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... I must offer an apology to you fecking Limey people.
As long as I've been on this bloody forum, I keep reading these sycophantic reviews singing the praises of the Partag?s, Serie D, No. 4: My "Go To" cigar; Better than sex; Like a party in your mouth.
It got to the point where I couldn't stand it any more. Had to get me some o' these majikal stoughies. So I endeavoured to obtain some of these aforementioned smokeables by offering to purchase or barter them from you folks over there ----> on that side of the puddle. Managed to lay my hands on a few sticks over time and let them rest in my Cubador (CC humidor).
So, the time came to actually fire one of these Blessed Ones and indeed that's exactly what I did. Nice smoke. But where were the fireworks? The voices of the angels?
Okay, sez I, could've got me a plain old one instead of the mythical experience I was expecting. We'll try again another time.
Welp, another time came and once again I endeavoured to obtain nirvana.
And failed.
Now, don't get me wrong. It was a nice smoke and I thoroughly enjoyed it. But I just couldn't figure out what all the brouhaha was all about. I mean... it wasn't like getting a hum job from Consuela or as thrilling as seeing how far up your nose you can insert one o' them plastic Eiffel Tower souvenirs.
So, I just wrote it off as one of them Brit snobberies about CC's being so superior. You know... kind of like that fetish you all seem to exhibit about your obsession with the Queen Mum's underdrawers.
Time passeth.
The lavish tongue baths about the D4 continue.
Welp, last night, I gaze longingly at my assemblage of humidorii, waiting for inspiration. It is a beautiful evening with temps in the low 70's (that's about 22-23 of your Celestial degrees), the humidity quite comfy around perfect seegar range (70-ish %), and a lurvely breeze wafting through my smoking place on the back porch carrying scents of budding flowers. Mine eyes are drawn to the Cubador. But which of my delectables to select? A yummy Cohiba? An always reliable HdM? But wait! What do I espy over there in that corner, underneath an array of miscellaneous smaller gauge stoogies? It's that familiar red band. And it seems to be calling to me.
What the hell.
It's an okay smoke.
Settle in to my comfy chair, light my comfort candle, fire up the ol' iPod, and toast the foot of my D4.
Hmmm... odd. Smells pretty good. Don't remember them being that pleasantly pungent previously.
Puff, puff, puff.
Hmmm... odd. Smoother and creamier than I remember them being before.
Puff some more.
I'm pleased. The first third of this fellow was quite satisfactory and I'm getting to the middle part. Flavours are changing.
Hmmm... odd. Rather tasty, actually.
Set the D4 down and rush into the Man Cave inside to check my stogie database.
Interesting. I'd smoked three D4's previously and been underwhelmed. However, all three had been relatively young. This particular stick had been languishing in my Cubador (under ideal conditions, if you happen to be a cigar) for almost a year-and-a-half, after having been cared for previously by one of you for I don't know how long under I don't know what circumstances in that abominable excuse you people have for weather.
Race back to my smoking lair. Party boy has been languishing for at least five minutes. Puff, puff, puff. Still smouldering nicely and offering me billows of lurvely smoke. Exquisite smoke, actually. Definitely has that characteristic Cuban barnyard earthiness, but it's overlaid with something almost floral, yet rich and oh-so-smooth. There's definitely a party going on in my mouth now.
As this fine fellow burns down towards my fingers, I don't want to put it down so I insert a trusty toothpick about half an inch from the end and continue to puff until finally getting the minuscule stub barely into the ashtray before the toothpick burnt off.
Yum.
So my profoundest apologies to you D4 advocates and also to the D4 itself. Had I been but more patient, I would have had a proper D4 experience from the start.
I am now officially a member of the Partag?s, Serie D, No. 4 fan club.
As long as I've been on this bloody forum, I keep reading these sycophantic reviews singing the praises of the Partag?s, Serie D, No. 4: My "Go To" cigar; Better than sex; Like a party in your mouth.
It got to the point where I couldn't stand it any more. Had to get me some o' these majikal stoughies. So I endeavoured to obtain some of these aforementioned smokeables by offering to purchase or barter them from you folks over there ----> on that side of the puddle. Managed to lay my hands on a few sticks over time and let them rest in my Cubador (CC humidor).
So, the time came to actually fire one of these Blessed Ones and indeed that's exactly what I did. Nice smoke. But where were the fireworks? The voices of the angels?
Okay, sez I, could've got me a plain old one instead of the mythical experience I was expecting. We'll try again another time.
Welp, another time came and once again I endeavoured to obtain nirvana.
And failed.
Now, don't get me wrong. It was a nice smoke and I thoroughly enjoyed it. But I just couldn't figure out what all the brouhaha was all about. I mean... it wasn't like getting a hum job from Consuela or as thrilling as seeing how far up your nose you can insert one o' them plastic Eiffel Tower souvenirs.
So, I just wrote it off as one of them Brit snobberies about CC's being so superior. You know... kind of like that fetish you all seem to exhibit about your obsession with the Queen Mum's underdrawers.
Time passeth.
The lavish tongue baths about the D4 continue.
Welp, last night, I gaze longingly at my assemblage of humidorii, waiting for inspiration. It is a beautiful evening with temps in the low 70's (that's about 22-23 of your Celestial degrees), the humidity quite comfy around perfect seegar range (70-ish %), and a lurvely breeze wafting through my smoking place on the back porch carrying scents of budding flowers. Mine eyes are drawn to the Cubador. But which of my delectables to select? A yummy Cohiba? An always reliable HdM? But wait! What do I espy over there in that corner, underneath an array of miscellaneous smaller gauge stoogies? It's that familiar red band. And it seems to be calling to me.
What the hell.
It's an okay smoke.
Settle in to my comfy chair, light my comfort candle, fire up the ol' iPod, and toast the foot of my D4.
Hmmm... odd. Smells pretty good. Don't remember them being that pleasantly pungent previously.
Puff, puff, puff.
Hmmm... odd. Smoother and creamier than I remember them being before.
Puff some more.
I'm pleased. The first third of this fellow was quite satisfactory and I'm getting to the middle part. Flavours are changing.
Hmmm... odd. Rather tasty, actually.
Set the D4 down and rush into the Man Cave inside to check my stogie database.
Interesting. I'd smoked three D4's previously and been underwhelmed. However, all three had been relatively young. This particular stick had been languishing in my Cubador (under ideal conditions, if you happen to be a cigar) for almost a year-and-a-half, after having been cared for previously by one of you for I don't know how long under I don't know what circumstances in that abominable excuse you people have for weather.
Race back to my smoking lair. Party boy has been languishing for at least five minutes. Puff, puff, puff. Still smouldering nicely and offering me billows of lurvely smoke. Exquisite smoke, actually. Definitely has that characteristic Cuban barnyard earthiness, but it's overlaid with something almost floral, yet rich and oh-so-smooth. There's definitely a party going on in my mouth now.
As this fine fellow burns down towards my fingers, I don't want to put it down so I insert a trusty toothpick about half an inch from the end and continue to puff until finally getting the minuscule stub barely into the ashtray before the toothpick burnt off.
Yum.
So my profoundest apologies to you D4 advocates and also to the D4 itself. Had I been but more patient, I would have had a proper D4 experience from the start.
I am now officially a member of the Partag?s, Serie D, No. 4 fan club.
As always, an entertaining read. 
The so-called PD4 is for pus
es, IMO!
real man
and 18 years or older.
don TJ and the 
Coros
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