Do you remember halloween as a kid? When you'd put log of dog-crap in a bag, put it on someone's doorstep, then light it and run like hell, hiding in the bushes to see the poor hapless homeowner rush outside and stomp the fire out, covering their slippers in doggy-dung? Well friends, I was that home-owner in a robe and slippers tonight.
In my mailbox, "emmo/mike" left me a bag of dog crap. While it wasn't on fire, he did instruct me to smoke the contents, which one might argue is a worse fate than getting the stuff on your slippers. He wasn't content with sending me just one or two dog rockets, oh no. He sent me an entire bag full of "el credito" cigars, with a note attached that said "Good Riddance!"
I opened the bag with great trepidation, and gave one of these logs a sniff. Wooooah boy, if you think I'm smoking more than one of these, you have lost your friggin' mind, Emmo. We all hear about how well cared for tobacco leaves are; well, the ones used to make these smokes are the rejects. The seconds. The cigar leaves that even bats don't waste their time crapping on.
The construction isn't horrible; I've seen worse. However, the seams running all throughout the cigar make it look like it's had numerous c-sections in its time, and the end of the cigar looks like a frayed rope. Oooh yeah baby, I just can't wait to light these suckers up... not!
Lighting the cigar brought forth flavors of burning autumn leaves, with hints of dog and bat guano, and other unidentifiable animal excrement. I had one of these after numerous good smokes during a poker game. My friends turned to me and said "what the HELL are you smoking?" And "I'm afraid you're going to have to leave or throw that thing out the window"
Needless to say, I tossed it out the window, ran to the bathroom, and chugged copious amounts of mouthwash. "emmo/Mike" I will find you. If it takes me my entire life, I will find you, and I will force you to sit down with me and smoke one of these suckers while I enjoy a nice Padrón.
The proper setting to smoke one of these things is in Tijuana, with your arm around a woman who has more of a mustache than you do, laying in a combination of tequila and your own vomit.