Why The Martini is the Greatest Drink Ever Poured
You, sir, want a martini. Not some cutesy cocktail with four kinds of flavored vodka. No, what you want is a martini, see? Because there's not enough wine in this gin, is why. Yeah, you want a martini -- the only thing God and Satan ever agreed on. It's a beautiful drink, clear and clean and cold and, in fact, I'm sipping one or four right now. Invented the day some genius turned to his enabler and said, "I shouldn't have to stop drinking to enjoy an olive." He later died of cirrhosis, but the point remains: Martinis!
You're welcome, America
And you'll save a fortune in embalming.
Now that the dirty hippies are dying and no one wants to acknowledge the country's doom, martinis are back in a big way. It's the perfect drink for unwinding at the end of the day or lunch or every waking moment you're trying to hold it together because she's never coming back. ... Jesus Christ.
Mother didn't drink martinis at parties. Father wouldn't permit it after the abortion.
They had olives. They had wine. You can't say for certain He didn't invent the martini.
Class is dignity in a room full of Ed Hardy. Class is that little voice in your head that says, "Look your wife's sister in the eye when you make love to her." Class knows the spot on a woman's neck to drive her wild, and the spot on a man's neck to knock him unconscious. Curiously, both leave hickeys. Don't question it. That wouldn't be classy.
You'll know it when you don't see it.
When you get drunk, that's sleazy. But when you're drunk on a martini, that's class. And when you're drinking martinis to silence your dark thoughts, enjoy your breakfast!
A steady gun hand is the only acceptable reason to water down a martini by shaking.
Mix 4 parts gin over 1 part vermouth in a glass of ice, then strain it like a dying relationship. Pour into a cocktail glass shaped like the breast of the woman you love, and cold like her eyes on the day she left. Add an olive or, if you must, a twist of lemon because you're a bad person. No classier method of obliterating your consciousness may be had. Enjoy!
A good starting point is some bureaucrat mowing your lawn while you're hard at work.
- It's anything other than a mixture of vermouth with gin or vodka.
Tuxedos help, but they're not everything when it comes to class.
I'd rather live in the era when women can brag about their sex lives. Not with me, obviously -- my injuries prevent me from romancing all but the most microwaved cantaloupes*-- but within my hearing so I know there's happiness in the world beyond chilled vermouth, good dogs, great steak and the relief of an early death.
Don Draper monsters through life like Fortune owes him a goodnight kiss.
Good memories persist because they're worth the effort. For the same reason, I elect to carry a classic martini in one clenched fist as I slog through the swamp of humanity. And you should, too. Lo, though the heavens themselves fall down upon your head, you will have a martini. Not for nostalgia. Not to heal the day. Not even for class itself. You drink it because you're a man and you want one. And when you get it, brother, that's a good martini.
The little hand is on "Now" and the big hand is on "Martini."
Martinis are good to the last drop, whereas memories are good till you get dropped.
Brendan McGinley writes manly comics and knows a few secrets about Don Draper.