The Infamous Cigar Moocher… A Royal Pain in the Ash

Last week I spoke of the wedding I attended in Upstate New York where I went prepared… not only with many a fine smoke for me to enjoy on the long, three-day weekend, but I was also equipped with a gaggle of bundled cigars as well. The reason: The Moochers.

MoocherCigar Moochers are a rare breed, particularly because they don’t know that they are pains in the ass, they just think, “Hey, that guy’s got a lot of cigars, I don’t think he’ll mind if I ask for one.” They think they’re hip and suave because they’re joining in on the smoke fest. But in reality, they ARE pains in the ash because A: Cigars cost me good money, B: It’s obvious that the guy is a neophyte jack-wagon and wouldn’t know a good cigar if it bit him on the ash, and C: Half the time these tobacco-tards take three puffs and put the cigar down for good. (That last one causes me agita like nothing else.)

Now, sometimes at a party or a bbq, you’ll run into a BOTL who honestly just forgot to bring his stash, his wife doesn’t want him to smoke, or he was just plain old unprepared. I don’t think any of us mind giving a dude like that one of our primo sticks, right? I mean, you know he appreciates the hell out of the gesture and he’s gonna enjoy that baby right down to the nub. But it’s those tobacco-tards I spoke of earlier, the guys who only smoke during golf or poker and they don’t really have a decent humidor, or any humidor at all, most times. Those are the guys that boil my onions, the raging douche bags that know zilch about cigar protocol and etiquette. And like I said before, there’s always that one dillweed who asks you with all his boneheaded zeal, “Are those Cubans?!” Wow, I hate that guy and I want to physically hurt him.

JRAlt_BAND FINALYou know, I used to really despise the moochers with great disdain, but over the years I’ve grown accustomed to their ignorant ways. One can almost say that I’ve learned to embrace their short-comings, (you can thank years of counseling for that.) I’ve learned that sharing is caring and even tobacco-tards need to be treated with a modicum of respect. And even though I now bring an inexpensive bundle to any event, it’s still a bit hard to unconditionally hand over my precious hand rolled happy sticks. Even though I’m not totally convinced that it’s better to give than receive, I have found that meditation and positive affirmations have helped me become a better person to these friggin ingrates.

I’m telling you, I opened up my bundle of JR Alternatives at the wedding and these leaf grubbing creatures appeared out of thin air. “Mind if I have one? Care if I join in? Hey, got one for me?” ‘Not really ya mooching ho’s’, was the first thing that rattled through my smoke encrusted brain, but then I took a few deep breaths, said my mantras, then handed out those luscious sticks as I gritted my teeth and smiled. I kid you not, 20 cigars gone in a matter of three minutes. It was like feeding time at the alligator pit, cuz as you well know, when something is free, people will go bananas.

My very worst moocher experience was at our annual block party just three years ago. I brought a box of Montecristo Whites for my buddies who appreciate a real cigar, as they will always bring some top-shelf booze in return. And of course, I brought a bundle of stoags for the ungrateful goons who want to be tres chic, just like me. Well, about half way through the shindig, I go to grab a stick from the good pile and there’s like three cigars left! WTF is right, my friends in JR Blogland!!! I was pissed beyond belief but tried to contain myself in order to find out what the hell was going on. Finally, my buddy Rob from next door pulls me aside and tells me that the brother in law of my neighbor who was invited, scoffed handfuls of my smokes and wrapped a t-shirt around them and put them in the back of his car. I was livid and ready to beat the snot outta this lowlife, but suddenly I had a better plan.

baked beans photo RexAt the end of the night, we always shoot off some fireworks for the kids, and that was the perfect diversion for my Mission Impossible style plan. As the bottle rockets were being lit, Rob diverted the thief’s attention as I snuck into the back of his car and retrieved my stolen sticks… but not without filling his t-shirt back up with close to 2 pounds of baked beans, scorched chicken legs, and a gallon of mustard. This bastid went as far as to put bathing towels and magazines over the top of the shirt, you know, just in case somebody would steal his new found treasure while filling his 1978 Foreigner t-shirt with 2 pounds of baked beans, scorched chicken legs, and a gallon of mustard. How sweet would it have been to see this thieving dirtbag’s reaction later that night? I’ll tell you one thing, guys, I am such a devious and revengeful stogie-sucking Polack when the mood calls for it.

Well, I’m not sure what the lesson was here, probably more of a cathartic attempt on my part at dealing with the cigar moochers who plague this world. Oh, they are out there people, don’t kid yourself, and they want your stogies… they just don’t know it yet. Yes, beware, my friends, but most of all, beware of the guy in the Foreigner t-shirt.

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