As I sit myself here in my genuine calfskin setee and smoking jacket, puffing
away on my pre-1950 Dunhill (anything after that is so crude, middle class
really)
stuffed three-quarters to the top of the bowl with (the original) Rattray's,
and fondling my platinum tamper and gazing lovingly on my WWI-era trench
lighter, it behooves me to say how amusing this little group is...albeit quite
pedestrian.

My heavens, it is to laugh at times.  For example, yon bemoaning regarding
Escudo...why, any fool of sufficent education knew to fill his cellar with
these tins before they were discontinued.

And all of this praise of corn cobs....(excuse me whist I give my white Siamese
cat another dollop of heavy cream--there you are, Precious)...how very common.
This just goes to show the lowliest among us can still appreciate the pleasure
of smoking, albeit in a horrible container.  Mayhap we should start a fund to
get up enough for a pre-transition Barling for the poor souls?  Tsk.

I felt the need, gentlemen, to grace you with this missive to let you know
there are sophisitcates like myself who read this group. And how very lucky for
you; you are truly blessed, although not as much as myself, because I am
smoking a pre-1950 Dunhill.  If you will now excuse me, I now have to go wave
to the commoners from my balcony, with by pre-1950 Dunhill firmly clenched
twixt my teeth.

"Yes...I shall go down in history as the the man who opened a door!"
--Ever After (movie)
"He said he felt a longing...for home."
--last line of Star Trek: Voyager ep "Living Witness," on The Doctor
The Blender