The other day I was riding up the escalator to the main floor of our big local mall (since it has a good grocery store, several tasty restaurants with pointing-friendly menus, and a Starbucks, I spend a lot of time there), and as I moved upward a sign that said Johnnie Walker appeared in my field of vision, which meant that some sort of Johnnie Walker-based event was taking place in the center of the mall. While not quite as good as dancing bikini models, it still seemed promising. After all, one day I had stumbled upon a Bailey's tent that had a bar serving free shots of Baileys, so I figured good old Johnnie might be doing the same. And after all, who doesn't need a shot of red- or maybe black-label whiskey on their way to lunch at eleven-thirty in the morning? (No one, that's who!)
Alas, I was disappointed, because it turned out to be nothing more than a big revolving platform to show off a Formula One racing car, which is barely a step-up from NASCAR--Formula One is like NASCAR's older brother who went to college, while NASCAR dropped out of high school when he was sixteen because he was huffing too much gasoline. (Or, "saying Formula One is better than NASCAR is like saying N'Sync is better than the Backstreet Boys. Either way, it's all crap." Take your pick.)
Anyway, here's the car itself, which may or may not be driven by someone named "Juan Pablo." Or maybe someone who just really likes Juan Pablo--I have no idea.
And here are the Johnnie Walker girls--not sure how they are related to Juan Pablo--who were apparently hired to stand around the car smiling at the people walking by. Works for me, anyway.
Some people were so excited by Juan's car, that they wanted their picture taken with it.
Other people--AKA males--opted to get their picture taken with the car AND the Johnnie Walker girls. Seems like a smart move, as far as I'm concerned, and I'm not biased in any way. No way at all.
Maybe it's just me, but the Johnnie Walker girl just doesn't look that excited about having her picture taken with this guy, does she? Imagine that ...