Cordarounds Announces Romantic Spokesman for Women
October 08, 2007 |
Dear Ladies,
When you wipe up a spill with a Brawny paper towel, who do you think of? A rugged and intriguing woodsman, of course.
Take a drag off your Marlboro, and does your mind’s eye not wander to a stark, beautiful dreamscape, where a handsome cowboy pauses to survey the infinite horizon before lighting another cigarette and calling softly to his four-legged charges?
And each time you spread a luxuriously smooth lump of McCorkle’s Meat Paste on a saltine cracker, your pulse must surely quicken at the sight of Uncle Beefly, whose toothless mouth and meat paste-drizzled beard graces every can.
Please, take a moment to sigh heavily and wipe the perspiration from your forehead.
At Cordarounds, we recognized the need for an icon of dashing, unbridled masculinity as a spokesman for our new line of corduroy skirts. And after an exhaustive search that took us from the opium dens of Phnom Penh to the pages of the Abercrombie and Fitch catalog and back again, we found our man.
Lazenby!
He is a mysterious character, this Lazenby, riding his horse through the fog-shrouded streets of San Francisco. Women swoon and ruffians flee at the mere mention of his name. He is a legendary lover, we are told, and also volunteers at an animal shelter. He can cook gourmet meals and is equally adept at fisticuffs. He is everything a woman desires, and so much more.
It should also be mentioned that he loves the new Cordarounds skirt. To this end, we recently received a brief missive from Lazenby, penned in flawless calligraphy:
What is a skirt, dear sirs, but an elegant interruption of my inevitable caress upon a fair maiden’s soft, milky thighs? No cloth, horizontal or otherwise, is a match for the lightning-quick hands of Lazenby! But if there must be even a shred of a thread ensconcing the lap of a lovely lass -- an obstruction and obfuscation that brings a sporting smile to the lips of Lazenby -- then I say the foiling fabric should conspire to form nothing less than a Cordarounds skirt! As I ride hither and thither through the mist and darkness of the city, women turn their heads at the clippity-clop, clippity-clop of my steed, and they swoon at the sight of Lazenby -- if they are so lucky to see more than his shadow! And, it must be admitted, when they are clad in a skirt of horizontal corduroy, they reach out with arms unseen to tug at the heart and loins of Lazenby. And he must ride -- quickly now! -- lest the siren song sung by these skirts puts an end to his wandering ways.
Oh, Lazenby!
When you wipe up a spill with a Brawny paper towel, who do you think of? A rugged and intriguing woodsman, of course.Take a drag off your Marlboro, and does your mind’s eye not wander to a stark, beautiful dreamscape, where a handsome cowboy pauses to survey the infinite horizon before lighting another cigarette and calling softly to his four-legged charges?
And each time you spread a luxuriously smooth lump of McCorkle’s Meat Paste on a saltine cracker, your pulse must surely quicken at the sight of Uncle Beefly, whose toothless mouth and meat paste-drizzled beard graces every can.
Please, take a moment to sigh heavily and wipe the perspiration from your forehead.
At Cordarounds, we recognized the need for an icon of dashing, unbridled masculinity as a spokesman for our new line of corduroy skirts. And after an exhaustive search that took us from the opium dens of Phnom Penh to the pages of the Abercrombie and Fitch catalog and back again, we found our man.
Lazenby!
He is a mysterious character, this Lazenby, riding his horse through the fog-shrouded streets of San Francisco. Women swoon and ruffians flee at the mere mention of his name. He is a legendary lover, we are told, and also volunteers at an animal shelter. He can cook gourmet meals and is equally adept at fisticuffs. He is everything a woman desires, and so much more.
It should also be mentioned that he loves the new Cordarounds skirt. To this end, we recently received a brief missive from Lazenby, penned in flawless calligraphy:
What is a skirt, dear sirs, but an elegant interruption of my inevitable caress upon a fair maiden’s soft, milky thighs? No cloth, horizontal or otherwise, is a match for the lightning-quick hands of Lazenby! But if there must be even a shred of a thread ensconcing the lap of a lovely lass -- an obstruction and obfuscation that brings a sporting smile to the lips of Lazenby -- then I say the foiling fabric should conspire to form nothing less than a Cordarounds skirt! As I ride hither and thither through the mist and darkness of the city, women turn their heads at the clippity-clop, clippity-clop of my steed, and they swoon at the sight of Lazenby -- if they are so lucky to see more than his shadow! And, it must be admitted, when they are clad in a skirt of horizontal corduroy, they reach out with arms unseen to tug at the heart and loins of Lazenby. And he must ride -- quickly now! -- lest the siren song sung by these skirts puts an end to his wandering ways.
Oh, Lazenby!
