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December 22, 2006


When is a cigar not just a cigar?

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Stacy: In Good Hands

“Look…” Hicks pointed at the monitor. “See the shape the waveform is taking?”

Jurvis peered at the 3-D image on the screen. “What is that…a twinkie?”

“Nah, it looks more like a cigar. You know what this means…”

Jurvis ran a shaky hand through his hair.

“It means we’re dead,” he said matter-of-factly. “When it reaches critical, it’ll tear the planet apart.”

“How long do we have?”

“A year. Maybe less.”

A muffled voice filtered through the door, “Boys, lunch is ready!”

Hicks flipped off the computer.

“Don’t worry, Timmy, we’ll solve it before the end of summer vacation.”

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Jeff R.:It's a Boy!

In the 60's, the CIA tried to assassinate Fidel Castro repeatedly using gimmicked cigars as their weapon: exploding cigars, poisoned cigars, cigars treated with chemicals to make his beard fall out.

All of these attempts failed, the cigars intercepted by Cuba's security teams, who then stored them in a warehouse in Havana.

Later on, when the Russian economic aid stopped flowing, the Cubans sold everything that wasn't nailed down, often not checking the records beforehand.

And that's why Ralph Romera's party celebrating the birth of his first son goes down in history as the worst disaster ever in Canterfield, Indiana.

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Jim: The Stakeout

Detective Perkins squeezed through the door. “Has it gone down yet?” he asked while his eyesight adjusted to the low lighting.

“Not yet, sir,” Officer Smith replied. “He’s been in the restaurant for about twenty minutes now.”

Perkins picked up the binoculars. Across the street, Don Dino Vincuzzi set a napkin down on his plate and selected a cigar from the proffered humidor.

“Here we go, sir,” Smith whispered while the waiter lifted a match to the Don’s stogie.

Suddenly the cigar exploded, blasting ashes across the startled Don’s face.

“That’s even funnier than last week’s dribble glass,” Perkins giggled.

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