Or, he could be secretly poisoning his cue with a lethal curare. Note how his back is turned to his opponent and he looks so sneaky.
Or he may not be looking at the table at all, but at the other gentleman's junk, imagining what he's going to do to him once he gets him alone and the lady has gone upstairs.
But one thing's for sure. It won't go in the direction of the lady joining in the game. Since this is 1957, and this ad appeared in Esquire magazine, "The Magazine for
That was 1957. Since then, society has corrected this overt sexism in advertising. Now, every man appearing in a commercial with a woman is, by necessity, a lovable buffoon who doesn't know how to use a computer, change a diaper, scramble eggs, or metabolize carbohydrates without the tolerant assistance of the female character to straighten him out.
If this ad were to appear next week in a major publication, the woman would be operating the cue, and the man would have a pancake stuck to the side of his face, be on fire, and would have lost a finger, because, you know, that afternoon he tried to make a salad. The other man would simply be dead, lying next to a pile of his own viscera, having attempted to use TurboTax without the supervision of his wife. What an adorable bunch of lunkheads we are.
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