To. Tobacco hater
Man, I can’t stand Red Tobacco. That scent doesn’t just enter a room—it clears it out like it pays rent. You spray that stuff thinking it’s sexy, but nah, it’s just secondhand smoke in a fancy bottle. You walk out smelling like an ashtray dipped in cinnamon, acting like you found some niche luxury when really you probably grabbed it off a sketchy online group for half price. Mancera? More like Man, spare us. You wear Red Tobacco like you just discovered oud and never moved past the tester counter. You think it’s mysterious? Nah, it smells like you’re hiding unpaid debts and bad decisions behind a fog of clove and lies. And the worst part? You couldn’t even afford the full bottle—dabbin’ samples like cologne’s rationed. Bro’s out here glazing Red Tobacco like it’s a grail, but really, it’s Santa Claus chain-smoking through Christmas Eve. But hey, do you. Some of us just prefer not to smell like a shisha lounge with trust issues.