Wrapper: Maduro with Habano and Connecticut accents
Binder: Dominican
Filler: Dominican
Size: 7 x 64 Figurado
Strength: Medium/Full
Price: $28.00
Date Released: June 2019
Factory: Louisville, Dominican Republic

My cigar received 6 years of home humidor time. It remained in its sarcophagus most of that time.
A big thank you to my friend Kellie Heatherly for the gift. She smokes more Cubans than any grown man I know.

THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
The first thing that is a mystery is which end am I supposed to light? The bat’s barrel seems too bulbous. And lighting the knob just seems wrong. So, I search the interwebs. I found a single Youtube review. The reviewer lit the knob. And then someone commented that he saw the cigar’s designer describe the proper method and it is punching a hole in the knob and lighting the barrel. The reviewer responds with a hearty ‘du-oh.’ If not for that, there was a 50/50 chance I would have guessed incorrectly. OK, a 90/10 chance I would have guessed wrong.

There is a new cigar by Asylum called the Megalophobia. The size is 13 x 134. That’s over a foot long and over 2” in diameter and only $125.00 per cigar. In the 50’s and 60’s, you could go to a gag shop and buy the same thing for $3.00. Talk about an all-day sucker. The Mega Dingus weighs half a pound.

My PerfecPunch plows through the cap but the draw is dead in the water. My PerfecDraw is called into duty. I pierce the blockage but then still no air until I remember that the other end of the bat is closed. Second time I’ve done this with a closed foot. I will delete the previous two sentences to make me seem more alert and have an I.Q. over 98.

Aromas from the wrappers are delightful considering that this is a 6-year-old cigar. Notes of barnyard, baking spices, dark chocolate, buttery brown sugar, and pungent citrus.

The cold draw is similar to its aromas with the addition of strong honeydew melon and black tea.

This review would be better served if it was a video. Holding the cigar in my mouth would be more suited for Grindr.

Flavors are surprisingly rich and complex from the start with notes of buttery creme brûlée, burnt leather, dark chocolate, bitter espresso, honey white toast, spicy peppers both black and red, and a lovely malt.

Holding the cigar between my lips and puffing creates a bizarre sucking noise, like an open chest wound. My fervent hope is that the cigar burns evenly.

1985. I was on a plane from NYC to Long Beach, California. Sitting next to me, was singer Dale Bozzio of Missing Persons. I knew she looked familiar. And then it hit me, she did a nude layout in Hustler. And oh yeah, she was a singer. She was overly chatty and by the first 30 minutes, I wanted to do a painful version of seppuku.

I don’t know if I would want to be seen in public smoking this cigar. It feels embarrassing sitting in my cave with only Sammy the Cat and a life full of regrets staring at me. But then even smoking this albatross alone feels like a mistake.
This photo shows the burn ain’t so hot. And that removing the cigar band caused an injury to the wrapper.

Flavors begin to morph with notes of molasses, dried fig, licorice, cinnamon, and charred oak.

I torch the foot for correction purposes. I don’t want a runaway.

An inch in from the bulbous foot took 15 minutes. I expected a longer duration. I begin to wonder about the roller’s technique. Making something cool looking doesn’t guarantee that it will burn well.

She wore the exact same getup as she wore in her Hustler shoot. If I had the rag mag on me, I’d have asked her to sign it. She was married to the great drummer, Terry Bozzio (Frank Zappa). I loved that guy and figured if he was attached to the chick, she couldn’t be all that bad. But the 3-hour plane ride turned into what seemed like an all-day adventure on It’s a Small World. She was all over the place with stream-of-consciousness rants, pop culture references, emotional highs and lows, and unexpected tangents. I tried all manners of subterfuge to make her stop talking: faking sleep, asking her to get to the punchline, faking airsickness, telling her I couldn’t follow (which made it worse), asking her to write it down and submit a synopsis to me, and trying to change seats.

Well into inch number two, I get a sour note that is far removed from a nice citrus component. Tastes like rubber cleats. I don’t like it one bit. I’d hate for this to have been an exercise in futility. The torn wrapper extends its domain so I bring out my PerfecRepair cigar glue. Not only does it fix the piece of wrapper flapping in the wind but secures the area with a nice coat of food grade sealant. This is beginning to turn into an ugly affair. For $30, I expect more than just a pretty face. I shouldn’t have mentioned an open sucking chest wound…but the cigar glue does its job. I know many of you make your own glue, and that’s very cool. But for $10, the PerfecRepair lasts forever, unless you buy cheap cigars…which would preclude you from being a reader of mine. It’s a great tool for the lazy. It even has a couple of ben wa balls in the bottle to help move the ingredients around when you shake it prior to use. The applicator cap is a nice touch.

The cigar ain’t bad. Its Dominican underpinnings shine through with a smooth and elegant approach. The sourness disappeared 5 minutes ago and has not returned. I guess if you are young, or young at heart, or buy a bunch for your friends to communally watch the World Series, it’s a novelty that’s fun. But if you’re looking for a great $30 cigar, this would be way down the list of my choices. I’m still getting used to the bizarre baseball bat in my mouth. The design will not allow you gentle pursing of the lips; rather, the thing is in your mouth while your lips hold the shaft and the cap sits atop your tongue. This is so strange.

As the plane landed, Dale said she didn’t have a ride home. She asked if I could give her a lift. My buddy Doug was picking me up and I told her I couldn’t control her destiny. It was after midnight. I wanted to go home and go to sleep. I was over stimulated from the woman. She kept singing songs of sorrow. I shook my head like a bobble doll.

The sourness, devoid of a citrus element, returns. Damn. This is easily a 2+ hour smoke. I’m not sure I have the patience. If the cigar ups its credibility, maybe…

The initial sense of richness and complexity are gone. It begins to taste like a cheap catalog blend. Even a $1 Oliva would be better. I’m hanging on by a thread.

Doug was waiting at baggage claim. She stuck to me like a pimple on my ass. Talking a mile a minute. The look on Doug’s face was priceless. Total shock that I had Hustler’s babe of the month, and Missing Persons’ lead singer, hanging on me. She begged him for a ride. I stood behind her flapping my arms and shaking my head no. He tried to beg off but Dale would have none of it. Doug caved and the horror show continued for another hour till we dropped her off in West L.A. She offered blow jobs for us both as a thank you, but we tipped our hats with a respectful gesture and burned rubber for the safety of our own respective homes. Dale is now president of Utah.

I’m through the glued area and in case you are wondering, the PerfecRepair is without flavor or influence. The blend is getting worse. I will give it another inch and if it fails in winning me over, I’m done.

OK. I’ve glued myself to this thing long enough. Either it is just not a good cigar blend or that 6 years of home humidor time finished it off. The taste on my lips and tongue is horrible. It will take days for me to get this flavor out of my mouth. I’m calling it. Sorry, Kellie.

RATING: 93 for appearance. 60 for taste. Averaged score: 76.5

Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS