A Smokey Pokey Christmas

by James Leavey

There we were, Guy Hancock and I, hanging the Havanas on the Christmas tree in the speakeasie that nobody can tell you where without our killing them, somewhere in the heart of Dublin.

'Jaysus, James,' said our man from the DCE, 'watch where you're putting those Double Coronas...they're supposed to be hanging from the lower branches so we can stick the Petit Coronas at the top.'

'Guy, that lethal DCE Yuletide punch must be getting to you,' I barked back.  'Tell you what, let's smoke a couple of these fuckers and start again.'

'Fair play, Seamus, you mad bugger,' responded Dublin's unofficial Tobacco Ambassador to and from Cuba. 'Now what the fuck did we do with the cutters and lighters?'

'Bloody hell, we've wrapped them up and they're somewhere in that enormous pile of presents under the soddin' tree.'

'Ah, God help us and save us, we'll be here until the New Year before we can light up for Christmas!'

'How about we get some of that The Wild Geese Irish liquid gold down us, before we start again, Guy?'

'All four?'

'Is the Pope a Catholic...'

Pop went the corks, glug glug glug glug went the four whiskies - into the waiting virgin glasses.

'Slainte, Seamus.'

'Ditto, Guy, and may your cigars never need relighting...Hold on, what's this I've sat on?  A plastic anti-smoking fairy from ASH... It must be some non-smoking fuckers' idea of a joke!'

'Where do you want it, Seamus, my man,' said the Guy, who had already drained all four glasses and was looking happy and seasonal if a trifle unsteady.

'I think we should shove the Christmas tree right up its arse, Guy.'

'With, or without, the KY?'

'Oh, I think this cheap plastic representation of the ignorant blinkered pompous bullying over-exaggerating little shits who have given such a hard time to all of our cigar comrades – and us - should get the full seasonal experience.   What a shame the twat who designed it isn't here to join in the fun.

'Now, as the Aussie foreplay expert would say: “Bend over and brace yourself, Sheila”...'

'And a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to one and all, especially all our fellow cigar lovers,' said Guy, somewhat muffled.

'Ditto, Guy.  Guy? Guy? Where are you?'

'Under the presents, under the tree.  I've found the hic! cutters...'