SamClemmons
eloquent absurdity
- Joined
- Dec 6, 2001
- Messages
- 2,923
This is something from another board in a galaxy far, far away and since Leebo would like to see it again I thought I'd give it to him. Right up the ol'....
Joseph Manthing, Esq., Cigar Snob's Snob
Cigar Detective
There he is, nose held high, index finger wrapped lightly around a cigar with pinky finger delicately extended, free hand placed strategically upon his hip with fingers pointing back and elbow out, each finger of Both hands decorated with finely etched golden rings. He walks lightly, his body turning from side to side with each step, lips pursed, the large, sensitive brown eyes slightly lidded as fine, blue smoke curls sensuously around his head and perfectly coifed hair. He is a vision; a wonder to behold. Other men shrink from his gaze and despair while their women clutch their hands together at their breasts and swoon.
He is, Monsieur Joseph Manthing, Esq., the cigar snob's snob.
Cutnshoot
Joseph Manthing, Esq., the Cigar Snob's Snob and part time Cigar Detective and his buxom assistant Beaux Lee have arrived in the sleepy town of Cutnshoot, Tennessee (not to be confused with the town of the same name in Texas) in search of the elusive "Yellow Cello Counterfeiter". This fiend is responsible for producing yellowed wrappers in which terribly young cigars are inserted and sold as "fine, aged, pre-embargo Cuban Cigars". Parking his aging but serviceable Ford Pinto at the curb, Joseph steps out into the street, his finely stitched Ostrich skin pointy toed boots gleaming in the hazy Tennessee sun.
"Let's get something to eat, Beaux, I am positively famished", Joseph said while checking his hair in the window of the finest culinary establishment in Cutnshoot. It's name, "EATS" was painted across the window and he had to stoop slightly for a better view of himself.
"In there?" Beaux said in disbelief while allowing her long blonde hair to fall fetchingly across one eye.
"Well...", Joseph began but was stopped abruptly as his small, and quite effeminate cell phone began to chirp gaily.
"Joseph Manthing, Esquire," he purred into the receiver, "At your..."
"Yeah, yeah, shut up! I've heard all that crap a thousand times, just shut up!," growled an angry voice.
"Is that you, Sir?" Joseph whined tremulously.
"It's Doc Rod, you whack do I sound like your mother? Where the hell are you, you've got to come back right away."
"Come back? We just arrived here (he pronounced the word he-ah) and we was just about to wrap ourselves around some breakfast", Joseph said in his best southern drawl which wasn't very good.
"Why're you talking that way? What the hell's wrong with you?" Doc Rod shouted into the phone.
"I'm undercover," Joseph whispered conspiratorily into the receiver, "I'm trying to blend."
"BLEND!" Doc Rod shouted, "You look like a damned fruit for Christ's sake. You'll be lucky if they don't kill you. Oh Jeez, where's my pills...where's the damned pills?"
"Sir, I'm sure I don't know where your pills might be. I..."
"I'm not talking to you, you nut job!", Doc Rod shouted, "You've got to come back to Arcadia right away. I've got a serious problem with my Humadorium."
"What's that?" Joseph whined.
"It's a room where I keep my cigars at 70 degrees and 70 percent humidity, but that's not important right now. I've been burgaled. Someone has broken into the Humadorium and stolen my last six cases of Swisher Sweets. I love those things but if anyone finds out where they came from, I'll be ruined and so will you. GET ME?"
"We'll leave right away, Sir. Right away",
"And bring that dingbat Beaux Lee with you. I've got something I need to show her." "Click."
Arcadia
"Where in hell have you been, Manthing?" Doc Rod growled into his intercom.
"Well, Sir, we haven't exactly been bad, well, not good either, we've..." Joseph began.
"Shut up you Putz! Where have you been?" Doc Rod continued to growl.
"Well, Sir. Tennessee and West Virginia mostly."
"What the hell were you doing in West Virginia? I told you to return here immediately ten days ago."
"Uh, Well...Sir...I was following a Tennessee State Trooper named Byron most of the time...and" "Let me get this straight, you bag of mush. You've been following a Tennessee police officer for nearly ten days?"
"That's right, Sir. His name was Byron, Sir."
"Okay, okay...Why were you following this...um...er...Byron person?"
"Well Sir, because he took Beaux Lee and ran away with her."
"Wait a minute!" Doc Rod screamed at the intercom, "Why the hell did he kidnap Beaux?"
"Ah, Sir, he didn't exactly kidnap her. After he finished writing me a ticket for speeding, he noticed Beaux was soaking wet, and well, he sort of took custody of her."
"You got a speeding ticket in a 1972 Ford Pinto? Why was Beaux wet, you indecipherable Knob?" Doc Rod screamed.
"We were low on cash, Sir, and...well...we passed this bar with a sign that said, Wet T..."
"Shut up you Twit, I'll kill you if you say another word. I don't want to know. Why didn't Beaux just get out of...uh...Byron's car?"
"She...seemed to be busy, Sir. I mean, most of the time I couldn't see her...you know...they seemed to be very busy...I..."
"YOU WHAT? I..." Doc Rod bellowed.
"Sir, could you just buzz us in? A crowd is beginning to gather out here and..."
"GET UP HERE IMMEDIATELY!"
Bzzzzzzzzt, Beaux Lee swung the door open.
"Do you think he's mad? He sounded mad. I think he's mad. Do you think he's..."
"Shut up you slut" Joseph hissed through gritted teeth.
Joseph and Beaux were shown into the questionably appointed condominium on the thirty first floor of the "Le Grand de la Dia" in an exclusive section of Arcadia.. The butler instructed them to remove their shoes and after ensuring that our fair duo did so, requested that they put them back on. It having been nearly two weeks since either of them had bathed this is not a terribly surprising development. Doc Rod was sitting forward at his desk as they entered, glaring at a computer screen and chomping busily on the severely ravaged remnant of a cigar. Behind him, on the door of his humidorium, a neon sign flashed "Doc Rods Digs" relentlessly in purple. Doc Rod, having acquired money late in his life, had spent his cash as only a person born to a lower station can. That is, lavishly and without discrimination. His tastes were bad, yes, but as with any other disgustingly rich lowbrow, none of his associates would ever say so. Thus, the "Doc Rods Digs" sign, the red chintz curtains, the lime green super shag rug, and the army surplus furniture remained undisturbed by any semblance of taste. His wife of one point five years was merely after his stash of cigars and tolerated the lack of...say...anything resembling continuity in the furnishing of the condo while doing her best to keep his med pump filled with morphine and a cigar in his mouth at all times. She often wondered what had kept him going all this time, but having considered this question at length, found no reasonable explanation for it. She was patient and sure that at some point, time would heal her particular wound.
To be continued...
Joseph Manthing, Esq., Cigar Snob's Snob
Cigar Detective
There he is, nose held high, index finger wrapped lightly around a cigar with pinky finger delicately extended, free hand placed strategically upon his hip with fingers pointing back and elbow out, each finger of Both hands decorated with finely etched golden rings. He walks lightly, his body turning from side to side with each step, lips pursed, the large, sensitive brown eyes slightly lidded as fine, blue smoke curls sensuously around his head and perfectly coifed hair. He is a vision; a wonder to behold. Other men shrink from his gaze and despair while their women clutch their hands together at their breasts and swoon.
He is, Monsieur Joseph Manthing, Esq., the cigar snob's snob.
Cutnshoot
Joseph Manthing, Esq., the Cigar Snob's Snob and part time Cigar Detective and his buxom assistant Beaux Lee have arrived in the sleepy town of Cutnshoot, Tennessee (not to be confused with the town of the same name in Texas) in search of the elusive "Yellow Cello Counterfeiter". This fiend is responsible for producing yellowed wrappers in which terribly young cigars are inserted and sold as "fine, aged, pre-embargo Cuban Cigars". Parking his aging but serviceable Ford Pinto at the curb, Joseph steps out into the street, his finely stitched Ostrich skin pointy toed boots gleaming in the hazy Tennessee sun.
"Let's get something to eat, Beaux, I am positively famished", Joseph said while checking his hair in the window of the finest culinary establishment in Cutnshoot. It's name, "EATS" was painted across the window and he had to stoop slightly for a better view of himself.
"In there?" Beaux said in disbelief while allowing her long blonde hair to fall fetchingly across one eye.
"Well...", Joseph began but was stopped abruptly as his small, and quite effeminate cell phone began to chirp gaily.
"Joseph Manthing, Esquire," he purred into the receiver, "At your..."
"Yeah, yeah, shut up! I've heard all that crap a thousand times, just shut up!," growled an angry voice.
"Is that you, Sir?" Joseph whined tremulously.
"It's Doc Rod, you whack do I sound like your mother? Where the hell are you, you've got to come back right away."
"Come back? We just arrived here (he pronounced the word he-ah) and we was just about to wrap ourselves around some breakfast", Joseph said in his best southern drawl which wasn't very good.
"Why're you talking that way? What the hell's wrong with you?" Doc Rod shouted into the phone.
"I'm undercover," Joseph whispered conspiratorily into the receiver, "I'm trying to blend."
"BLEND!" Doc Rod shouted, "You look like a damned fruit for Christ's sake. You'll be lucky if they don't kill you. Oh Jeez, where's my pills...where's the damned pills?"
"Sir, I'm sure I don't know where your pills might be. I..."
"I'm not talking to you, you nut job!", Doc Rod shouted, "You've got to come back to Arcadia right away. I've got a serious problem with my Humadorium."
"What's that?" Joseph whined.
"It's a room where I keep my cigars at 70 degrees and 70 percent humidity, but that's not important right now. I've been burgaled. Someone has broken into the Humadorium and stolen my last six cases of Swisher Sweets. I love those things but if anyone finds out where they came from, I'll be ruined and so will you. GET ME?"
"We'll leave right away, Sir. Right away",
"And bring that dingbat Beaux Lee with you. I've got something I need to show her." "Click."
Arcadia
"Where in hell have you been, Manthing?" Doc Rod growled into his intercom.
"Well, Sir, we haven't exactly been bad, well, not good either, we've..." Joseph began.
"Shut up you Putz! Where have you been?" Doc Rod continued to growl.
"Well, Sir. Tennessee and West Virginia mostly."
"What the hell were you doing in West Virginia? I told you to return here immediately ten days ago."
"Uh, Well...Sir...I was following a Tennessee State Trooper named Byron most of the time...and" "Let me get this straight, you bag of mush. You've been following a Tennessee police officer for nearly ten days?"
"That's right, Sir. His name was Byron, Sir."
"Okay, okay...Why were you following this...um...er...Byron person?"
"Well Sir, because he took Beaux Lee and ran away with her."
"Wait a minute!" Doc Rod screamed at the intercom, "Why the hell did he kidnap Beaux?"
"Ah, Sir, he didn't exactly kidnap her. After he finished writing me a ticket for speeding, he noticed Beaux was soaking wet, and well, he sort of took custody of her."
"You got a speeding ticket in a 1972 Ford Pinto? Why was Beaux wet, you indecipherable Knob?" Doc Rod screamed.
"We were low on cash, Sir, and...well...we passed this bar with a sign that said, Wet T..."
"Shut up you Twit, I'll kill you if you say another word. I don't want to know. Why didn't Beaux just get out of...uh...Byron's car?"
"She...seemed to be busy, Sir. I mean, most of the time I couldn't see her...you know...they seemed to be very busy...I..."
"YOU WHAT? I..." Doc Rod bellowed.
"Sir, could you just buzz us in? A crowd is beginning to gather out here and..."
"GET UP HERE IMMEDIATELY!"
Bzzzzzzzzt, Beaux Lee swung the door open.
"Do you think he's mad? He sounded mad. I think he's mad. Do you think he's..."
"Shut up you slut" Joseph hissed through gritted teeth.
Joseph and Beaux were shown into the questionably appointed condominium on the thirty first floor of the "Le Grand de la Dia" in an exclusive section of Arcadia.. The butler instructed them to remove their shoes and after ensuring that our fair duo did so, requested that they put them back on. It having been nearly two weeks since either of them had bathed this is not a terribly surprising development. Doc Rod was sitting forward at his desk as they entered, glaring at a computer screen and chomping busily on the severely ravaged remnant of a cigar. Behind him, on the door of his humidorium, a neon sign flashed "Doc Rods Digs" relentlessly in purple. Doc Rod, having acquired money late in his life, had spent his cash as only a person born to a lower station can. That is, lavishly and without discrimination. His tastes were bad, yes, but as with any other disgustingly rich lowbrow, none of his associates would ever say so. Thus, the "Doc Rods Digs" sign, the red chintz curtains, the lime green super shag rug, and the army surplus furniture remained undisturbed by any semblance of taste. His wife of one point five years was merely after his stash of cigars and tolerated the lack of...say...anything resembling continuity in the furnishing of the condo while doing her best to keep his med pump filled with morphine and a cigar in his mouth at all times. She often wondered what had kept him going all this time, but having considered this question at length, found no reasonable explanation for it. She was patient and sure that at some point, time would heal her particular wound.
To be continued...