Cigar OCD?

[Boss Hog]

Cigar OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) ??

Lots of people suffer with this about a wide range of objects and in varying degrees.

How does this affect us and what little OCD traits do you display in relation to cigars.

Do you have to stack them a certain way in your humi? must they be by size or by A-Z by brand?

Do you have to open your humi and have a sniff every night?

Dont know if this counts but I have a certain routine, now that the nights are getting cooler, I'm allowed by the wife to smoke one off in the kitchen. after she's gone to bed.
This is ideal for me as this is my time. She doesnt like the aroma most of the time so she wont come back down into the kitchen.
I like to lay my tools out on the kitchen table like a surgeon would knives. (clippers, punch, lighter, expresso, cigar, ashtray etc) each in the same position as before.
Any one else have any strange rituals?

[big_Bear]

Well I always have a double espresso with my Montecristo No.5. It's odd, because I only do this with that cigar. Other than that I don't really have any quirks.

I'm not sure if that counts but please tell me what you think.

[PoohBore]

stored by brand in the humi, fondled daily and lusted after frequently!

[Paulie]

I would not go as far as to call it OCD, but I do enjoy the ritual of selecting a cigar and spending time checking every one the vitole I have decided on before choosing one to enjoy. Then I pick the cutter I will use and which lighter after that.

What is funny is the decision for which cigar I am going to have is pretty much instant, I decide to have one and pretty much know right away which it will be. After that is when things start taking time.

[bnelly]

I *need* to keep them in their original boxes. Even when I've only got a couple left in a box, I'm reluctant to send them the dreaded singles draw

[rokkitsci]

Not Sure What You Mean, BH

In the words of Siggie von Freudmeister: "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

I just grab any random stogie, clip it, fire it up, and consign it to its incendiary demise.

You won't catch me gazing longingly at my 11 humidori, debating which of my varnished beauties shall bring forth my seleccion du jour, Nope, not me.

Having made my choice from amongst the containment enclosures, never would you see me slowly, gently open the entrance to the object of my desire like a groom on his wedding night. Nope, not me.

Nor would you catch me dewy-eyed as I survey what lies within - each slim, lovely, vitola lying there waiting to give me pleasure. Nope, not me.

Never would you see the slightest tremble as my hand reaches out to gently extract the chosen favorite, removing it from the comforting embrace of its neighbo(u)rs. Nope, not me.

You won't see any goosebumps on my arms as I slowly, carefully, remove the cello sheath which has protected my chosen one, yet artfully displayed its virtues. Nope, not me.

No time to rotate this beauty, scanning for the least imperfection; no inclination to pass its length beneath my nose, inhaling its lusty fragrance. Nope, not me.

Listen hard yet you will not hear me softly murmuring words of reassurance explaining that the coming snip will be but a moment's surprise, a prelude to better things to come. Nope, not me.

Never a hesitation as I raise my cylindrical selection to my awaiting lips... ahhh... contact, at last. Nope, not me.

No quickening of pace as I fire up my torch and bring it into proximity of the beckoning foot. Nope, not me.

No elevation of the pulse as I rotate my prize, creating a mild vacuum, gently urging the flame to evenly redden the nether end. Nope, not me.

Finally, plumes of delight erupt as a result of my labo(u)rs! In the haze of success I am unaffected by the delirium of flavo(u)rs, odo(u)rs, tactile sensation. Nope, not me.

Just another smoke.

(Excuse me a moment, I need a few minutes of privacy.)

Cigar OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) ??

Lots of people suffer with this about a wide range of objects and in varying degrees.

How does this affect us and what little OCD traits do you display in relation to cigars.

[Lee Nub]

Are you sure you don't write soft porn novels rokkit , under a pen name?

[bnelly]

Thinking we need a "Prose of the Month" award

[HabanoSy]

Cheers, HabanoSy

[Stevieboy]

Jeez Rokkit-Man, this is quality stuff...you're beginning to sound like a slightly more lucid version of Bryan ....Dale? Can you introduce a "Prose of the Month" medal as Neill suggests? I second the proposal of R-Man


S

?

In the words of Siggie von Freudmeister: "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

I just grab any random stogie, clip it, fire it up, and consign it to its incendiary demise.

You won't catch me gazing longingly at my 11 humidori, debating which of my varnished beauties shall bring forth my seleccion du jour, Nope, not me.

Having made my choice from amongst the containment enclosures, never would you see me slowly, gently open the entrance to the object of my desire like a groom on his wedding night. Nope, not me.

Nor would you catch me dewy-eyed as I survey what lies within - each slim, lovely, vitola lying there waiting to give me pleasure. Nope, not me.

Never would you see the slightest tremble as my hand reaches out to gently extract the chosen favorite, removing it from the comforting embrace of its neighbo(u)rs. Nope, not me.

You won't see any goosebumps on my arms as I slowly, carefully, remove the cello sheath which has protected my chosen one, yet artfully displayed its virtues. Nope, not me.

No time to rotate this beauty, scanning for the least imperfection; no inclination to pass its length beneath my nose, inhaling its lusty fragrance. Nope, not me.

Listen hard yet you will not hear me softly murmuring words of reassurance explaining that the coming snip will be but a moment's surprise, a prelude to better things to come. Nope, not me.

Never a hesitation as I raise my cylindrical selection to my awaiting lips... ahhh... contact, at last. Nope, not me.

No quickening of pace as I fire up my torch and bring it into proximity of the beckoning foot. Nope, not me.

No elevation of the pulse as I rotate my prize, creating a mild vacuum, gently urging the flame to evenly redden the nether end. Nope, not me.

Finally, plumes of delight erupt as a result of my labo(u)rs! In the haze of success I am unaffected by the delirium of flavo(u)rs, odo(u)rs, tactile sensation. Nope, not me.

Just another smoke.

(Excuse me a moment, I need a few minutes of privacy.)

[cohibaIV]

In the words of Siggie von Freudmeister: "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

I just grab any random stogie, clip it, fire it up, and consign it to its incendiary demise.

You won't catch me gazing longingly at my 11 humidori, debating which of my varnished beauties shall bring forth my seleccion du jour, Nope, not me.

Having made my choice from amongst the containment enclosures, never would you see me slowly, gently open the entrance to the object of my desire like a groom on his wedding night. Nope, not me.

Nor would you catch me dewy-eyed as I survey what lies within - each slim, lovely, vitola lying there waiting to give me pleasure. Nope, not me.

Never would you see the slightest tremble as my hand reaches out to gently extract the chosen favorite, removing it from the comforting embrace of its neighbo(u)rs. Nope, not me.

You won't see any goosebumps on my arms as I slowly, carefully, remove the cello sheath which has protected my chosen one, yet artfully displayed its virtues. Nope, not me.

No time to rotate this beauty, scanning for the least imperfection; no inclination to pass its length beneath my nose, inhaling its lusty fragrance. Nope, not me.

Listen hard yet you will not hear me softly murmuring words of reassurance explaining that the coming snip will be but a moment's surprise, a prelude to better things to come. Nope, not me.

Never a hesitation as I raise my cylindrical selection to my awaiting lips... ahhh... contact, at last. Nope, not me.

No quickening of pace as I fire up my torch and bring it into proximity of the beckoning foot. Nope, not me.

No elevation of the pulse as I rotate my prize, creating a mild vacuum, gently urging the flame to evenly redden the nether end. Nope, not me.

Finally, plumes of delight erupt as a result of my labo(u)rs! In the haze of success I am unaffected by the delirium of flavo(u)rs, odo(u)rs, tactile sensation. Nope, not me.

Just another smoke.

(Excuse me a moment, I need a few minutes of privacy.)

LOL Liar.....Liar...

[snooky]

All said, an interesting point, essentially if you manifest OCD whilst smoking it aint working. I would prescribe a bigger cigar .

[cj121]

I read this when Boss first posted up and couldn't think of anything freaky enough to warrant making an addition, especially in light of Rokkit's 'denial' post

However, over the last few months I have developed a penchant for the butane equivalent of the three match lighting technique: ensuring the foot is well alight (giving it a gentle blow) and glowing before blowing through the head once to clear the decks. I've noticed that I start off with a circular technique, working inwards from the wrapper. Having an accurate flame does help and the XTend does the job admirably. Curiously, it does generally still take three attempts at getting the cigar combusting uniformly across the foot. Maybe that's psychological. Unlike the three match method, I punch the head prior to flame as I don't feel the butane imparts anything particularly nasty up the length of the stick as a match possibly might.

Then...the first draw

It's more time consuming, but a nice way to start off a brief, but intimate, liaison

[Robusto]

Rokk

More entry-level sex to toy with a porked-up mind

Very much in your style

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHFKE6PD_6U

[Robusto]

Apart from the usual sexual awakenings from the waft of a flapped humidor door, I have really taken to smoking below Christmas tree lights on my garden shack walls. My wife threw them up there when on a recent contractual smokehaus cleaning. As I exhale from my comfortable black leather seat, the brown clouds turn psychadelic as the daylight fades and the electrics take over.

Sometimes the light comforts me in childhood reverie.

Sometimes the Christmas lights remind me of that pertinent scene in 28 Days Later when the survivors are cooped up in a council towerblock, and the zombies scream and scramble over supermarket trolleys to climb the stairwells and gorge at innocent throats.

Maybe somebody will rush me in my hideaway smoke haven some day?