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Old 12-31-2002, 11:27 AM   #1
Scrot
Starting Member
 
Join Date: May 2002
Location: Lafayette, CA USA
Posts: 87
I got my box in the mail today and the first thing I noticed was the sheer stupidity of the design of the box. I then proceed to cut open the box, whereupon the contents spilled forth like a sack of golden coins. Flimsy wooden triangles full of luscious tobacco careened and bounced off this table and that. After picking up the various triangles and inspecting them like a cat with a dead weasel, I pull a random stick out of a triangle. It happened to be a Cameroon, which I have never had the pleasure of tasting.

The wrapper was a very thin, copper colored and scaly film. Nice and oily, but battered like an Ozark wife. Patches and holes were abundant, as were cracks. It reminded me of a former dwelling in Berkeley. In short, it looked tasty but trashed.

The prelight aroma was nice, but nothing to write home about. Of course, I never write home and still havenít mailed out my Christmas presents, so that isnít saying a lot. So since I wasnít in the mood to write home, I lit up the cigar. At first, it was hard to get much flavor out of the stick as it was full of holes and a bit dry, but once it got going, it sure got going. A very nice enjoyable taste, not too salty, not too sweet. No off flavors, just a nice tasting cigar with lots of holes and cracks. As I continued to smoke, the cigar got better and better. The flavor got richer and paired well with the Pinot Noir in my hand. I looked out over the deck and puffed, as I slipped into heaven. This cigar was as tasty as a stolen pie. Rich and creamy, with no harshness. And no old lady running down the street screaming at me while I spill pie pieces all over the street.

The ash clung to the cigar like a stain to underwear. It was a full inch and a half before it fell, thenit grew to another inch before falling. The ash was the color of a stormy California sky. Some parts dark, some parts white, and some parts colors never known by most people.

As I finished the cigar and let it die in the ashtray, I thought back to the old lady and the pie. That was a wonderful time, drunk in the city running from an old lady stuffing berry pie in our face as we ran. Could this cigar really be better than that?

Not with that goddamn holy patched up wrapper and that stupid box.
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