I think we need to invent our “Jim Thompson”’s fictional biography. Flesh him out a bit. I’ll start:
“When Jim was just a boy of 5, he lied about his age on his enlistment papers, so that he could go fight the Red Menace in North Korea. Though he was decorated for his valorous service, which included downing a Chinese-piloted Mig with his service rifle, the experience left him a changed man. A man with a taste for single malt whisky and fine cigars.”
Dos Equis patterned their spokesman after Jim Thompson.
Oh, their free Ken heads would explode.
LOL
Wiki Punk’d...
After returning to his home in Fresno, California, Jim's mother insisted he finish the 3rd grade, much to Jim's chagrin, because he had other ideas.
That cute little next door neighbor named Betty; aw, yes, sweet, sweet Betty was now on Jim's mind.
First things first though, so, with lunch pail in hand, Jim went off to finish 3rd grade.
I know Jim Thompson.
And I know Jim Thompson never drank a single malt whiskey.
Ten or twelve, maybe, but a single...pffft!
But Jim Robinson had a sordid past. Even the Foreign Legion had rejected him.
He didn’t want to leave kindergarten at age five, but he had been kicked out to the cruel street. As a bad influence on the others. On the innocent dupes left in his wake to be coddled by the government machine, then squeezed between the government cogs of inhuman despair and agony.