"I have come here to chew bubblegum and make ads … and I'm all out of bubblegum.”

I am a man, a good-looking man. An intellectual athlete. A man with a fantastic posture and a voice that makes Christian Bale in Batman sound like a robin. I'm cooler than James Bond. I never order a martini. All that shaking and stirring. I ask for a Lagavulin 16, and I skip the ice. My mind is sharper than the new Gillette Mach 7 razor, and I'm the only person "the most interesting man in the world" would find interesting. Picture a young Christopher Walken walking down the street to the beat of Fat bottomed girls performed live by The Queen, and add that sparkling sensation of watching Michael Jordan from court-side seats in the finals of 91. I'm all you dream of. The nightmare you imagine when your wife tells you about her new coworker, and all you hope for when your daughter announces that it's time that you meet her boyfriend, although, in this case, it would be her manfriend. If you're asking yourself, what kind of a car do I drive, you're asking the wrong question. Instead, you should ask, what car does my chauffeur drive? And even if you are not religious, you can believe in me.

My wife thinks this description is slightly exaggerated, especially the part where I write about myself. 

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