I’m testing cigars right now. One manufacturer, or brand owner, or private blend – or whatever moniker is appropriate. Blue. The one 5 X 60. Beats the 6 X 60. Flavor. Draw. Satisfaction. One inch. And they say size doesn’t matter. Ha! Blue band. A simple choice. Both have blue bands. I like the color. Influenced by that? Unlikely. You never know. Why? I had that one the other day. Today. Black and gold. Serie F. It’s a toro. Especial.
No. I can’t identify the manufacturer. Remember I’m critiquing the cigars. Simple. I may rep it. May. Very good cigar. There’s a Serie S, too. That’s next. Gloomy day, ’tis. Smooth. It has something. I’ll dispense with the flavor comparisons. As was once told to me by a respected rep in the business, “It’s all bullshit.” I agree. The comparisons.
Burns evenly. Gorgeous ash. Draw is perfect. Spice. A tad. Like a few grains of black pepper on eggs.
I can’t easily get distracted. I’m focused. The cigar’s reputation. Mine. Huge plumes of delicious smoke. No retrohale. Medium to strong. The grand flavor of superbly fermented tobacco.
The radio is off. All I hear is the rattle of the table. Glass and metal. The cigar is silent but screams delightfully paroxysms of pleasure spasms. The bouquet is lovely. Yes. From My Fair Lady, . . . “loverly.”
No heat this far down. Spice begins to unwind further. A compliment to the blender. Who is unknown, at least to me. Runny nose doesn’t help. Yeah, I’m outside. Can’t put it down. Good sign.
If I pick it up, it’s an ultra boutique cigar. That’s what makes this so exciting. No gimmicks.
I have a shirt and tie on and that’s part of the analysis. Look good. Feel good. This is a business. Not a hobby.
Denzel Washington introduces Vitality for ED.
Nothing for CD (Cigar Dysfunction)? Why bring that up? Whoa. A double entendre.
In this case, the smaller it gets, the better it is – the cigar, mate. The bloody cigar.
Yes, this is indeed one of the better smokes I’ve tried. If I pick it up, all hell will break loose.