Gosh, today’s news headlines are a real peach… Gunman kills 8 in nursing home rampage… Man decapitates two sisters at 5 year-old’s birthday party… 22 killed in Ivory Coast soccer stadium stampede… Australian’s commit euthanasia croaking thousands of toads… Jury Urges Death for man who tossed four children off an 80-foot bridge…Four charged in airport biker brawl… Scandalized whoring evangelist bites it in hospital…General Motors CEO tossed on his ass… and Miley Cyrus dominates Kid’s Choice Awards. Oh what a sick and twisted world we live in where an untalented mullet-headed country goon’s kid becomes the love of children everywhere. It is indeed a psychotic world, rampant with carnage and malice.

But maybe worst of all is the much-maligned wide receiver who may have a point when he says that the whole world is against him. Yes, I’m referring to the Terrellible One.

The always gracious and humble Terrell Owens, the NFL’s version of the ebola virus, claims that there was a conspiracy in Dallas that led to his being let go by team management. Much like Dallas’s other great conspiracy theory, you know, the grassy knoll of Dealy Plaza, three gunmen, yada, yada, yada, this one is rife with mystery and intrigue. Okay, maybe that was a little rough comparing him to a flesh eating disease. I guess you could just say he’s your regular everyday bout of cancer for any locker room he dresses in.

“You hear all the speculation, and you talk to the owner of the team, and he reassures you that you’re not going anywhere, and then, out of left field you get blindsided,” says Mr. Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy.

Poor, poor Terrell. But hey, let’s show some respect here and call the man by his real moniker, “T.O.” I mean, he’s gotta have a special name simply because he’s so much more specialer than your average every day NFL nobody.

“I know whole-heartedly he [Jerry Jones] wanted me there,” Owens told Rogers Sportsnet of Canada. “There were some people I know who got in his ear that pressured him to make that decision. For that, it’s sad. You let two or three people conspire to get me out of the situation.”

Gee, gooly, gosh, Terrell, what are we all gonna do, big fella?

All right, let’s cut the crap. Terrell Owens is a f@#king pariah. He’s a magnificent turd, the elusive floatie that spirals around the bowl but will not flush no matter how many times you jiggle the handle. This loathsome prick has caused disharmony for every team he has played for. While in San Fransisco, he eluded to the media that quarterback Jeff Garcia was a tad light in the cleats and enjoyed an occasional shot of post-game throat yogurt. In Philadelphia, he tossed QB Donavan McNab under a Broadstreet bus while claiming that the team would be better off with a leader like Brett Farve. He blamed Jessica Simpson for the Cowboy’s 2008 playoff loss to the Giants, and threw a world-class hissy fit after the Pittsburgh game this past season, claiming that Romo and his other receivers were in cahoots to leave ol’ numba 81 out of the equation. Of course, there was that soap opera crying bout after the Giants game as well, “That’s ma teammate…Sniffle, cry, sniff… that’s ma quarterback…”I think we can all strap a blazing L on to the front of that helmet.

Of course, after the Cowboys sent him packing, Owens did not remain without a team for long as there is always a franchise who will give a loathsome dirtbag another shot. He’ll play in Buffalo this season, a frigid northeast town with several hundred feet of snowfall annually, enough to stiffen those 35 year-old bones.

“They were really after me,” says the pigskin megalomaniac. “They wanted me, despite everything that had been said negatively about me. It was a no-brainer.”

Oh he’ll be a good boy at first, maybe a week or two, but then Owens will do something that gains attention because he is a world-class media whore if there ever was one. Will he O.D. on “payin’ pee-ills” again and miss practice?… call quarterback Trent Edwards a baloney smoker?…sign game balls with Sharpies? It’s only a matter of time before the man screams out, “LOOK AT ME! EVERYONE LOOK AT ME!!! I’M TERRELL OWENS DAMNIT! LOOKEE OVER HERE!!!”

It’s all about T.O., people. He’s bigger than the game itself. It’s all about Terrell.

There have always been hateful pricks that when they play for YOUR team, you’ve got to learn to love ‘em. When Barry Bonds parks one in San Fran, nobody sits on their hands and politely says, “Yeah.” When Denis Rodman plowed an opponent while donning a nuclear green fro, Bulls fans never kept quiet. While Sean Avery waved his hands in Devils goalie, Martin Broduer’s face – enough to have the NHL create a rule about it – Rangers fans cheered with delight. And when Terrell Owens catches a touchdown pass this fall, and stands in the end zone with his Jesus Christ pose, Bills fans will hoot and holler – maybe as many times as when he drops a crucial third and five, delivered right in his hands.

Enjoy the rest of the Week. Now talk amongst yer selves.

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

Yes, blogging was in my blood. Every day I diligently prepared and wrote the words from my heart that entertained you all. But alas, I am down to once a week and eating bon bons and purchasing Billy Mayes products from infomercials has become my new regimen. I have gained 137 pounds in the past three weeks, I shower, well, when it rains I walk naked on the lawn in a pair of borrowed crocs, and my clothes could probably walk away on their own by now. My kids keep asking who the Jaba the Hut with a beard is in the house, and want to know where their once fun loving, stogie sucking daddy went.

Each morning I surf the internet news sites, but there’s no venue for me to write my findings. I’ve smoked some great cigars, but there’s none of you to share it with – until the following Monday, where everything has become old news by then. There is rumor that I have adopted lots of cats. I won’t say if it’s true or not, but how do you suppose all of these little meowing f@#ckers are gonna get fed? On love? I think not. And I’ve developed a seriously bad case of furballs. Guess I should shave, then.

Hey now… OK, I’ve got one for you and it’s a real doozer… get a load of this… President Obama is making fun of retarded people! Yeah, I swear to God. Seems he was on Jay Leno and was talking about his lack of bowling skills and… oh… that was almost a week ago, you say? Damn.

Well, okay… this is gonna blow your heads off…many of the people at the AIG company were given massive bonuses after AIG received bail out money from… uh… whatta you mean – you heard that one too? Ah damn, this has turned into an almanac instead of a timely blog, for crissakes. I guess you heard about the Berlin Wall, thingy? Which means that you probably know that Mets won in ’69, then? Damn it to hell, somebody fetch me a bob bon, on the double!

Well, one thing is for certain, I still love cigars! Do you guys still smoke cigars? I mean, it seems a lot can change in seven days and I was only wondering, you know. Did Garfiend ever get his meds? Gosh, I hope the crazy blow-hole is okay. Did the Lions ever finally win a game? Is it true about this SCHIP bill, thing? I really think it’s time to pull the troops from Vietman and gosh, that poor f@#kin’ Amelia Earhart. Tough break.

And all of you quit yer yapping about the blog going up late. It ain’t late cuz you’ve got a whole seven damned days to read it. Plus, I have my crossing guard duties ‘til 11am. So, I look like a woolly mammoth in an orange vest. At least the kiddies are safe under my watchful and smokey eyes. Of course I’ve been reported for hitting on the moms several times, but they’ll come around… maybe once I shower.

Thank you all for your comments of concern. Next week I’ve got big news about this apparent moon landing thing. Wow, I just found half a roast beef sandwich from a month ago! Today I am livin’ large, my brothers!

I Love You All,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog Thingy With Me, I Think

Huh? It means I enjoys me a little drinky with me day.

I have to blame (thank) cigars for my Polackian palate enjoying the liquid fruits of the alcoholic nature. Back around 15 years ago when I first started smoking stoags, I knew nothing about the world of sumptuous libations. I was the average joe six-pack bonehead who thought Heineken was God’s answer to the good life. I mean, it’s all about the beer, right? Wrong.

While I still enjoy beer (and have expanded my tastes beyond the green bottle from Holland) I have learned to love many of the other liquid refreshments that sooth the senses and knock you on your arse. Back around the time I started with cigars, I attended many a dinner during the “boom” and was introduced to the beauty of wine. I had no idea how wonderful, delicate, bold, and romantic crushed grapes could actually be. And the thing that I found about wine was that it was so similar to the world of cigars. Blending, aging, complexity, storage, characteristics, body, strength – they were all terms I had learned when describing cigars, which helped me quickly make sense of it all. And just like with cigars, you start off light and easy, then educate your palate while delving into heartier and spicier reds.

Now, I’m no snob by any means, but I sure as hell do laugh when I see a grown man drinking White Zinfindel with ice… Friggin’ pansy-ass, Mary. Okay, I admit that I may have had a glass or two of that glorified fruit punch many eons ago, but it quickly got replaced by deep cabs, beautiful Bordeaux, zesty pinot noirs, spicy Shiraz, and wonderful meritage. A good friend of mine lives in Toronto and his favorite Italian restaurant has a cellar stocked with some amazing wines from the homeland. The most spectacular was an Amarone (a grape region near Venice) created at a winery in such small batches that the label was actually hand written. You want to talk sensational? And you also want to talk expensive? Hey, who cares cuz I wasn’t buying. That and a bottle of ’97 California Jordan Cabernet may be the best wine I have personally ever tasted. But again, it’s like cigars in the sense that the mood often affects the enjoyment of the drink itself. Good, friends and a beautiful location make a good glass of wine memorable for years to come. And let’s not forget Port Wine – the dessert drink of choice when lighting a premium stick of tobacco. I’m into twanys, and Taylor, Presidential, Fonseca, Sandeman’s, and Cockburn (that’s pronounced Co-burn, you perverted swine) all make some sweet heaven in a bottle.

Back in my advertising days, one of my good clients was a vodka fanatic. “Vodka” is actually diminutive of the Slavic word woda/voda meaning water. He and his fellow company vice presidents would hook up to a bottle intravenously at lunch and got pickled with out never really seeing it coming. I always thought that vodka was rotgut, like drinking kerosene, but then I was introduced to premium vodkas – triple distilled to wash away all those nasty little impurities from reaching your pie hole. For years, Russia, the Ukraine, and Poland – ah yes, the land of people with blank looks upon their faces – were the places that true firewater was created. Grains or potatoes were used to make the mash. Today, vodka is made from the same stuff, but is so smooth and silky that I drink it straight up with a little ice – thus the reason for getting hammered so quickly and easily. I do enjoy Grey Goose and several others, including Ciroc, the first vodka actually distilled from grapes. All right, so they’re both French…does that really make me any less of a patriot than any of you, goons? Feh!

As of late, it’s whiskey – or whisky sans the “e”, that has tickled my fattened fancy. Like most novices, my knowledge of scotch was relegated to Johnnie Walker Black on ice. But lo and behold the wonders of Scotland’s various regions, making for the finest single malt in the world. And now other countries are making some amazing scotch, as well, including Japan! When I’m on the back deck with a glass of Balvenire Doublewood on ice and a dark, sweet, smoldering maduro – wow, nothing, I mean nothing could be finer. Scotch is a true adult drink, and it’s not ‘til you get a little older that you realize how a couple of belts can really take the edge off a long, hard day at the office or wherever the hell you call your place of work. A best-kept secret brand I recently discovered is Compass Box Whisky – absolutely terrific Scotch that pairs with cigars amazingly. You GOT TO check these guys out.

Of course there are other whiskies – Canadian, Irish, and yes, American – particularly bourbon. I’m not a big bourbon drinker, but I went to a cigar dinner last week that boasted some of Kentucky’s finest. Bookers, Bakers, Knob Creek, and Basil Hayden’s was served up and I got an instant appreciation for pure southern hospitality. Damn, that is some serious good stuff!

Where does it end? Now my friends are trying to get me hooked on Tequila, another libation that has matured into a smooth and flavorful form of liquid dynamite. And Champagne is actually getting pretty big amongst certain crowds as well.

So, now I’m a regular libation sophisticate. All right, not really. But I know what I like and that’s the best way to experiment and discover what works for you. Okay, maybe I AM a snob – I mean the thought of a Bud and White Owl admittedly does not get me all lathered up. But when gathered with good friends, maybe a nice night after a barbecue… having a nice pour and a premium smoke can make the troubles of the world disappear, if only for an hour or two. Just enough to re-charge my batteries and have me ready for another day in the world.

Damn, I’m ready… howz ‘bout you?

Have a swell week my boozing buddies,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

Welcome to week 2 of the “weekly” blog. It’s killing me not writing this everyday but it is what it is and I still have a job to do. Entertaining you goons is quite a task, but a man’s man’s gotta do…well, you know.

I had this incredible nostalgic wave come over me this past weekend. It was 70 degrees on Saturday in northern New Jersey, and after a long and cold winter, that first day of true warmth reminds me of days gone by. I didn’t do much – cleaned out the garage and smoked a few stogies. It was the perfect kind of day for both of those tasks.

I’ve always been a nostalgic sort of fool. I’m truly a sentimental type and when I get serious bouts of nostalgia, a very strong feeling comes over me. While I try to pass it off at White Castle gas, I know the difference by now. One definition for the word is “home sickness”, and that sort of describes the way I feel. Certain weather does it to me, as I mentioned, and combine that with an old song and wow, bang-zoom. I graduated in 1977, and during that short-lived spring like weather on Saturday, I played the radio while cleaning and heard songs from Boston, Queen, Aerosmith and Kansas and was transported back in time within an instant.

In the past I have very seriously collected baseball and hockey cards and comic books. It doesn’t get a whole lot more nostalgic than that. (And still have some super valuable stuff including 2 Mint Gretzky rookie cards.) Sports are just rife with nostalgia and I love nothing more than pouring through old films and photos of yesterday’s great ball players, hockey players, and gridiron guys. Football and hockey guys were perhaps the toughest men to ever don the pads back in the 30’s, 40’s, and 50’s. Those games were ruthless. And in baseball, pitchers threw at guys heads who would hit the dirt, brush off, and face the next pitch. Today’s players are mostly a bunch of heavily pampered multi-millionaires.

I think most of all I am captivated by nostalgic Americana – main street, USA, farms of the mid west, old Ford pick up trucks, drive-in movie theaters, bridges, trains, classic cars and motorcycles, long front porches, old cigar factories, long gone baseball stadiums, magazine advertisements, cool buildings, movie posters, gas stations, and being from New Jersey, diners from the old days are most cool. I can’t explain it but I just love this stuff.

I think this might be why I love cigar smoking so very much. It really does have a tremendous nostalgic element to it. I have a small collection of cigar box art labels that are a century or more old. Those pieces are just beautiful and if you really knew what went into the ancient art of “stone lithography” you’d have a greater appreciation for the work, as I do. It was mostly done in Germany back in the 1800’s and early 1900’s by extraordinary artists who drew on pieces of sandstone and every color was a separate impression – with up to 30 or forty ink impressions on just one label. A wonderful book on the subject is called The Art of the Cigar Label, by Joe Davidson. Totally fascinating. And I can’t forget the vintage fruit crate art. Awesome stuff.

Firing up a premium stogie on a beautiful day is quite meditative and it always reminds me of good times. I mean who smokes cigars at funerals or in the losing World Series locker room? The ritual of the act and the smell brings my entire being into another state of mind and being – one that relaxes and recharges the body, preparing us for another day on this insane planet of ours.

My son is 14 and daughter 17 and ready to attend college this coming fall. For her swim team banquet last week, my wife and I had to look for photos of my kid for the program, from when she was a little girl. Oh my God, my heart sank as I reminisced her at the Jersey Shore, Hershey Park, first days of school. I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t cryin’. Damn, THAT got to me. So, I did the only thing I could think of… I grabbed a big-ass maduro, went outside and fired that bad boy up. Oh yeah, but I hugged my kids, first.

Nostalgically Yours,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

There are some people that might enjoy waking up to a solid 12 inches, but I’m sure as hell not one of them. Hey, I’m talking about snow, you gutter minded turd. Although, I see where it could have been mistaken for a George Michael tribute blog, I suppose.

The east coast of the US got pelted with the fluffy stuff last night and yours truly spent an hour and a half at 6am shoveling so Mrs. Z (the one with the real job in the family) could get to work. Of course I ache from head to toe, but it’s nothing that eight Motrin and a Macallan’s 12 on ice wouldn’t cure.

At around 7:30, the misses left as I sat on the porch and fired up a JR Ultimate Maduro accompanied by a fresh hot cup of java. If you ask me, that sure as hell beats any bacon and egg breakfast. And even though I was all worked up from shoveling, the cigar brought me down and relaxed me so nicely. I was about to doze off for a good nap, but I knew you goons would be waiting for your Monday morning fill of Z-manliness.

It’s weird because it is by far not cigar smoking weather here in Jersey, but I’m really in the mood for a few gars today. I picked up an amazing ten pack of Punch Grand Cru #2 Maduros from the JR Luxury section of the site and these babies are holdovers from 2000. I’ve had them before, and with nine years aging on them, you cannot believe how awesome these dark puppies are. Well, I guess that’s gonna be my lunch.

You know, I might smell a bit when the wife comes home, but it sure might be a great way to shed a few pounds. You’ve done Atkins, South Beach, Weight Watchers. Slim Fast and Grapefruit… well now try the Cigar Diet! Hey, I am onto something here. Think about it – just have a cigar for breakfast, a cigar for lunch, and then a sensible dinner with a cigar for dessert! Holy Macanudo, this could be my way to making millions! The Cigar Diet! Man, why didn’t I think of that? Wait a minute, I just did.

Now all I’ve gotta do is make an infomercial. I really don’t want to use that bearded asshole Billy Mayes as the pitchman. That prick brings out the anger in most guys. I think I’ll choose Playboy model Brande Roderick. At 34, she’s a Cougar In Training, with only a year left before she can officially don the claws and whiskers. The Cigar Diet is how she keeps so slim and her cans so firm and bouncy. And who doesn’t love firm and bouncy?

You guys just KNOW this is freakin’ brilliant. Next is QVC and a bank account that grows like Oprah’s ass. And I could do different diets with different cigar brands. Can you just see me on the shopping channel with the Fuente’s – dad and son wearing their dentist shirts, holding huge tobacco leaves up to their noses while I rack up the sales. And speaking of rack, Brande is giving me a neck rub while the onscreen sales ticker keeps going higher and higher.

Wow, being a genius is NOT easy work, but it sure pays its dividends. Ok, after dinner tonight I’ll have a Camacho Tenth Anniversary along with a little 20 year-old Taylor port. Nice, huh? Damn, this is the diet I’ve always dreamed of. This is the way I’ll drop the excess weight for sure. And on weekends you gotta do five cigars, mainly because I said so. Do I need a good reason? I didn’t think so.

So guys, try the Cigar Diet for one week and if you don’t enjoy it more than any other diet you’ve ever tried, I’ll call you a wuss and and we’ll have a ballet slipper named after you. Men all over North America are getting trim (yes, we all love trim) and you can kindly thank your friendly neighborhood Zman.

Have a Great Week and I’ll see a slimmer you next Monday,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigar Clog With the Zman