Esquire, Esquire, Esquire. Normally, we love you. You write well, you generally have humorous things to say, and you certainly try much harder than your younger brothers, Details and Maxim, to encourage men to be relatively decent and mature human beings.
But if you ever presented us with a bottle of Skinnygirl Margarita, know that we would slap it out of your hand and turn our backs on you so fast, you wouldn’t even have time to whip out your cell phone and take a picture for your blog of how hot grown women look when we’re irate.
And yet, you run this article? In which you tell the reader that “your girlfriend” is drinking something that tastes like nasty melted faux-sugar into which a dog has snorted?
Instead, we’d like you to consider giving us any one of the following beverages, for your sake and ours:
- A bottle of Laphroaig.
- A bottle of Jameson.
- If we really want margaritas, how about a dildo-shaped bottle of AsomBroso (two birds, one stone)?
- A bottle of red wine that you can’t afford. (We won’t really know the difference, but a Playboy bunny told us to let you know right off the bat if we’re high maintenance.)
- A bottle-shaped card apologizing for the whole Skinnygirl thing.