Fighting Kokk

As a judge on the tax court in Puerto Rico, Grandpa got a buttload of cash under the table, which he laundered via a dairy he owned on the other side of the island near Coamo. Beside the milking barn was a large pen where the cows unloaded their own buttloads before getting milked. By the time rainy season hit, all this cow splat would be four foot deep. Because this was Puerto Rico, they'd wait until rainy season, cows sinking to their bellies, and fence knee high before they figured it was time to bring up the front loader and get busy. What I'm trying to get to is, there was this greenish slurry that dribbled from under the dump truck gate.

So. I yanked a Fighting Kok (forum software doesn't like if I spell it korektly) cigar out of Rain's pass because I am apparently retarded. It took me a long time to identify the odor of this thing unlit.



Not bad looking. I really like the band. Two big jet black spots. Firm pack, firm draw, don't smell it.

In all fairness, I must admit that once I lit Fighting Kok up, the experience improved from slurry to that green cake that forms underneath your lawnmower.

I have smoked some rank chit. This is the first cigar I trashed before the first ash.