Geez. Anybody else seeing some desperate woman with a hubby that's a little too fond of the drink, or those other devil-tonics, and her only recourse is to slip a little health-o-matic brew (alcohol based joy juice) in his favorite libation while she and the young'ins read the bible and hope the night sweats and demonic possession goes away without needing leeches?! Just me? Oh, okay, riiight. #advertising
"G.T., with your nose so bright,
Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?
Oh how the big hacks loved him,
As they shouted out with glee:
G.T. the Red-Nose Drunkard
You'll Go Down in His-tooooo-reeee!"
He looks surprised to be alive. I caught the tail end of that era of when I started out in the seventies. People still had bars in their offices or, if they didn't have offices, bottles in their desks. There was one massive party at a large venue in Manhattan to celebrate my company's anniversary. The party began at 9:30 in the morning and so did the drinking; both went on till after midnight. To give you something of the flavor, the VP of Ad Sales made his entrance riding an elephant. Oh, and there were hot dogs!
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
10/28/09
Hm, yes. Rather. #advertising
09/29/09
Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?
Oh how the big hacks loved him,
As they shouted out with glee:
G.T. the Red-Nose Drunkard
You'll Go Down in His-tooooo-reeee!"
09/29/09
09/29/09
09/29/09
Twice the opportunity to spin outsize sports metaphors!
09/29/09
09/29/09