|The Monopoly Man looks like a jerk|
I've never wanted to kiss a guy smoking a cigar. Ever. You know who smokes cigars? Overweight suburban neighbors named Bob, golf pros, and semi-successful bankers who want people to think that they're very successful. Your best friend's father smokes cigars, so do drunk frat guys who want to appear sophisticated while they stand around drinking beers out of red Solo cups.
You know what these men have in common? I'm completely uninterested in touching them in any sort of romantic scenario. Unless he's Bill Murray and he's crashing a backyard pool party/ croquet match/ badminton tournament, he should put the damn cigar away. (Bill Murray can do whatever the fuck he wants.)
I feel like smoking a cigar is supposed to connotate wealth, but it's a poor choice. It's not as bad as smoking a pipe (that's still reserved for Philosophy majors and part-time bards) but it's pretty damn close. And, if he chooses to light it up around me, I'm gonna rip it out of his hands and crush it under my foot like how Hot Sandy did it to her cigarette at the end of Grease. "Tell me about it, stud!" - Me, to him when he's like, "What the fuck?" because I just smashed his cigar and I'm trying to live out my fantasy of being Hot Sandy so I'm gonna stay in character a little longer. Fuck his cigar in it's big, fat, smoky face!