Wrapper: Mexican Claro
Binder: Nicaraguan
Filler: Indonesian, Nicaraguan Habano, Aged Italian, U.S.A. (Connecticut Broadleaf, Pennsylvania)
Size: 6 x 50 Toro ~ Box Pressed
Strength: Medium
Price: $14.00
Date Released: August 11, 2026
Quantity Released: Limited
Factory: Tabacalera William Ventura
THE WHOLE MEGILLAH:
Originally released in 2021, the blend has changed with the addition of aged Italian tobacco and two leaves from the U.S.
The cigar is nicely pressed with distinct seams that scream to the neurotic, “Peel me…peel me.” But I don’t because I’m a sophisticated adult…and I don’t have another stick.
The wrapper oozes sweetness. Like me, although I’m more of a dribble. There are luscious notes of baked bread, cinnamon, clove, spicy red pepper, and black coffee.
My PerfecPunch easily disrobes the manhole cover. In the 60’s, I allowed Dr. Rod to disrobe me. But never in private. So, we chose sunlit parking lots near Wienerschnitzels and gay churches. We were both so glowingly white, that the sun rays bounced off us and caused deep despair and withering pity from anyone that peeked.
Where was I. The cold draw is all fudge brownie with black walnuts. Some lime pie is unexpected but blends nicely with the richness. There’s also espresso and mild black pepper.
Upon torch to foot, an earthy presence. Like staring at the officer while you display an off-putting tick of eye blinking and mud sipping. I’ve avoided 2 loitering tickets in this manner. Although, I would avoid doing this because there is a monitor on my ankle and AI telegraphing everything I type directly to Milwaukee P.D. This information is sent to every county that has a police force willing to investigate loitering charges prior to public execution, live streamed. I have a couple other police avoidance systems that I will divulge in Esperanto later in the review.
Tasty burger. A very meaty cigar with huge plumes of smoke. Did an accidental Yuban can-tipping full of brine shrimp in the bow of your fishing boat ever make you dry heave? Me neither.
The burn gets a little wonky but I shall be patient. Just like the guys that read the name of the review and scroll.
Strength is medium. Creaminess begins that seems obvious now. I blacked out a little while typing the loitering thing.
Why would you name your kid Woody? A penchant for woodpeckers or something your mother screamed during your conception.
There’s a mild leathery faction. As I remove my scarred tongue from the Beatle boots Charlotte bought me for constant trial under fire short term cunnilingus, there is a lingering sharpness that comes from unsuccessful digestion of leather goods.
So far, as inch one dissolves into thin air and heavy smoke, I determine that I like this cigar but am willing to rate it as average. A contradiction for sure, but then no one is reading this except for my parole officer and Rabbi Barak Hussein Obamawitz-Stein.
Very smooth.
I joined a Hal Blaine FB page run by this wonderful woman who seems to know everything about the man. I mentioned my tv show in L.A. with Hal and Darlene Love as guests, and she immediately found this photo:
My buddy Marshall Thomas was the host. He and I bought a couple of 4 x 8 wood veneers, stood them up, stapled records and their jackets on them, and voila…we looked like pros. P.S. Those folding chairs? They were mine. I brought them from home. It’s what I used for guests at my sparsely decorated bachelor pad in Long Beach.
The medium strength struggles a bit to get through a heavy lunch of porkish kishka and oatmeal pops. But it’s trying. I’m not ready to write it off as ordinary yet.
Transitions aren’t diverse. I deduct a little but it’s early. Clearly, this is a blend that doesn’t start with a bang. A flavorful beginning that gave me great hope. I hope it doesn’t double cross me because I cashed Wildfire’s check.
As the first half discreetly liquefies, two things come to mind. The first is that I believe the cigar will age well. A couple of months of rest is just the start. And second, the blend has all the well-meaning to be an excellent morning cigar.
Strength is upped. One moment, it was a mere easy going, but then as if a butt plug was switched, it becomes medium/full. Much better for an afternoon smoke.
A redundant anecdote. Curved Air was traveling in our luxurious limo to a gig in Holland. It became a day long trek. We became bored. Stewart bellowed, “We need something to do.” I said, “How about blow jobs?” (Meaning from Sonja, not Stew or me). She nodded while smiling her Cheshire cat way and said sure. Sonja asked, “Who’s first?” Before anyone could breathe, I said me. Stew reared back and asked why me? “Because it was I who suggested it.” Since we were stoned on hashish, he couldn’t remember who said it and sunk back into the leather seat.
I like the Revivalist. The second half is becoming its sweet spot. Flavors seem canonized but the depth and richness excel like the best-looking ferret in a pie eating contest.
The burn line hasn’t been stellar. It wavers but then gets control of itself. Much like when I dreamed of Raquel Welch asking me to pass the Cheerios. It’s Zen and Freudian at the same time. Still, I grab my lighter to give it a leg up.
Sonja goes to work on me. The backseat is me on the left, Sonja in the middle, and Copeland on the right. Sonja knew what she was doing but I got a cramp in my right leg. I couldn’t move because I was polite…there was no hip thrusting available to me. I was beginning to lose my magnificent stringy thing. I grabbed one of the many porn mags we picked up in Amsterdam. They went with us everywhere. While I was finding daylight, Stewart screamed, “Look. He needs a dirty magazine.” Darryl and Mick merely smiled. When we were done, it was Stewart’s turn. After 30 seconds, he leaned his head back. He softly turned his face towards mine, and “Phil, we are cum brothers.” The strongest bond two men can have. That oath was broken when he sent me dough to help me through the recovery of my skydiving accident and I got a 1099 in the mail so he could write it off.
The smoke morphs into dark chocolate and that early fudge brownie. The coffee becomes deeper and more resilient. Not knowing what that means, I soldier on.
A $14 stick has become the norm for us rodents. We stupid, stupid junkies. I finally see the U.S. tobacco coming to the forefront. There’s something about Broadleaf that is easily identifiable but hard to describe. So, I ask AI: “A rich, earthy base with chocolate‑like depth. A toasted, slightly bitter coffee note balanced by sweet, syrupy undertones. A rustic, tannic character with cedar or oak hints. Dark fruit or molasses sweetness. And Light pepper or woodsmoke notes that add structure without overpowering.” There you go, it nailed it. So why the fuck do you need to read reviews or suffer through unintelligible podcasts when a tool smarter than us describes it perfectly. I guess I’m out of a job. The timing is excellent. 2 months to go, my brethren.
A week before the Eddie Munster music video was scheduled to be shot, I rented a hall in Hollywood to flesh out the details. I hired a video camera man. And all the Monsters were in makeup. I hadn’t written a script yet so I hoped we could get down and be creative. Not a thing that was useful came to anyone’s mind. Hours passed. I had lost hope. And I put a bunch of dough out for the hall rental. At one point, Butch was on stage walking aimlessly around and I said “Do something. Give me some Eddie Munster.” Butch stopped and said, “Phil, you’re the director. You do something.” It hit hard. I gulped and turned Munster green. He was right. The night before the first location shoot, I wandered the halls in my recording studio after everyone had gone home. I sat on the couch with a legal pad and pen. I got inspiration. In 20 minutes, I wrote all 33 scenes. Just like that. We used all of them. Shit just sometimes happens.
9-12 months of home detention is where this blend will really shine. I just feel it in the deepest locale of my wandering ballsack. I tag it with my Air Tracker.
The last third is killing it. Absolutely stunning. With extended rest, this episodic part of the cigar will transliterate to the first two thirds. I put my hand on the Joy of Cooking and swear my pledge.
The cigar band is shredded because my fingernails love a challenge. My brain follows an hour later.
First time I had sex with an unclean Sonja was groundbreaking for my sensitive nose. As we switched to doggie style, my schnoz was in a direct line to her quedgie that quivered like a jello casserole. I belted, “My leg. My leg. I have a cramp. We need to switch.” She bought it.
I love this cigar. I had my doubts early one, but the blender’s intent is clear. Wildfire knows what it’s doing.
If you need to locate a shop, Wildfire has a list HERE.
RATING: 94
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Categories: CIGAR REVIEWS
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