America's #1 Online Cigar Auction
first, best, biggest!

Last post 5 years ago by DiRGe. 20 replies replies.
Where am I
DiRGe Offline
#1 Posted:
Joined: 08-06-2018
Posts: 36


has there been a steady increase
in the quality of Handrolled tobacco ?

Or

there have been plateaus
and valleys in the production of cigars ?

How long is the history of Handrolled full tobacco cigars ?

Are the finest cigars ever known to man
the selection that's available now ?

Would the torcoderos of hundreds of years ago
be envious of the cigars
available to us now ?

since I'm new to the pleasures of smoking
full leaf Handrolled cigars.....
I'm not sure,
at what point in the cycle.....I've entered
Think

opelmanta1900 Offline
#2 Posted:
Joined: 01-10-2012
Posts: 13,954
Worst poem ever...
bs_kwaj Offline
#3 Posted:
Joined: 02-13-2006
Posts: 5,214

Wherever you are... there you are.

Beer
danmdevries Offline
#4 Posted:
Joined: 02-11-2014
Posts: 17,129
Homie smoking some other handrolls
Mr. Jones Offline
#5 Posted:
Joined: 06-12-2005
Posts: 19,364
Nope ^^^ I'm putty sure DiRGe is an older pilot nearing retirement...and cannot smoke the ganja...not yet at least..

In 3-4 more years ...he'll be a pot head...unless he goes into corporate jet pilot service? Becauce there is NO WAY HE CAN LIVE ON SOCIAL SECURITY AND HIS 401K distribution...

Just not possible, " I just can't make it on less than $250 LARGE" HAS BEEN HIS MANTRA FOR A DECADE OR MORE
and that ain't possible on S.S. & 401K income...
..
DiRGe Offline
#6 Posted:
Joined: 08-06-2018
Posts: 36
Worst poem ever....
If
opelmanta1900 Offline
#7 Posted:
Joined: 01-10-2012
Posts: 13,954
Worst riddle ever...
DiRGe Offline
#8 Posted:
Joined: 08-06-2018
Posts: 36
Worst riddle ever....
True or false
Cathcam13 Offline
#9 Posted:
Joined: 01-11-2018
Posts: 1,264
Apparently you lot have never heard of the absolute worst poetry in the world, which was written by a Britt according to the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.
ZRX1200 Offline
#10 Posted:
Joined: 07-08-2007
Posts: 60,482
You centered poem
Still sucks sweaty donkey balls
Welcome to C Bid
KingoftheCove Offline
#11 Posted:
Joined: 10-08-2011
Posts: 7,604
ZRX1200 wrote:
You centered poem
Still sucks sweaty donkey balls
Welcome to C Bid

You are on a roll
The Haiku Hobo Master
Been camping lately?
Salmoneye Offline
#12 Posted:
Joined: 01-18-2011
Posts: 163
Que?
ZRX1200 Offline
#13 Posted:
Joined: 07-08-2007
Posts: 60,482
I do what I can
The fresh meat gets me hard
Wise man no means yes
delta1 Offline
#14 Posted:
Joined: 11-23-2011
Posts: 28,755
no one knows how tough
terrible life it will be
stuck by the river
KingoftheCove Offline
#15 Posted:
Joined: 10-08-2011
Posts: 7,604
ZRX1200 wrote:
I do what I can
The fresh meat gets me hard..........only six
Wise man no means yes

You're not King Haiku
Not good wif numbas I see
Like Frankie Tripod
DiRGe Offline
#16 Posted:
Joined: 08-06-2018
Posts: 36
Are the finest cigars ever known to man
the selection that's available today ?
No poem intended
Are long dead torcoderos jealous ?
frankj1 Offline
#17 Posted:
Joined: 02-08-2007
Posts: 44,211
KingoftheCove wrote:
You're not King Haiku
Not good wif numbas I see
Like Frankie Tripod

Here I sit, alone
Trying to be a good boy
And you drag me in?
DiRGe Offline
#18 Posted:
Joined: 08-06-2018
Posts: 36
*torcedor
Mispelled
Woops
bikrtrsh Offline
#19 Posted:
Joined: 01-29-2009
Posts: 134
LMFAO! This turned in to a really good thread!
Maybe we should get a 500 poem thread going
DiRGe Offline
#20 Posted:
Joined: 08-06-2018
Posts: 36
THE BETROTHED

"You must choose between me and your cigar."

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.


We quarrelled about Havanas—we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I know she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.


Open the old cigar-box—let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.


Maggie is pretty to look at—Maggie's a loving lass,
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.


There's peace in a Laranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay,
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away—


Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown—
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!


Maggie, my wife at fifty—gray and dour and old—
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!


And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar—


The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket—
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket.


Open the old cigar-box—let me consider awhile—
Here is a mild Manilla—there is a wifely smile.


Which is the better portion—bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string?


Counsellors cunning and silent—comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride.


Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eye-lids close.


This will the fifty give me, asking naught in return,
With only a Suttee's passion—to do their duty and burn.


This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.


The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,
When they hear my harem is empty, will send me my brides again.


I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long as the showers fall.


I will scent 'em with best Vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.


For Maggie has written a letter that gives me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.


And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelve-month clear,
But I have been Priest of Partagas a matter of seven year;


And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.


And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
But the only light on the marshes is the Will-o'-the-Wisp of Love.


Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?


Open the old cigar-box—let me consider anew—
Old friends, and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?


A million surplus Maggies are willing to bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke.


Light me another Cuba—I hold to my first-sworn vows,
If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for spouse!

- Rudyard Kipling
Users browsing this topic
Guest