Well… September 23rd came and went. No trumpets. No flaming sky-horses. No ascension of Karen from accounting. Just you, me, and the crippling realization that Netflix still wants $19.99 this month. So instead of floating off in robes, we remain. Survivors. Warriors of the humidor. And what do survivors do? They spark up five smokes chosen to mock the apocalypse that ghosted us like an old Tinder flame.

Warped – Devil’s Hand: If you shook hands with Beelzebub himself and he was wearing satin gloves marinated in cocoa and pepper, this is the handshake you’d remember.

Black Label Trading – Santa Muerte: The saint of death didn’t RSVP to the Rapture, but she showed up to the afterparty with this cigar as her plus-one.

Hermanos De Armas – Descending Shadows: Darkness didn’t descend. It just lingered awkwardly in the corner like your uncle at a wedding. Thankfully, this stick brings the shadows to your palate in style.

Dapper – La Madrina Habano: The godmother of all “don’t worry, baby, mama’s got you” cigars. Smooth but with enough backbone to remind you that life post-non-rapture still requires cojones.

Alex Glez – G.A.O.T.U Apprentice: Because if the “Greatest Architect of the Universe” called in sick, at least his apprentice showed up with a box of cigars and the blueprints for keeping us lit.

So here we are, still earthbound, still owing bills, still smoking glorious leaf. The world didn’t end, but your excuses did. Light these up and celebrate surviving the Rapture that never RSVP’d.