Summer is, next to spring, Mr. Debonair’s favorite season. That is because it is the perfect time to indulge one’s Sense of Whimsy.
You know what a Sense of Whimsy is, don’t you? Of course you do.
SWMBO has one.
Velociman has one.
And Mr. Debonair has one, too. A Sense of Whimsy, coupled with an unerring ability to spot the latest fashion trends...and shit all over them.
Behold: Martini Madness!
![Martini Madness](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_vP4HVCyGcp20Op_1s2Bu45h4EKxC-QBLxu-nHWX1IIEzbrWGVxiPjQOVoh8DkawXyi7HhbiHtYRKnmv39PXuCaHbh-PLDsYPdvm2cHOqtBwXv2ptnYQ5jD4ljvcy74DpR8kggGlThmrmdhwvZu7BRTqGK5XA=s0-d)
Mr. Debonair models his Martini Madness Slacks.
You really cannot appreciate these Fine Pantaloons unless you check ’em out up close:
![Martini Madness detail](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_thwRhwNbl3d0hPH9kYb5jba_lebC5NuXRdN476ygutJa66pjWizsZcUbpUgrmPyWZW0wAhQSXwGgCzxPy6gZXOWcGVyFbJUnTUGnhRqQBHhRul4agFJYybacvxLSHwRI5AvN-3-xsfMVJ0q4avVpaZpEc2W9BqNWbsHQ=s0-d)
Little cocktail shakers and Martini glasses!
Perfect for a few holes of golf down at the Country Club, or for tippling after tennis, these impressive machine-embroidered pants - made in some sweaty, God-forsaken country like Indonesia where a Martini is but a distant pipe-dream fantasy to the impoverished factory serfs who produce them - come with an official Letter of Commendation from the Republican National Committee.
Admit it. You want a pair, don’t you? Sure you do.
Mr. Debonair knows.
You know what a Sense of Whimsy is, don’t you? Of course you do.
SWMBO has one.
Velociman has one.
And Mr. Debonair has one, too. A Sense of Whimsy, coupled with an unerring ability to spot the latest fashion trends...and shit all over them.
Behold: Martini Madness!
Mr. Debonair models his Martini Madness Slacks.
You really cannot appreciate these Fine Pantaloons unless you check ’em out up close:
Little cocktail shakers and Martini glasses!
Perfect for a few holes of golf down at the Country Club, or for tippling after tennis, these impressive machine-embroidered pants - made in some sweaty, God-forsaken country like Indonesia where a Martini is but a distant pipe-dream fantasy to the impoverished factory serfs who produce them - come with an official Letter of Commendation from the Republican National Committee.
Admit it. You want a pair, don’t you? Sure you do.
Mr. Debonair knows.
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