Damn. Some days you just have to go whip yourself up a fabulous martini. You know the kind of days I’m talking about. Boss man is riding your ass like you’re his Shetland pony. Wife is nagging so badly you think she’s ready for the glue bucket. Even your dog thinks you’re a world-class horse’s ass!
Wait, what am I talking about? I don’t have a boss. I don’t have a wife. I don’t even have a dog. And what’s with all the horse shit? I don’t know. But I thought a martini was a really good idea so now I’ve had two and the day’s just a colt. Man, again with the horses. I must have been dreaming about Susan Candiotti again.
Something elegant embodies the fabulous martini. Not so much the crappy-where-did-this-God-awful-excuse-for-a-drink-come-from martini. I don’t drink martinis all the time so I like them once in awhile. You know, absence makes the heart grow fonder. What a bunch of bullshit, by the way. Sorry I am being so coarse today. Deal with it! Actually I am not really having a bad day. I’ve been working on some projects for which I might receive real U.S. currency rather than the Confederate money I’ve been trying to pass off. NOT REALLY! You treasury agents out there need to lighten up! You also need some exclamation points! Here !!!!! I can’t give you very much. But I certainly can spare some exclamation points!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So do we need to rehash this well-worn debate over shaken-not-stirred martinis or stirred-and-stirred-some-more martinis? Because I’m open to discussion. I’m a reasonable man. I’ll be happy to try it either way. But first you’ve got to guess which way I’ve made my martinis. Am I shakin’ all over or am I stir crazy. I type, you decide.