At first glance, the surface seemed rumpled and pleated. Upon closer examination, it resembled the lunar surface... The pre-light aroma smelled of fermented manure with berry undertones. Perhaps as if some ruminant had gotten loose in the fruit patch days earlier. Yes, something was oozing from this dark beauty? but it wasn't plume... Lighting this dog rocket was difficult. I don't just mean a firm draw, I mean it was plugged harder than Monica in the Oval office. After application of my Black and Decker with a 9/16ths bit, I was able to coax the flame to the foot of this grotesque excuse for a cigar. It had all of the ambiance of a forty something prostitute who would have been easy to pass up in her 20s, yet somehow, I found myself strangely attracted to it's hideousness...
As this putrid puro crackled to life, it began running like an Olympic sprinter. I tried desperately to set a backfire, to head off the burn at the proverbial pass, but it jumped my fire line and kept running. This cigar was canoeing like an apache chief down stream and there was no stopping this Pawnee pyromaniac.
As the cigar? continued but did not to develop, I noticed a strong order, as a men’s room with a broken urinal, stained through years of neglect and poor aim. Shortly there after, I detected a better smell, and was soon to learn that the canoeing section had burned like a fuse down to my moustache and I was smelling my own hair burning which had a noticeably better aroma than this hideous hand roll.
And finally, (what’s that? They? They paid for advertising in this months issue?) Oh, never mind! 4.2 stars! Highly Recommended!
