The Cigar Lounge: Kinky Friedman and Cuban Cigars

The temperature gauge reads 93 degrees, and in the blazing Texas sunshine outside Carl's Corner truck stop near Dallas, about 100 people stand sweltering in the dusty gravel parking lot, waiting to celebrate the grand opening of a new biodiesel fuel plant partly owned by Willie Nelson. Most have dressed for the heat, but not Kinky Friedman. The man who aspires to be Texas's first independent governor since Sam Houston arrives looking like an outlaw cousin of Johnny Cash: a long-sleeved black shirt, alligator boots, a black cowboy hat and a leather fringe vest, which he proudly notes was a gift from Waylon Jennings.

"The governor has arrived!" Friedman booms. And with that, the best-selling mystery writer and former lead singer of the Texas Jewboys digs into his vest pocket, which is stuffed with Cuban cigars—fat Montecristo No. 2's, the same kind Fidel used to smoke. "It's gonna be a long day, so I came prepared," Friedman declares and lights up, oblivious to the barrage of no smoking signs plastered on the nearby fuel tanks.

In a state known for its cast of larger-than-life political personalities, Kinky Friedman may be the most eccentric Texan ever to throw his Stetson into the political ring. At the very least, he's the first Jewish cowboy to seek the governor's mansion and probably the only gubernatorial candidate in the country who boasts about never having held a real job. His campaign slogans: "Why the Hell Not?" and "How Hard Can It Be?" Wherever he goes, he spouts corny, populist one-liners that can make him seem like a thawed relic from another era—which, truth be told, he kind of is. "I'm for the little fellers," he exclaims, "not the Rockefellers!"
Friedman claims he's in the race because he needs the closet space, but the idea to run came after a near-death experience in Cabo San Lucas a few summers ago. Swept to sea by a wave, Kinky ended up stranded on a jagged cliff for more than 24 hours with nothing but a soggy cigar. His friends thought he had faked his own death, but Friedman had an epiphany. "I had achieved a lot of my dreams," he says in a serious tone. "And I decided that I wanted to see younger Texans have the chance to achieve their dreams, just like I did.

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