Not too long ago my wife and I were waiting for the bus to take my daughter to first grade. She was scared shitless and when the bus came she cried hysterically as I picked her up and put her on the bus steps, telling the driver to go. It was as tough on us as it was on her. She was only a little kid and thought it was the end of the world. I remember it very clearly like it was only a year ago or so.

Yesterday, I brought my daughter to college. You know what, it kind of felt like first grade all over again. Yeah, she’s 18, but she’s never been away from home before and I didn’t expect her to be as sad as she was. The goofiest part is that she’s only 35 minutes away from home. But I guess when you’re used to waking up in your own comfy bed each day and seeing the ones you love, it is quite the shock. But we all moved out from home and we all made it. I guess try telling that to a grief stricken kid who only a couple of months ago she was marching in a cap and gown on a beautiful sunny day in northern New Jersey. It was all excitement, then – the thought of college and having your own room and being on your own.

Yesterday was an incredibly surreal day for a parent. I know that some of you have been thru this and some haven’t, and it is surreal, I can tell you that. Packing the car, driving there, waiting online to unload your bevy of stuff is just all a weird deal. We pulled our cars up to the dorm and a couple of strapping young lads greeted us with big orange laundry type bins. (I was more than glad to see that  Bluto, Pinto, and Founder were not in attendance.) They were all cheery and decked in their ra-ra college colors, all eager to help us move in. That was nice.

It happened to be a gorgeous sunny day, temps in the mid-80’s, and that certainly helped the experience. The distinct smell of charred cow carcass was everywhere, as cooks manned several barbecue stations, wafting viscous burger smoke throughout the busy campus air. Mmmmm…bbq’d buuuuuurgers … God I’m such a peckehead and wanted to wolf down a few patties to give me the strength I needed to carry out my fatherly duties. But no, I held steadfast and continued to load the bins. My daughter and son then went to her room while my wife and I brought our cars to the main parking lot. Walking back I had to pass the god damned burger station again and used every ounce of will power I could muster to hold off on partaking. Do you have any idea how hard that was for a pungent slob like me? But I was on a mission and the good Lord guided me through the challenge.

So we got to her suite – three rooms, six girls, and all the families in there at once. It was a thousand degrees as we unloaded, set up, and created the new weekly home for my kid. Where’s the Ethernet cables and the tv jacks? Did you remember batteries? Who wants to set up the cube shelving? What wall should the posters go on? Tough decisions to be made on the fly, but we kicked ass and got ‘er done.

Okay, yes there were an incredibly amount of beautiful 18 year-old girls in shorts, everywhere you looked. It’s annoying for a dad who has a kid that age and I smack myself continuously, but some of these young ladies are stunning and look a good five years older than they really are. There was this one tall chick in a yellow top with flowing black hair and… ah, forget it. My wife and daughter will kill me, so what’s the use.

…But did I happen to mention the hot moms?

Oh my good lord above, the milfage was beyond comprehension. Gorgeous mommies permeated the campus grounds and only my dark sunglasses saved me from getting my ass kicked all the live-long day. Okay, so I’m there to help my daughter, but hey, I’m a guy first and foremost – a  disgustingly horny, cougar-crazed moron, who has a penchant for the elder gals with a bit of mileage on the chassis. There was this one sexy as-all-hell red head with rack and pinion headlights that I’m pretty sure knew I was leering at her during the assembly that welcomed the freshmen class. I think when she crushed her Poland Spring bottle in my eye and called me a dirtbag, I knew that I was being a bit obvious. But man, what a rear bumper on that broad as she walked away all indignant and stuff. Come on, feel sorry for me. I was born with this affliction and I can’t help my actions.

Finally we got to hit the food station and most of the good stuff was devoured. The pulled chicken was all gone, and after that redhead, I damn near choked my own. (I know, I’m a hopeless ass. God pity my decrepit soul, please.) I wolfed a couple of cheeseburgers like a, well, like a wolf. There were no more sodies or none of them big cookies left that I had passed several hours earlier and that sucked a whole lot. But somehow I managed to get through the difficulty and threw down a couple of burnt dogs for good measure. I can really think on my feet like that.

Well, to make a long story even longer, it was five o’clock and time to say good-bye. Holy crap, that was hard. My poor kid was a nervous wreck and hadn’t eaten a thing all day. I was glad that her and her new pals were heading off to the cafeteria for some dinner. Just like the nine hundred other families that were leaving their kiddiess to fend for themselves, we hugged, we kissed, fought back the tears and left.

I stuck my baby on those bus steps and told the driver to close the door once more.

I felt really weird as I peered into her room this morning. I know she’s very close to home, and we’ll even see her this whole Labor day weekend fer crissakes. But she is my baby, and no matter how old they get, you’ll never stop being a daddy.

Thanx for listening. I needed to get it off my chest. So does that redhead, by the way.

Later my fellow peeps,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigar Blog With the Zman

Here’s whats going on around Planet Earth today…

Walmart Whacking
Nobody likes getting reprimanded at work. It makes you feel so small and insignificant, like a piece of worthless garbage. Sometimes the boss man just doesn’t see things your way and he gets on your case, over and over until you just want to beat the bastid with a bat. Well, that’s exactly what happened at a Walmart in New Haven Connecticut. 29-year-old assistant manager George Freibott had just written up his slug for an employee for poor job performance and it was the second time in days that 26-year-old Barry Griffin had been read the riot act. Instead of filing for a grievance or having a nice sit down with his boss, Barry took a stroll into the sporting goods section, removed an aluminum Louiville from the shelf, and in his own special way, told the assistant manager to “Go get his shine box.”  He reportedly whacked Freibott a dozen times (who was counting?) leaving him with a broken arm and some damned nasty bruises. The young Griffin has since fled the coop and police are in search of this disgruntled, crazy son of a bitch. When I heard this, I thought it’s the kind of thing we’ve all thought of at least once in our lives, but no one really ever acts out on it. We usually just go home, bitch to our wives while our meatloaf dinner does the Lambada in our stomach. So kudos to young Barry for blaming everyone else but himself for being an inept turd, who an “eye for an eye” would be the proper dose of anger management.

This Bud’s For You…
Malaysia is doing all they can to prove to the world that they are a progressive, forward thinking nation with much to offer the global community.  Take Kartika Sari Dewi Shukarno, a 32-year-old mother of two, for instance.  The Karai, Malaysian native is to be publicly caned after the Ramadan, Islamic holy month of fasting. Seems that we have a little party girl on our hands, here, as the consumption of alcohol is strictly forbidden by Malaysia’s Shariah law. Kartika was caught in a hotel raid where she was pounding a few brewzers with her buddies, and will now have her ass beat with a rattan stick, in public display. Islamic authorities claim that the purpose of the caning is not to punish, but to educate. Gosh, here in America we have things called books to do that. And get this… Kartika says that she wants to be caned because she wants to respect the law.  My God, I hope this all wasn’t over a Coors Light. Note to my blog faithful – stay clear of these third world hell holes if at all possible. I still get the heebie jeebbies thinking about the first time I saw Midnight Express.

Of All the No good Rotten, Dirty Stinkin’ Luck…
If the New York Mets didn’t have horrendous luck this season, they’d have absolutely none at all. Being plagued with injuries is one thing, but basically every single starter has been hurt, leaving the Amazins with a lineup filled from top to bottom with back-ups and minor leaguers. So yesterday’s game against the Phillies proved that the Mets season was officially in the toilet when Jeff Francoeur appeared to have hit a line drive base hit up the middle in the bottom of the ninth. The Mets had runners on first and second, down by two, with no outs. The hit and run was on so both base runners took off as the pitch was thrown. But Phillies second baseman, Eric Bruntlett was leaning towards the bag because he saw men stealing. Francoeur hit the ball on the screws, just nailing it as hard as any guy can hit a baseball. But wouldn’t you know it that Brunlett was in the right place at the right time – or for the Mets, the wrong place at the worst time. The Phils infielder caught the liner for the first out, stepped on second to get the runner who left the base, and then turned and tagged the Mets Daniel Murphy who was just about on second because of the hit and run. Folks, that’s known as a triple play, and it was only the 15th “unassisted” triple play in the history of Major League Baseball. “Even with the runners going I did not expect him to be there. The only place he could catch the ball was where he was,” Francoeur said. “To end the way it did was a little disheartening.” After the play, avid Mets fan and Connecticut native, Barry Griffin ran onto the field and beat Eric Bruntlett into with an aluminum bat. Griffin fled the seen and police are still in pursuit of the Walmart wielding thug.

Potty Humor Down Under
Punks in CAIRNS, Australia have sunken lower than the sewers that hold the city’s public poo. It appears that Krazy Glue was smeared on a toilet seat in a mall store, and unfortunately a 58 year-old man who only wanted to drop wolf bait, had his tukas attached permanently. Paramedics removed the seat, then took the man to a local hospital where doctors used an industrial strength solvent to remove the poor sap from his plastic throne. Cairns local government official Di Forsyth said the man, but was “extremely embarrassed” by his experience. “I’m disgusted that a gentlemen has had to go through that because someone thinks it’s funny,” Forsyth said. “It’s a sick joke.”

Maybe now my wife will believe that shopping for us guys really is a pain in the ass.

And, Before I go…
It’s been exactly one week since I took my tumble and I thank you guys for the support – and that especially goes for Garfiend’s goat. My neck and shoulders are really sore and it’s worse when I first wake up – but I’m not complaining since I could be dead or severely f@#ked up physically. Mentally has already been established.

But a BIG-ASS ZMAN thank you to BIG M60 for sending me one hell of a care package all the way from the left coast! The brother sent a bevy of major league smokes including Padron 1926 & 68, Aurora, and other incredible goodies. A HUGE personal thanx to our new commenter, Michael! I shall burn them with great pleasure, my friend!

That’s it for this week, my bruthas and sistas. I’m glad to say I made it thru the weekend in one piece.

Have a great week,

Tommy Z.

JR CIGAR Blog With the Zman

SOMEBODY GET ME A LAWN DOCTOR

I love mowing my lawn. Yes, I actually do. It takes about an hour or so to do on my lawn on my riding mower, and during that time, my mind unwinds and I go into an almost meditative state. I think about things to do, and projects I want to accomplish. Plus I just love the look of the lawn when it gets those baseball field stripes. Something about the perfect symmetry of the lines from mowing gives a guy a woody. I mean every guy wants a lawn like the outfield in Yankee Stadium. Of course I mean the new Stadium, not the old one where Mickey Mantle tore his knee on a drain and it pretty much started the steep decline of his career.

So, I was mowing my lawn the other day, much like any other day. I was basically done and was about to blow some cut grass from the driveway back onto the lawn. Yeah, that all that was left as in about ten minutes I was headed to meet some buddies of mine from the Metropolitan Cigar Club, go to dinner, then watch Gran Torino back at the club while enjoying a few tasty smokes.

Sounded like a nice plan, don’t you think? Plans don’t always go the way we think they might.

As I blew the grass debris onto to the lawn, I circled my mower towards the right side of my driveway, where there’s a four foot retaining wall – just like I’ve done a thousand times before over the nine years I’ve lived in my home. I whiz around in a circle, stop at the wall, back up, then blow the final amount of cut grass clippings. No big deal.

Well, suddenly it becomes a big deal when the brakes on your mower don’t happen to work.

I pressed the brake but nothing happened. I pumped them several times in an instant, but the tractor kept going… careening over the retaining wall and throwing me six feet into the air, landing face first.

Damn.

I definitely blacked out for a few seconds as I really don’t remember the actual impact. As I laid there on my back, in a somewhat state of mild shock, I heard my neighbor Sal screaming my name, asking if I was all right. He saw me take the header and expected to see the worst as he came around to the side of the wall where I had been tossed. Think about it – two rotating 21-inch blades could have sliced me to shreds if the mower had landed on top of me. Sal expected to find the worst and that scared the living shit out of him.

But he found me whole and intact, partially because of the great amounts of blubber that protected me from the fall – and partially because from my hockey playing days I know how to hit and roll. It’s an innate reaction to brace myself and roll as I hit, and I know that’s what happened as I awoke on my back.

My first reaction was that I was pissed as all hell. I’m always so careful on the mower and never take chances. Something like this shouldn’t have happened, but it did. I got up on my own power and began to walk around in a daze, very agitated and trying to convince myself that I was okay. Sal’s wife came over and kept insisting I go to the emergency room and that’s the last thing I wanted to do – but the massive pain building in my neck and head was telling me otherwise. I called my friend Dave who is a chiropractor and he said that if I blacked out, I need to go to the hospital.

Damn.

So the ambulance came. “We have to put this neck brace on you and strap you to this board so you don’t move,” I was told by the elder rescue squad woman. Great. Just great. Like Frankenstein’s creation I was strapped in, and THAT was ten times worse than the injury. That brace is a thousand degrees, I was sweating profusely, and my back muscles starting cramping terribly. Staring aimlessly at the lights on the ceiling, this was the worst 25-minute ride of my life as the driver hit every friggin’ bump he could find.

So we arrived and they carted me into a room in the ER. I did not see Anthony Edwards or George Clooney – in fact I didn’t see anything as I was only able to look straight up. They hooked me up to wires and monitors as I laid there hoping the nurses were at least hot looking. As they leaned over me asking a myriad of questions, I did see a couple of cuties and that was refreshing, although it wasn’t a very good place for a boner to occur. The guy at my right was entering info into a computer and asked me if I was allergic to latex. I was like, “Say what?” Again he asked and my immediate response was, “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask my dominatrix. Her number’s in my wallet.” The nurses laughed hysterically and the guy was all too serious trying to make sure I didn’t die or anything like that. Even in difficult moments I still will go for the laugh.

Then they cleared the room and one of the nurses stayed and was asking health insurance info. I was able to reach for my wallet, but couldn’t find my insurance card. She said to me, “So you can’t find the insurance info I need, but you have your dominatrix’s phone number?” Some might think my priorities need fine tuning, but a chick with handcuffs and a whip would have surely felt better than what I was experiencing.

I was now in that Iron Maiden for 2 and half hours and couldn’t be removed until I had head and chest X-Rays. They assured me that it was for my own good and I assured them that water boarding may have been a tad more comforting. Finally, X-Rays were done and nothing was cracked or broken. (I had to pee so bad and couldn’t til they were done. And I let out one hell of a mammoth fart in the bathroom. I know TMI.) But now I had to go for a cat scan, to make sure my thick Polack skull was okay. That was kind of cool and took all of five minutes. The longest part was waiting for the results. And waiting…and waiting…

I was sitting back in the room feeling a bit better. Finally I had some ice water and was sitting up. The cutie nurse got me a wretched turkey sandwich from the fridge, but it was now 10pm I hadn’t eaten since early in the morning so a pile of sawdust would have done just fine – in fact, I think that’s what I was  actually eating.

Finally, the doctor, said I was cleared to go and that I was incredibly fortunate. While I knew that I was indeed quite fortunate, I knew all along that I was fine. I never got nervous or scared and just stayed very positive throughout the entire ordeal. It was all very surreal, as I kept seeing myself hurtling over the retaining wall, over and over again. Sal and Carol came to pick me up which was nice and I was feeling like I had gotten into a fight with 5 guys and got my head handed to me. If you were wondering, my wife and kids were away for the week at the shore and I didn’t want to call them until after I was cleared. No need to get people crazy when you don’t actually know anything.

You know the old deal that you always feel worse days afterwards, and god damn if that ain’t the truth. I feel like I had my ass kicked by a group of angry drunken Marines and I hurt everywhere. My neck seems okay, but the side of my face I landed on is killing me and I’ve got some pretty nasty road rash. I’ve had a few Motrin omelets for breakfast over the past few days and that certainly does help. But all in all I am one fortunate son of a bitch and I’m okay. Wow I’m okay.

So there’s my little story to tell for you all this week. My wrists and side are sore as hell while typing, but I’m a trooper, dammit. I’m the trooper of the blogosphere.

Send cigars if you feel for me, as I’ll be back next week, fit as a fiddle – whatever the hell that means.

Thanx for caring, no really… I love maduro.

Later my peeps,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman.

Eddie Baby, You Lucky Bastid…
You know, there’s that old expression that “some people have all the luck.” Well meet 47 year-old, Ed Williams. Last September he played a scratch-off lottery ticket and won $75, 000. Cool, right? Well, just a few days ago, Eddie baby matched all the winning numbers in the super Kansas Cash game and won again – but this time for nearly $900,000! God dayum, Edward!  Some people can’t even come close to winning an umbrella at a golf outing, and this son of a bitch cleans the proverbial house! That is simply friggin’ amazing.  This is definitely a guy you want to take to Vegas and pal around with. If I was a broad, I’d be all over this dude.  Ed is actually a widow and claims his luck started after his wife died. She used to scold him for “wasting” his money on the lottery. You know I’m deeply inclined to make a really bad joke about the having last laugh and so forth, but I’ll take the high road and let this one go.

I did a little web search, and there have been a great number of people who have won the lottery multiple times for tens of millions of dollars. Some have won the big games even three times. It leaves one asking, “Who the f@#k are these people and how about saving some for the rest of us.?!” I am actually one of those fortunate dudes who wins shit. I’ll often win boxes of cigars at dinners, I’ve won a nice bike, tv’s, golf equipment, and ten years ago won first prize in our church a raffle and went to Atlantis in the Bahamas for five days. I smoked Cubans cigars til my brains imploded and gawked at hot Euro-milfs in bathing suits that looked like somebody had a little Silly String left in a can and attempted to cover their private areas. That was a most cool trip. I am looking forward to my first big lottery win, though. I’ll have a major bash and fly all of you in. Hang tight, Sparky, don’t get all crazy – I’ll let you know.

And in Sports…
Young Patrick Kane, the 21 year old superstar of the NHL’s Chicago black Hawks got in a little trouble in his home town of Boofalo the other night. At 4am a cabbie who had driven them to a night club didn’t have the 20 cents change to give Kane and his brother, so the guys did a Hansen Brothers routine on the driver by putting on the foils and beating the guy senseless.  Kane was arrested by Buffalo police where he received five minutes for fighting, a game misconduct, and was ordered to sign pucks for a group of retarded kids. Where Ogie Oglethorpe when ya need him?… David Ortiz, affectionately known as Big Papi, of the Boston Red Sox, used performance-enhancing drugs during his career! Oh my God I am so shocked! Say it isn’t so, large man who hits 1,200 foot home runs! Good lord what a black eye for the game – a game that has about eight hundred black eyes, in the past five years but, who’s counting, right? Hey, at least barry Bonds can live with himself… Tiger Woods won his 70th golf match this weekend. He and Kansas Lottery winner, Eddie “Two Times” Williams (”I gottta play the numbers, play the numbers”)  will be honored in a ceremony on the cult Hispanic television show, Sabado Gigante. where large breasted, jiggling Latino hotties wearing little clothing will present them with plaques while a salsa band wearing tight pants will play loudly under a hail of confetti. Big Papi will not be in attendance.

Go Go Government…
Clunkers for Cash, huh?. But I don’t have a clunker…so… what do I do? Great…

Hey Pelosi…No Really – STFU…
People are speaking out across the nation against the Obamanation of health care reform, and Nancy Pelosi is referring to those people as “un-American.” This woman is as incredulous as it gets, as the act of people being able to speak out about government is as American as it gets. We have that freedom and that right. Hey Ms. Speaker of the House, you have mistakenly confused us for one of those socialist nations that you and your pals are trying so hard to turn us into. A few weeks back on my visit thru DC, when in the Capitol Building, I walked past her office and fancied the thought of tossing a lit Cuban Cigar under her closed door. But I also fancied the thought of a surly group of men in black using my fat Polack head to clean the White House urinals – so I just kept on walking.

No Paula, Say It Isn’t So…
Yes, the Oxycotton laced little Latin girl who weeps for the losers and loves everyone, has Twittered the world that she’s leaving the Idol. Wow, that’s leaving behind an awful lot of dough that requires her to sit for an hour between “Yo Dog, check it out” and the acerbic Simon Scowell. What will we do, America? First the break up of Jon and Kate, and now THIS?!!!  Something tells me Paula won’t have to trade in her clunker, Bentley.

She’s Such a Nice Girl…
Czech model and bodacious bombshell, Denise Milani seems to be most pleased with some of the swell things I’ve written about the now California native. She has actually sent me three or four emails recently, thanking me for speaking about her large tracts of land. All true. And this has obviously gone to my head as I’ve started doing sit ups and have arranged for a flight to the west coast, next week. One of you guys will have to break it to my wife, gently. This is so friggin’ awesome. I’m up to nine sit-ups and can get to the mail box and back without stopping.

That’s enough outta me, so lets hear from you people,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog with theZman

It has always been my firm belief that you CANNOT tax a nation into prosperity. Now while I try very hard not to publicly take sides in the political arena, it is a well-known fact that democrats like to raise taxes. They like big government control and those of us who have leaned to the Libertarian side of the aisle, deplore this notion.

Our new president is proposing some swell new taxes that will make all our paychecks a bit smaller and our wallets a bit thinner. Many argue that we need to raise taxes – how else will we pay down our debt? But just look at the unemployment rate, the people who are losing jobs at an alarming clip, and the rate of foreclosures… then tell me that it’s a good idea for the government to take even more of the people’s hard earned money right now.

One way the politicos like to get money is by going after people’s pleasures in life. The tobacco taxes are insane as cigarettes are now around eight bucks a pack and our precious cigars are becoming harder to buy. And now in New Jersey, Billionaire democrat governor, Jon Corzine has just raised the tax on alcohol 25%. That is horrendous. Please, somebody – anybody, tell me where all the billions go from our state lottery. NJ has the highest property taxes in the nation. I have a 2,500 sq. ft house, an acre of property, I live in the wooded area of the northwest part of the state… and my yearly property taxes are… $12,000. Yes you in the south and mid west read that right – I pay $12,000 a year in property tax.

“You’re crazy…why don’t you just move?” I hear this b.s. all of the time. Oh yeah, it’s that easy to do, right. My daughter starts college in a month a half hour from our home, my son will be a freshman in high school, I LOVE my home, I live in a beautiful part of the state… but I should just pick up and go. It just doesn’t work that way.

Let’s get back to the alcohol tax. A 25% increase is a monster hike. Many bar and restaurant owners claim they won’t pass it on to their customers, but how the hell long can they keep that up? Not very long, I say. Corzine claims it will generate 22 million dollars per year for the state, but I think it could turn a lot of alcoholics sober. Or, people are going to start buying considerably cheaper booze just to put themselves out of their misery. Hey, I know as a fact that people are starting to purchase less expensive cigars for the same reasons.

I was at a bbq party this past weekend and by midnight there was a group of seriously shit-faced folks gathered around my friend’s pool. He looked at me and said that everyone he knows is drinking heavier than ever before just to get through life. You know, I think he’s right. With the new regime’s Socialist Republic gaining momentum, I really started to see the comparison to old-school Russia… so many are out of work, the government wants control of healthcare and other onetime capitalist freedoms, and now we’re drinking unfiltered rot-gut vodka from the moment we get home from a days work at the cement plant, just to get through another day. Oh yeah, I almost forgot, the line starts at 10pm for rolls of Charmin over at the town hall. Come on Mr. Whipple, one roll ain’t enough to wipe my enlarges buttocks, so fork it over.

Comrades – this malarkey is getting scarier by the day. So what’s the answer? Beats the hell out of me – I just came here to gripe, today.

I love good scotch, higher end vodka, sumptuous wines, and other libations of the finer nature. I love enjoying a nice pour with a good cigar on my back patio after I eat dinner. I don’t want to give that up. Please, I beg of you, I love these little pleasures of life and I don’t want them taken away. I don’t want to drink kerosene flavored swill, smoke short-filler crapola, and wait ten years for a root canal if I need one. I want things the way they used to be, dammit. I want my god damned AMERICA back!

So…anybody got a bright idea, out there?

Viva la Revolution,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman