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As I recall, when I was 12 years old, I decided to stop being a child and start becoming a man. According to my opinion, I was far from the manly, badass, villain-dispelling, wheel-kicking J. J., that I had seen in movies. Every Friday night, "Lone Wolf McQuade" invaded my TV screen and Jungian mind. I was fortunate to stumble across an article on cigar smoking in Gentlemen's Quarterly, one of my favorite magazines about manliness. According to the article, manliness can be achieved in just two simple steps.

First, you need to buy a cigar. Please forgive New Yorkers for the elegiac memories evoked by the name Nat Sherman. His flagship store closed tragically this year due to the COVID epidemic. After school I took the bus and asked for a smoke at this wonderful emporium dedicated exclusively to cigars. The Brooks Brothers-adorned salesman asked me, "Young Man, for whom is this cigar?" Determined to brazenly get through my mendacity I answered, "For my Grandfather, of course." Panicked as I looked at the seemingly endless sybaritic options arrayed in front of him, I blurted out, "Well of course, only your finest of cigars."

He then grabbed something from the shelf above and placed the panjandrum, which was a double corona wrapped in the darkest Maduro possible, on the tray before me. He asked, "Something similar to this?" My body was filled with relief. I nodded. While I admired his Peal loafers, he applied a guillotine to this Herculean limb with the same gusto as a rabbi giving Rocco Siffredi a bris. Mazel tov!

The second step in the two-step Gentlemen's Quarterly path to alpha masculinity is to smoke a cigar. After an hour, I slowly lowered myself into the hot, steaming bath, whimpering while I burned my sensitive nether regions. Finally, I settled in. In the magazine, it was suggested that I enjoy a cigar in a hot tub while sipping single malt whisky and reading my favorite novel. Because I didn't know what single-malt whiskey was, i poured a little of each brown liquor from my parents' drinks cabinet into a coffee cup. This vile mixture now sat beside me next to the well-creased Madame Bovary novel by my hero Gustave Flaubert.

"Huzzah! "Onwards to higher echelons in masculinity!" I thought, as my 12-year old self emerged Zarathustra like from the chrysalis my cigar. Like a Nietzschean Superman. "I shall soar with the eagles," I proclaimed as I took a sip of the repugnant cuvee, set flame to the Rubirosa-proportioned cheroot clenched precipitously between my molars and filled my embryonic lungs with a massive volume of smoke generated by what seemed like the totality of the Dominican Republic's gross national product. The effects were immediate. The effects were instantaneous. I vomited projectilely what I thought was every meal that I had eaten over the past six months. The room felt so violently spinning that I couldn't get out of the vomitus water.Oris Replica Watches I began hallucinating. After what seemed to be hours of struggle, finally I was able to fall to the ground, place my face on the cool tile that offered some relief, and quietly sob to myself. Zarathustra, I was not.

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