I Rant, Therefore I Am
This past weekend, the northeastern part of the United States was unmercifully pummeled by a nasty nor easter causing damage and flooding that is mind boggling to say the least. A couple weeks before we got hit with several feet of snow. And before that we had snow on top of more snow. The potholes on the roads in my area could be the worst I’ve ever seen and I blew out a tire this weekend slamming into one. My son made the freshman baseball team last week, but god knows when the fields will dry out for them to practice outside. Holy crap, this is getting out of hand. The skies are gray, the air is dank, and god dammit, I want my mommy.
This kind of thing takes a mental toll on people and all I really want to do is sleep… and eat… and smoke cigars… and drink scotch. All right, sorry I’m in uber-bitch mode, but I figured nobody wants to listen to my voice, so if I posted it up for public display, maybe some of you saps may commiserate with my sorry ass.
On top of this, Toyotas keep careening out of control, a coitus-crazed golfer 
can’t stay of the news, and Obama actually believes he’s going to get his healthcare bill passed. And now I’ve gotta listen to Yankee fans incessant bullshit until somebody takes them down a peg or two before October. I’m telling you, I can’t take a whole lot more of this.
Thank the Lord I bought a decent heater so I can have a smoke and a snort in the garage after hours. I tell my kids that its “Daddy’s medicine” and they fully understand. They know the unrelenting stress factor related to being a blogger. They’ve witnessed the ravaging effects that it has taken on their old man and they let me enjoy my “daddy time” in peace. Of course the wife is a different story. She continuously bitches and moans how I smell like a garbage fire and demands that I shower before coming to bed. The nerve. But it’s been that way for quite sometime and if I want to enjoy cigars along with the 3 minutes of off-the-wall pleasure my wife brings me every few weeks, well, I guess I had better tow the line.
Okay, so a C-rate ex-kid actor named Corey Haim dies of a drug overdose and it dominates the news. Yeah, I dug him in Lost Boys, but god damn, did the media run out of Tiger humping stories for a friggin week? It’s just so weird how the media takes a basic non-item, creates a maelstrom out of it, then sucks every last drop of blood until we’re all ready to collectively hurl our morning corn flakes.
Last week, New York legislators proposed a law that would banish cooks from adding salt to any recipe in a restaurant. Now this is truly one of the most asinine use of a politician’s power I’ve heard 
in a long time. This is something that simply CANNOT pass, people. No, not because I’m some kind of wacky salt-a-holic, it’s the “what comes next” factor that will enrage us all. Next they won’t be able to cook with butter… or wine… and the next thing you know, we’re all gray jumpsuit wearing bald headed drones from the famed 1984 Macintosh commercial. Hey, don’t laugh, that’s how shit like this gets started.
Okay, so this was a crazy little bitch fest by a fat-ass Polack from New Jersey whose redeeming qualities don’t measure to much – but I do rent the podium on a weekly basis, and you are the fortunate chosen recipients of my mentally masturbated do-do. With that said, I just heard that the rest of the week is supposed to be sunny and 60 degrees and by tomorrow I will disavow any knowledge of writing this dark and oppressive missive.
You know what? It’s only noon here on the east coast, but I believe that a JR Ultimate Maduro and a belt of single malt would help to deliver me from this demented midday funk. This is one hell of a savage vocation, people, but somebody has to take a stand for the oppressed. And I am your faithful servant, who respectfully bids you adieu.
Til Later,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman
