Matt Weiner wanted a little reality check for those Mad Men fans who thought I was just a lovable rogue.
Plus, I did it at home with shoe polish and the missus just laughed and laughed.
As an added bonus when I smooched her it looked like she had a tiny bit of poo on her face.
Did you ever get three sheets to the wind and try that thing on?
Like Grace Kelly swallowed a basketball.
You’re the only one around here who doesn’t have that stupid look on your face.
What’s wrong with getting good and drunk? Your kind with your gloomy thoughts and your worries, you’re all busy licking some imaginary wound. My generation, we drink because it’s good, because it feels better than unbuttoning your collar, because we deserve it.
[Editor’s note: This advice can be applied to a number of questions]
They don’t always get our inflection.
Stolichnaya vodka and Cuban cigars — I shipped them back from my trip to Greece. I should have sent a pound of opium.
Help yourself. Not the Stoli.
Play paddleball, loudly, in your office with the door closed. No one will know what you’re doing — it will add to the mystique.
Let your eyes glaze over while you listen to her gauzy memories of the biggest day of her life. Later, hire a high-class prostitute, pay her double to kiss on the mouth, and take her out to dinner afterwards at Lutece.
Don’t you love the chase? Sometimes it doesn’t work out, those are the stakes. But when it does work out, it’s like having that first cigarette: Head gets all dizzy, your heart pounds, knees go weak. Remember that?
Old business is just old business.
Throw him a token sum, watch a wave of pathetic gratitude wash across his gormless mug, and send him back to the salt mines, ignorant of the knowledge that you spend the equivalent of his yearly salary on a week’s worth of hookers and vodka.
And make a point of not remembering his name the next time you see him.
He knows what that nut means to Utz and what Utz means to us.
The kind where everybody has a summer house.
He’ll be fine.
