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The challenge isn't over for some, dammit. Keep sending them!

It’s a wonder if you get some

So let’s state facts. Some people are ugly, some people suck as people, some people are rude, some people have no table manners, and some people just have this funky aura around them that when you’re near them, your hands feel fried chicken greasy and no matter what you do, you can’t get your hands clean. When you take all these elements and combine them into one cohesive concoction of yuckiness, you so happen to get one very dear client we have right now.

The thing is that you want to understand so you stand back three feet… maybe an extra three or more feet, distance does wonders to mask bad breath, and you try and understand where this person went wrong. Because you give this person the benefit of the doubt until you get an email offering to go to the movies, which shows that maybe he/she is a bit lonelier than you originally believed.

When back shaving and corn grinding become weekend hobbies, you know you have a SERIOUS problem and it’s not to say that one shouldn’t hang out with a client, but not when things rarely if ever gel and you fight 97% of the time. So then begin the comments of who will be kind enough to give that person the sexual healing they so desperately need. Comments in regards to sexual orientation are a thing of the past and you get to the point where just nothing makes logical sense socially with this person.

And then it dawns upon you. This person might have once been nice. They might have once hung out and had a nice group of friends. Yes, they might have even gone to do things of a lascivious nature in the warm confines of a heart shaped Jacuzzi. But something happened. They became obsessed with their work. They got to spend most of their time reviewing notes, having lunch al desko and really, truly forgetting how to even enjoy life. They’ve become as drab, dull, boring and disgusting as their job and they want out.

That’s why I propose a rehab program for workaholic gnomes who’ve succumbed to the vices of living their work. A true twelve program designed to help out these unfortunates who’ve become detached with reality.

Step 1: Be absent. You have twelve sick days a year. Use them numnuts.

Step 2: Makeover. I don’t care if it’s queer eye for the straight guy sounding, but some of these people need to fucking review what they put on, because most times, the very outfit makes them even more assholeish.

Step 3: Drink. Call media people, get to a happy hour and wake up with a bad hangover and next to some raunchy person whom you made sure wasn’t STD porting.

Step 4: Buy sex toys and porn. If at first you don’t succeed, at least have an orgasm so we don’t have to put up with your bitchiness. Pocket pussies, dildos, butt plugs or mannequins are accepted.

Step 5: Karaoke. If people the world around can make fools of themselves. You can do the same. Try it, you might make some fans, or you might express that artistic energy you really don’t possess but desperately want to share.

Step 6: Cold-Stone/Starbucks/Kriskpy Kreme. Thrice a week will make you smile easier.

Step 7: Exercise. Do keggles in the car, push ups in your office. I don’t care just get that rust out of your bones. Too much rust accumulates and seeps into the loins, making you a shit lay and a tight ass.

Step 8: Buy a notebook and write stories expressing all the homicidal urges you have burning within. Hey stephen king did it, and look where it got him.

Step 9: Watch Emeril live while eating. You’ll laugh and I swear your shitty cooking will start tasting like what you see on the TV if you watch long enough.

Step 10: Get a booty call. Times are tough and it’s always good to have a set piece of ass that wants no commitments. You’re a busy man or woman and you’re trying to loosen. Relationships are way too advanced a way of being happy for you. Give it time and you’ll be able to get past the sexual aspect of a relationship and develop something we humans call feelings.

Step 11: DON’T EAT VANILLA ICE CREAM EVER AGAIN. Give your life some spice, try new things and only accept vanilla if a funky luscious cake goes along with it.

Step 12: Avoid E-Harmony. You need a real person not Sergei from Prague or Lana from Botswana.


Follow these steps and you should regain some type of normalcy eventually. If not, face a nice slow disgusting life enjoying Ricki Lake and Donahue reruns.

Crikey......

Ok. So Steve Irwin was a crazy Australian guy, who frolicked with alligators, probably finger banged a banshee or two, and possibly cock fenced with deadly cobras. That’s not to say he didn’t seem like a genuinely nice guy.

Thinking for a moment or two, I really can’t find anything negative to say about this guy. Was he whacky? Hell yes, but that’s not a bad thing. That’s why people watched and loved his show. He had this used car-salesman, meets Ronco, meets Captain Cave Man vibe to him all tossed in with a healthy dose of Jack-ass.

Was he foolish and is that why he died? I honestly don’t agree with this statement because everyone has said that his death was a freak accident that rarely if ever has happened and that he had an extraordinarily bad share of luck in this particular instance. But messing around with live crocodiles is no joke. Playing with venomous snakes and all types of wildlife is not something your average jerkoff knows how to do, and much less while entertaining millions and gaining widespread international exposure for your country. This guy had talent, knowledge, experience, and charisma. You wanted to buy this guy a beer; you wanted to hear his crazy stories and you wanted to one day meet him.

So with beer in hand and crock in heart, feel free to give a moment of silence and say … crikey.

Cheers mate. Never knew you but would have loved to.

Would you like a feces covered Louis Vitton?

First of all, for me it's stupid it is to buy stuff that is made out of logos. I tell this time and time again. If you really think you need to visibly wear an expensive brand, either the real thing or a copy of it, to let people know you are stylish... well, you suck. Personal style should be mandated by you, not what fucking Jessica Simpson is wearing this week. A couple of years ago the trend amongst women was having the obnoxious LV bag with the funny colored logo. If I see that bag again in my lifetime I will kill someone.

But this is not the reason why I write this post. There is something else, more disturbing than woman carrying this shit around. Today I was reminded of bathroom boutiques. You men might not know what this is about, so let me explain this weird as shit situation.

Picture this. You're a woman. Yup. You have boobs. Suddenly you have to go to the bathroom. A very public bathroom, I might add. Huge. With loads of stalls. Pick your number, I don't care. So you go, open the door... and what do you find? A bunch of women buying bags. What. The. Fuck? Did you stumble and open a door to a store at the mall? Nah. You found the latest stupid thing that has been sweeping the nation all around. Bag sales at bathrooms.

Oh yes! I really need to buy a stupid Coach bag, knock off of course, with that special scent of urine. Can I have the matching money bag with feces bacteria on it as well? What happened to common sense? A bathroom is supposed to be a place where you leave as soon as you can. Can I really enjoy shopping while there is that wonderful sound of peeing right next to me? I think this is one of the stupidest things I have ever seen in my life.

I know that there are hundreds of women busting their ass trying to make a living. Most of them don't have the cash flow to open a store. I understand that. You have to sometimes make ends meet. But please, move it to somewhere else. Try your car, try your house. Don't come in my ad agency's bathroom and ram a Guess bag up my ass. Let me do my business and leave me alone. Besides. The bathroom, loaded with women I really don't know is not the place to spend all my hard earned money.

I'd love to see a men's bathroom with somekind of sale in it. Come in, pee, and get the latest 5 iron for your golf days! 15% off if you wash your hands! I can picture their faces now. The sales dude would be dead in less than a minute.

Come on people. Come on.

Prayer for Fickle Fuckhead

Some clients suck. Some clients blow.
This we most certainly know.
Of fickle nature and weak resolve,
Of wasting time and playing golf.

For Fickle fuckheads clients are,
Fickle fuckheads near and far.
Piss me off they can’t decide,
So pretty please use spermicide.

Don’t procreate, procrastinate,
Or better yet just masturbate,
Don’t bust a nut so you can spawn,
More fickle fuckheads to be born.

Take your time no please don’t worry,
It’s not like you were in such hurries.
Just leave my balls, don’t even think,
Of busting, bashing, or leaving pink.

For if you ask if something stinks,
I’ll show just how we’re at the brink,
Of going mad and going postal,
Of slicing, dicing, every morsel.

So next time fickle fuckheads call,
Just say that they can suck your balls,
Or maybe best to dance a ballad,
Eat your ass and toss your salad.

Heeeeeeeeere's Suri!

Here's the latest Sciento... the latest baby from the Cruise klan.

Who the fuck cares? We like Brad's better. At least he will believe in normal stuff, dammit.

Hm. I like the name, though. Reminds me of someone cool...

If you ever needed a reason

If you have not seen “Thank You for Smoking”, you are doing yourself a disservice. Having said that I must clarify one thing, I hate lobbyists. I hate what they stand for; I hate what they do; and I hate that they make so much money by being such sniveling shits. Having said THAT, I have to admit that Nick Naylor (Aaron Eckhart) is one of my favorite characters in a long time. I don’t mean comedic characters; I mean characters in general. To get a frame of reference, imagine Entourage’s Ari meets Mr. Robinson.

If this is a true slice of life or not, I don’t care. It’s entertaining, intelligently written and extremely well acted in a “fuck you / no nonsense” kind of way. It truly challenges you to either be morally unbiased or shut the hell up, and I like that. There are various points touched in this movie that I think deserve discussing over. Mainly though I think you should pan back for a second and try and recognize just exactly when a smoker became today’s most despised suicidal murderer ever to pollute the planet. It happened a while back when it became hip to hate smokers and love hybrids. It came when spritzers went out and wheat grass came in. It came when we began to buy each and every square inch of our bullshit ridden righteous property we so insist on renting to everyone. And I think the movie, apart from providing one hell of a fun time, puts you in a position where you should really question each and every moral faux pas you so deliciously condemn.

Regardless if this inspires a genuine internal monologue with your undersexed inner child, it’s a great flick. So by all means, light up your mind with one of the most awkwardly wonderful movies to come out in a long time.

Danger, Will Robinson

I have been noticing that I have a little problem where I work. Nope. Not an AE. Not an assholish Creative Director. Not even, (prepare to gasp) a stupid client. It is not as bad, but still, dangerous.

It's the Tv.

Where I work there is a bitching TV set with great sound. It even has cable. Dare I say... it even has a TiVo connected to it. And the thing is, the motherfucker is affecting our work. Big time. For over two weeks now. It's addictive. And in the cigarrettes kind of bad way sort of thing. Lord, help me.

I come every single day and I say, today I will finish the presentation. Today I will start on the job that has been sitting there for almost a week. I start up my computer. Load my fonts. Open the artwork. Then... a voice tells me... did you see the last episode of Celebrity Poker Showdown? Tv, on. Ok, just this show. Besides, work can be done while watching the Tv, right? Yes, right. Then my partner fiddles around with the remote control and finds America's Funniest Videos. Ok, then that show as well.

Hours go by, and nothing. South Park. Dirty Jobs. The news. RAW. MTV. Vh1. Shit. Work. Client calls. Can you move the presentation for a week? I have... my mom needs... an operation and... well, um... I have to run to her... house and get some clothes, yes, clothes. So... I will be very busy (TiVo clicking in the background).

Granted, watching TV helps while working. We get to see every commercial there is, and we know what the competition is doing. In fact, in all my years of working in advertising, this is the first time I know every single commercial out there. But still, it is a danger having it around.

Beware, my friends. It is powerful. It is dangerous. And the batteries on the remote can last way more than you think.

Lord. Help. Me.

Would you rather be here?

Ed writes: "Let’s go on an art director/copywriter career vacation. To a place where even the secretaries are millionaires…where creative input isn’t just encouraged, it’s demanded…where people who kill good ideas out of jealousy or infighting are summarily dismissed."

You must mean that we all die and go to heaven, dude.

Joker's Ad

Way Too Funny

Mazel Tov!