I currently have no cigars to review, so I thought I would tell you a little ditty about last night.

It was German Fest in Milwaukee. Staged at the Henry Maier Festival Park. Basically, it’s a beat up old carnival grounds for people to sell crazy types of food with a couple of huge concert stages.

There was no fried butter last night. It was all German food.

But I must digress. I don’t normally go to all of these festival things that Milwaukee puts on in the summer. Too much walking and my back just can’t take it. The place is always jam packed with people and it is almost impossible to find a place to sit.

So, Charlotte goes on her own with friends. And I stay at home and stew.

This time, she suggested we get a wheel chair. My ego can’t take it. I refused. Not to mention I would be sitting in some dirty bacterial covered plastic and metal rolling chair. I saw the old, fat, disgusting people using the free wheel chairs and they all looked like they had forgotten what the two words, “personal hygiene,” meant.

She talked me into going with the caveat that if I can’t take it anymore after a couple of hours, I would take the car and go home and she’d get a lift.

This place must be one of the few places left, outside of Texas, that doesn’t check you with a security wand as you enter. A voice on a loud speaker tells you what you can’t bring in and is on a continuous loop. Of course, guns are not allowed.

They just don’t enforce it.

So I went packing with my Glock sub compact Model 30 .45 caliber with Federal hollow points. And an extended magazine that allows me 13 rounds + 1 in the chamber.

We get down there and park very close as I use my best whiny Jewish voice to beg for a decent parking place because I’m handicapped. Wham bam, thank you ma’am…it works.

We paid our $7 entrance fee at the booth. A senior discount below the normal $10. My wife told me to get my I.D. out because the sign said you have to prove it. The woman behind the counter said we didn’t need our I.D.’s. Charlotte looked at me and I thought she was going to cry.

My new hipster haircut became a lopsided afro within 10 minutes because the park is right on Lake Michigan. I had a couple young guys run over to me and, without asking, took selfies of them and me together. Yeah, I looked cool…yeah, that’s how it was.

There is also no smoking rule there. So I lit up a cigar immediately.

I had taken some pain meds before going. You just can’t be too careful.

Strangely, instead of getting all those snooty California-type looks of disapproval that one gets when smoking a cigar in public brings, I had women come up to me and tell me how their grandpa smoked cigars and how much they loved the smell.

I saw one young man, barely 40, with a stogie in his mouth and I yelled at him to take that fucking cigar out of his mouth. Who did he think he was? The guy turned on me, not realizing that I, too, had a cigar in my mouth…and I thought this well-built man was going to turn me into a potato pancake. And then he saw my cigar and laughed.

There were a few little kiosks that sold cigarettes and cigars. Of course, the cigars were drek and overpriced. And they all had lots of ACID cigars. I laughed as I passed by and watched as non-cigar smokers perused the display.

The food at German Fest differs from your standard carnival summer festival type party. It was all incredible smelling German food. You name it, they had it.

I saw a man with large potato pancakes, or latkes, and I stopped him. I asked if there was any sugar in them. He took his first bite and said he didn’t think so and broke off a piece and gave it to me. I was in heaven. Delicious. And no sugar. The real thing. So I began my latke vision quest.

It was really warm and humid and I was schvitzing like a ….well, you know.

We had double bandaged my open wound on my upper thigh. It was still draining. But within an hour it began to hurt. My chubby little thighs, all sweaty and rubbing up against each other, made me walk like a penguin.

Now the worst part. They had two huge stages with Mega Death type P.A. systems. Out of those speaker systems came live Oom Pah Pah bands. I’m not kidding when I say the decibel level was like a plane taking off but instead of palatable music, it was polka music. I wanted to take my Glock out and kill 14 people. And then beat myself to death with the butt of the gun.

That damn polka music was everywhere. Big stages, little stages, in the sitting tents, and strollers. It was a Jewish nightmare. I felt like I was at a Nazi rally.

To sum up the whole ordeal were all the plain country Wisconsin folk wearing their best German get ups. I started to get the cold sweats. I was back in Germany and any moment I’d be yelled at, by security, why I’m not wearing a gold star on my sleeve?

All of Charlotte’s friends asked why I never showed up to these fun events. She made her polite excuses but they just thought I was an arrogant prick.

So, last night, all those friends had planned to be there.

Not one showed up.

Oh wait, there was one customer from the Polish deli that showed up and she was old and frail and couldn’t speak above the din of the crowd so I never had any idea what she was saying.

Charlotte was having a good time. She lit up a bowl before we left and rambled at 60mph the entire way to the park.

And then she wanted to sit down in front of the Harley Davidson stage where a polka band was singing in German and getting the patrons to sing along, “Deutschland Uber Alles…” Not really. But to me, that’s what it sounded like.

There wasn’t a seat anywhere that was available and there were hundreds and hundreds of them.

A conga line began. Don’t ask. I took off for an area outside the parameters of the concert and fumed. My back was killing me. My open wound hurt. And I was fucking miserable. It had been a little over two hours since we got there and I decided to go home by myself.

The conga line, with hundreds of people, kept me from finding Charlotte. I just gave up.

She had her house key and had assured me someone would give her a lift home if I wanted to leave. Not only did I want to leave, I wanted to shoot every young man with a clean shaven head and German tattoos on his bare chest and back. No swastikas, but lots of other unsightly shit.

It took me 20 minutes of pain to get back to the car.

A massive amount of construction was going on around the freeway, and on the freeway, near the lake. My GPS was worthless and what should have taken me 3 minutes to get on the freeway, took me 20. All of the detour signs turned out to be wrong.

I was in a stunned state of mind. What had I done? Why would I put myself in the midst of the enemy?
Even if I had gone with the wheel chair, I would have not be seen by the crowd, and trampled to death as people made their ways to the box cars…er…I mean the different events.

The ride home was less than 20 minutes and I put some real music on in the car.

I will never, NEVER, NEVER…go to one of those things again. Fuck the back pain. It was like 1936 in Berlin.
I went to bed around 11 but was awakened by Charlotte when she got home around 12:30.

She is still asleep as I type this so I have no idea the mood she is going to be in for abandoning her last night.

And I’m certainly not going to mention that I wrote this little account of the Bundestag meeting last night.
I know what you’re thinking. Why, oh why, did he run out of cigars? And why did I fall for reading this drek?

Photo of some nice Hitler Jungen:

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS