe in him – in fact, I want to say to you all a year from now that I WAS WRONG. I want this country to do a 180 under his watch and see prosperity reign in this land once again. Many want to see him fall flat on his puss, but to me, that’s cutting off your nose to spite your face. We simply can’t afford to do much worse, let alone have it drag out for several more years. For our finances, wellbeing and overall livelihoods, we NEED America to rebound, and at this point, I personally don’t give a shit who the president is – as long as it happens. Another Depression is NOT an option.

Now I didn’t vote for Obama and I don’t share his political views, yet I will accept him as our commander in chief and I will not trash the man – until he f@#ks up, that is – and I mean trash him the way every goddamned Hollyweird and music industry demi-god destroyed GW every step of the way. Now is that the prudent thing to do considering the fragile climate we all live in? Well, my answer is: I guess that depends on how bad he f@#ks up, now doesn’t it? Hey, I realize that everybody f@#ks up on the job now and then, but air traffic controllers and US presidents are held to a different standard. And the truth is – I’m not sitting around waiting for him to falter, I swear that I DO NOT want him to mess up because the consequences are dire. But people like Cheryl “I use one square of paper to wipe my privates” Crow have put this man on a pedestal so high – a place that only Superman could reside. The Bonos and the Springsteens and the Baldwins and the Babsys have turned their sights to the political arena instead of entertaining like they are paid to do. They have anointed this man as the next coming of Christ – the messiah who will baptize us all in magic waters as we will rise again.

You know what, for my family’s sake, I hope so.

My goal in today’s blog is clearly not to wish Obama harm or failure. My goal is to make my point clear that: ALL CAREER POLITICIANS ARE scoundrels, lowlifes, cheats and liars. And guess what – the new guy, number 44 is a career politician. If it walks like a duck…

As I watched yesterday, I certainly acknowledge that he is a charismatic speaker and incredibly bright. But with all the hype, and all the super-heroic buildup, I expected a speech that would have me levitate from my chair while angels blew majestic trumpets up my asshole. But in my humble opinion, Barrack Obama DIDN’T say ANYTHING beyond what he has already said in the past. I did not swoon, I did not cry… but instead I sat there and thought to myself that his speech made him sound like a politician. Yes, they can be construed as uplifting words, but he didn’t say anything other than what you would have expected. There was nothing like “Ask not what you can do for your country…” In fact, it really sounded to me like political rhetoric 101, and I have already made it clear that I LOATHE lifetime politicians. A new dawn, a new era, change, bring America back to prosperity, yada, yada, yada. I know that. I want that too. But you’ve said this all before, dude. What else ya got for me? Come on man, I know your father couldn’t order a ham sandwich 40 years ago, and you have done the unthinkable – but that ain’t gonna fix the mortgage crisis, the stock market, the auto industry, or my sorry ass looking 401K, which is now more like a 101K.

So, while rubbing the Hollywood elite’s noses in their own vegetarian filled feces would be a most awesome thing to do, I’d rather be prosperous beyond imagination and eat my own words (I was gonna say “eat crow” but I backed off.) So Mr. Prez, please do well for all our sakes, but be prepared to dodge a few million shoes is you stink the place up.

OK. You goons…fire at will!

Rock on,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

You can ask this question of every single man who ever ran for president ‘til your blue in the puss and you’d never get a straight answer: “What on earth would make you want to become president?”

You ever see the photos of when a guy starts his presidency to when he’s completed his four years (or even worse, eight?) Every one of these boys looks several decades older. They turn into very old men right before our very eyes. (Wow, can you imagine if McCain won? He’d give Larry King and the Crypt Keeper a run for their money.)

So back to the question of: why? First off, theses fuggers have egos that simply can not be rivaled. Every one of these men have a bag of onions the size of Mt. Rushmore dangling from their mid-sections and for good reason. Face it, you can’t be humble while telling some dirtbag dictator that you’re going to make his little goat infested abode a smoking hole within five minutes. But having a monolithic ego doesn’t always mean it’s always a good thing (thank you GWB) it just means it’s a necessity to earning your place of residency in the Whitehouse.

I find it amusing how all these countries hate our guts but their leaders kiss our president’s ass when he visits. Yeah, every once in a while a crazy shoe slinger slips into the mix, but for the most part the prez is well protected while thousands of punks with thick black beards and the latest in bed sheet fashions wrapped around their domes are outside screaming, “Death to America.” Just once I’d like to see our leader go out on a balcony and flip the double eagle to every one of those dogs who are burning our flag.

You know, some guys get off on having people hate them and you almost have to have that attitude because the fact is, a lot of people ARE going to hate you and that has to take it’s toll on a person. It’s almost like you need to have the mentality of a bad guy wrestler, grabbing the mic in the middle of the ring while telling everyone to kiss off.

So let’s get back again the question of: why? Running your local Super Bowl pool is a thankless enough job, so can you imagine the whining, bitching, and complaining about 1,000 different things on a global level, every goddamned day? And you’d better be a person that deals with change and surprise really well because one minute you’re reading about a purple dinosaur to a bunch of kindergarteners and the next minute a dude in black wingtips is whispering in your ear that a second plane has indeed flown into the World Trade Center. Does any man really have the patience for that kind of lifestyle?

I recently watched a fascinating TV bio on FDR and I was blown away by what that man endured and how he got this nation through the horror of WW2. It took a massive toll on him both mentally and physically, but the guy had a job – he took an oath to run the greatest show on earth and certainly had to jump through hoops and step in shit on a regular basis. Even when he was at his sickest, he’d hop a boat to half way around the world to meet with Churchill and Stalin while discussing how to defeat the evil axis of power. I truly think that Roosevelt’s balls were so big he needed a midget with a pushcart to carry them around side his wheelchair. (I give you permission to quote me on that.)

Now for of all the hate, there certainly is a lot of love along the way as well. Bill Clinton had this almost “Hollywood” fascination about him as the likes of Babs Streisand and the super rich left coast loonies wanted to hang with his inaugural balls. And even a fresh-faced tubby little intern got to share his figurado up close and ultra personal.

So today is the day the new guy rules the roost. And at this point, no-one should give a damn what color the guy is, just as long as he helps us pull out of the mess we’re in. Supposedly 70% of Americans surveyed believe that he will turn things around. It’s always been my theory that the collective consciousness is a massively powerful thing and that just the “belief” alone could sure help us through. Well, it sure as hell can’t hurt.

I say God Bless the #44 and I do hope he walks on water like Cheryl Crow, Baldwin, and Bono believe.

Happy Inauguration Day,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

That’s the question I would ask if I were being inducted as the next president of these here United States of America. These functions appear to be so damned stuffy and pretentious and I sure as hell would shake things up, throwing shindigs that would be talked about the world over.

Normally, only the “beautiful people attend these over the top bashes; debutants, socialites, and aristocrats who actually have employees named Jeeves. But I would change all of that, openly inviting regular Joes garbed in their favorite hockey jerseys, accompanied by blazing hot cougars who look like they’d swung around a fire pole once or twice in the past week.

First off, the event would be a mandatory smoking event. The finest cigars from around the world would be handed out and the rooms would resemble downtown London within a couple of hours. Imported beers, single malts, and host of sumptuous libations would pour like Kool Aid at a kiddie party as inebriation would be a requirement at sometime during the evening.

And piss on annoyingly liberal performers like Bruce Stringbean and Cheryl “one-sheet” Crow, as I’d contact Sharon Osbourne direct and have Ozzfest cranking with a mandatory moshpit situated at each of the many parties that would be blazing throughout the nation’s capitol.

And the food… oh how good the food would be as the best Italian delis in north Jersey would make up hero sandwiches like procisutto (that’s pronounced pro-zshoot to you mid-west gavones) with fresh mozzerella, and roasted peppers, genoa salami and provolone, and meatballs, cuz ya gotta have meatballs. I’m a sucker for a good macaroni salad so let’s throw that into the mix as well…and as the infamous line from the Godfather uttered… “Don’t forget the cannoles.”

And you wouldn’t catch me in a penguin suit, as a tux just isn’t my style. I’d attend each party in a different New York sports team jersey while donning a classic JR Cigars cap. (Gotta shill even when you’re the top dog.) I’d buy the wife a nice set of implants, and have her wear something low-cut, displaying the presidential rack of approval for all to gander. I’m just good to the people, I guess.

But the real truth of it all is that I really don’t know what kind of insaniac would want this most horrifically pressure filled job. What I find amazing is that three quarters of the world hates us – but they want to be just like us. You give those terror-laden sand dogs a one free day pass to an internet porn site and a whole new meaning of “praise Allah” will make its way through the desert.

But somebody’s gotta run the show, and if it were me, at least I’d start the party with a bang then write my presidential blog each morning so all you goons would still continue to get your Zman fix for the day. I know you adore me and for that I am eternally grateful. Now shut up and have another meatball cuz Ozzy’s doing Dairy of a Madman.

Enjoy you Monday,
Tommy Z.
JR CIGARS Blog With the Zman