"I recoil from the consumption of whisky which is advertised as being “light.” The presumption implicit in this approach is that somehow a “light” whisky is better than a “heavy” whisky, but to my perverse thinking it suggests a cheap, ineffective, flavorless and underproof product that all right-minded whisky drinkers should reject.
I want my whisky strong, boozy, potent, full-bodied and of irreproachable proof, the sort that used to be consumed by heavily mustached men in cast-iron derby hats with good solid watch chains across prosperous stomachs. Whisky for Americans ought to be the sort that eats holes in the carpet if you spill it."
Time was, within the memory of living man, when a beard lent a man a certain distinction and was an object of general approval and esteem in the community. It was eminently masculine and carried with it professional implications or associations with an older and generally more commendable social order.
Today the estate of the beard has sunk to almost unplumbed depths. It has become the identifying badge of the self-proclaimed wierdy, the ineffectual intellectual, the oriflamme of creeps, and a mangy badge of discontent and contamination. Young men with a grievance against something feel that growing a peculiar growth on the face proclaims them to be rebels in a just cause, but generally speaking, the growing of whiskers is viewed with suspicion or explicit contempt. The beard is the badge of the out, the witless, and the frustrated, who can imagine no more valid expression of revolt than defiance of the code of personal sanitation. A brief survey of the types on the street you see wearing beards reveals a sublimation of everything you don’t want to be seen with."
“Things are a lot more like they used to be than they are now.”
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