Is there any one who could possibly meet our nation's most pressing demand? Is there any one out there who can just make us feel good again?

Yes! His name is Jon Hamm you may recognize from the the trillion of subway ads you've been seeing. Bless the thoughtful souls of AMC marketing who are revving up their full throttle promotion for Mad Men's third season premiere (only 33 more days!) Not only are they clearing the fetid air with Hamm's scent of masculine perfection (Sandalwood? Coolwater?) but they're trying to stimulate our economy!

First to the retailers! Banana Republic will be premiering a line of " 'Mad Men' Inspired clothes line. Think sharp suits, wide skirts and scotch-guarded collars to protect from the lip stains left by lonesome hussies. Do you think BR will sell Jon Hamm's undershirts as novelty items? Do you think I can get one? Do you think Jon Hamm reads Gawker? Does he know I'M SINGLE?

Next up, the print business! Variety invites you to 'Relive the 1960's' . Sponsored by Mad Men, the trade has scanned and archived some of the big Hollywood headlines from The Old time. Ah, remember the the Old Time? When men like Don Draper could buy a car, a house, an apartment for his mistress without fear of mortgage meltdown and a Jackson family reality TV show?

But it doesn't stop there! No, Jon Hamm is even reviving the integrity of American Baseball! No more of this beefy divas dopped up on goofballs! No! Just a man with a strong jaw, a firm set of hands, a numbing sense of alienation and despair brought on by the post-war paradigm, and a basic cable show, playing some ball. Ladies and gentlemen: JON MOTHERFUCKIN' HAMM.

Video via Hamm Enthuiast and all around great gal Lindsay Robertson.

Earlier: Longtime 'Interview' Editor Ingrid Sischy Out At Magazine

A subjective look at Chodorow's restaurants reveal what can only be termed a cohesive plan to be able to execute any diner at any time. The 5-pound fish looming menacingly at Wild Salmon; the swords (SWORDS!) at Kobe Club. These are less design elements and more assassination mechanisms. But perhaps the most compelling argument has to do less with what is at his restaurants and more about who is at his restaurants.

It was at Choad's remarkably infernal Kobe Club that a union of the most unholy kind transpired. As we mentioned earlier, under impending impalement, this was where Ron Burkle, Bill Clinton and Oxycontin-posterboy Rush Limbaugh canoodled this week. More appropriately, a close reading of the interaction reveals that Clinton was actually cock-blocking Limbaugh as he tried to throw it in some lady. Of course, Kobe Club is where Limbaugh would take a date!

I was with the woman who poked me at dinner last Thursday night in Palm Beach...She was treating me like a wife, and we're not even married. I just met her that day....That's when she poked me. I liked her poking me even though we're not married, because we're not married and she couldn't do anything about it.

I'm looking at this woman, talking to her. She's looking at me, not aware of anything else going on in the restaurant, and all of a sudden I become aware of a looming presence at the table. ..This looming presence, I look up, and, golly, if it isn't former President Bill Clinton....The lady I was with had to excuse herself to go to the restroom, and at that point four or five people in the restaurant came over and wanted pictures and autographs and this sort of stuff. When my guest came back those other people then stopped coming over...There is no "rest of the story." What kind of rest of the story do you think there would be? There is no rest of the story. No, no, no, no, no.