Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Regularly Scheduled Programming.

Oh, I didn’t see you there.

How are you going? You’re in my living room because I haven’t posted in a while?

You are wondering where I am?

You were worried?

That’s so sw…. Oh, no right I lured you here with candy and false promises.

Ah, well. You’re here now.

It has been a while, I know. Since my last post (saying I’d have more time to post, oops) much has happened. 

But for now I feel as though I need to make, at least a few more, excuses before we can go on and truly reconnect.

After leaving advertising I also left Auckland, running away because a) it was fun and b) as much as I want a ‘real job’ not having one is more fun.

Why then, I hear you ask, if you have been having so much fun have you not updated us all. Why have we not been able to be amused by your witticisms and jokes, your cynical and misinformed view on world events?

Well, in advertising I thought, “Look at me, this creativity I have pent up is marvellous, when I can focus it on something, other than creating brilliant ads, I can point my hot sticky beam of creativity at the internet creating the funniest thing since lol cats.”

Unfortunately, as in the case with me, I needed that pressure and stress to be able to do anything remotely creative.  It was the random sparks from creating ads that left me with something to talk to you about. The half finished thoughts and stupid random questions that made me want to write.

But here, or anywhere since I left advertising I haven’t had that stress and that spark to write. So, I have set my self the challenge of getting a more intellectually fulfilling job and to write more, for you.

And then people of the Internet we shall, together, create something so great, so powerful even the mighty might of the internet will not be able to contain us.

Because if I can change, and you can change, then maybe the whole damn world can change!

Ladies and Gentlemen, with no further ado, We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming, “The Whole Thing Stinks.”

Cue applause and fireworks.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Advertising's loss is probably your loss as well.

That’s right fair readers; I have left my no pay internship.

I leave full of hopes for adventure and riches.

I will probably receive neither, but that is here nor there (nor anywhere for that matter, so stop badgering me about it!).

So my dearest reader (yes, you! None of my other readers are as special to me as you are. You are the one I think about when I write these blogs. You are the one I think about in that final moment before I drift off to sleep. I… I think I... love you, fair reader), I feel as though I will have more time to post or at least, think about posting before probably deciding what I have written is complete drivel and find myself driven to push those dreaded keys, ctrl and A, then delete it all, never to be rescued (if you ignore the saving grace of ctrl Z, the saver of lost work, the shining white knight of the clumsy).

So to the point of this short yet, as I feel, punchy, gripping, overly self-indulgent and in the end, pointless post...

I hope to be seeing more of you all (especially you, but do tell your friends to visit too, the more the merrier after all) and with any luck all of this free time will turn my posts into mini novels comparable to Fitzgerald or Doyle.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

If You're Lost You Can Look And You Will Find Me.

It has been brought to my attention, by my proof reading team (picked up a few more cheap from News of the World (current events joke, check.)) that this post is apparently sad. That was not my intention. Therefore if you would not like a sad post go back and read a funny one, like the one where the Wiggles touched me, or one that proves that stumble upon does work and got heaps of views over the weekend.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Have you ever been through a horrible break up?

I have recently, but it was no ordinary break up. No this was no mere girlfriend. This was worse.

I feel as though I’m sitting the kids down at the table to tell them mummy and daddy won’t be living in the same house.

My art-director Hugh and I are *bites fist in an over-dramatic way* seeing other people, creatively.

He is becoming a suit. Hopefully one of the good ones.

And I am holding steadfast to the idea that I am a copywriter and I'll be damned if you try make me do something else.

But not before I do all the best clichéd break-up activities.

I must sit on a couch eating rapidly melting ice cream, whilst listening to Cyndi Lauper's “Time After Time” and watching “He’s Just Not Into You”. Crying throughout, of course, and wailing what might be the lyrics to the aforementioned Cyndi Lauper song, or perhaps the words “He just isn’t that into me”, or even just having a wail for the sake of it because you know, why not, I have nothing else to live for, especially not my dignity.

What am I going to do now then, you ask? Well, I feel as though I’m going to run away for a little while. Visit friends I have all over the country and (if you're willing to donate me some money) the world.

People from my old life will see me walking the streets of some small New Zealand town. I will have on a fake moustache. You’ll have forgotten my name and I’ll have forgotten it too. You’ll call out to me but I will have walked into a toffee shop and by the time you kick through the door I’ll be gone.

Was I really there? You’ll never know.

Later you’ll be by a lake and see my reflection in the water behind you, on for you to turn and find that I'm gone.

Then, later on the bus, I will sit across from you. You’ll look at me, wondering if I truly am the who you think I am, or just another extremely handsome stranger. My fake moustache will come unstuck slightly. No one else will notice, but you did and now you know. It truly is me.

Then, after a very long and difficult conversation, you’ll talk me into coming back for one last ad.

But I swore I was done with that life.

And then there will be some bad sequels that I’ll refuse to act in. I’ll develop a drug habit. Date some porn stars. Start a warlock on World of Warcraft. Finally, Ashton Kutcher’ll replace me.

Either that or in a week I will get bored of being unemployed and go out looking for a job.

Yeah. I think I might do that.

So to everyone that works in the industry, keep your eyes and ears out for me.

P.S Remember to hit those like buttons below, tell your friends and follow me. Remember when I have enough loyal followers we'll buy an island and go live there. 

Adam Martin is a copywriter that lives in Auckland. He has been working in the industry for 6 months and would love to come show you his work. He has no problems relocating especially if it's to New York or London.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

It Was The Best Of Times It Was The Blurst Of Times.

You all know me as a great entrepreneur, right?

I mean, I’m not just that. I am a copywriter, a friend, a human being, a brother, son. I can do anything, I’m pretty much the whole package. If you ignore my inability to deliver packages, that is.

But back to my original point - More ways to make money, for you and for me and the entire human race. Primarily me, but I do require an outsider's investment, which may be blown on hookers and blow, mainly because I want to be some sort of entrepreneurial rock star. Think CEO Slash or Business Correspondent Mick Jagger.

So the idea; “One thousand monkeys sitting at one thousand typewriters will eventually recreate the works of Shakespeare.”

Look at them, they need jobs too.
The recession hit the jungle just like it hit the rest of the world.

Let's hire those fucking monkeys! Shakespeare’s complete works sells for $60 as far as I can tell on the Internet. Bananas cost between 1-6 dollars a kilo and we'll give the monkeys clothes, smokes and tea, to keep them motivated and to keep myself amused.

So we get 1001 monkeys and 1000 typewriters. The one extra monkey will be my secretary. I shall call her Rose.

There may be some training required, but I imagine through Pavlovian conditioning we can get these monkeys typing my books at quite a rate.

It may only need to be a limited release, because everyone will want books typed out by my monkeys, the pages smeared with projectile monkey shit (old Pete and Davey never get along, always throwing shit between cubicles) and banana.

Order now!

Also, because I never do but probably should, remember to A) hit all the buttons I have all over this blog B)to follow me and C) comment (please, tell me how brilliant my idea is despite me already knowing it's genius) and D) tell your friends so we can expand the republic of Adam (when we get enough followers we'll buy an island and all live together in peace and harmony).

Friday, June 24, 2011

I It Love So Much That It Pisses Me Off.

You're probably a very level headed person aren’t you?

I am sure you are. So am I really. Except for my one true love; the rant.

This passion of mine comes in handy on the regular,  because when I am pissed my ability to easily complain anything and everything usually makes me feel much better (or ocassionally, like a dirty whore in need of a scrub down and a weep whilst curled into the fetal positionat the bottom of the shower).

There is, however, one problem with the love of ranting, well apart from no one wanting to talk to you because you complain a lot,  people constantly having to tell you to shut the hell up, and the same people possibly hitting you with a nearby book or failing that, flinging a wheelie chair across the office at high velocity (true story).

The true problem occurs when everything is going so well you have nothing to rant about. On those rare days, I sit in my office yelling things like ‘GODDAMN IT THIS COFFEE IS DELICIOUS’ and “THAT SOUNDS LIKE A COOL BRIEF, AND YOU'RE OFFERING ME ALCOHOL AT THE BRIEFING. BRILLIANT! JUST FUCKING BRILLIANT!”

It’s a tough way to live, I am not going to lie.

You start thinking up cool insults like, “Talking to you is even less entertaining that giving a Cornish game hen a roofie and feeding it chicken bacon” (in the vain hope that it will go crazy, or even better, form some sort of giant super chicken, duh), and “That idea is worse than The Situation and Gilberg Godfrey telling jokes about Lisa Lampanelli” (The Situation because he isn’t very funny, and ol' Gil cause goddamn I hate his voice. Either way, the way Comedy Central roasts are written, the joke would be about Lisa’s love of African American penis).

Anyway, it's Friday, which means that I get to go drink the agency's booze (because I get paid nothing as an intern- look forward to that blog in the future), and I will see you all next week.

Hopefully I may have some good news for you all as well, stay tuned.

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Poseidon's Wrath: A Tale of Triumph.

I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking, 'Adam, after you came up with such a brilliant plan to single-handedly take over the economy with a few strategically placed products, you must have slept the rest of the weekend, or perhaps risked imploding the universe with awesome'.

Well you, my reader and closest of friends, would be wrong.

As Sunday morning broke I awakened, at the crack of ten.

With the grasss being frost-tipped outside, bed seemed to be the safest place for me. But I thought, “I am no coward. Tethered not shall I be to the shackles of my bed.” Then I realized I had fallen asleep with some Shakespearean era movie playing and started to speak normally once more.

You see, my dad was northward at a surfing competition named the Frostbite Classic. It was quite cool to go to because all the boards had to be made before 1960, so they looked amazing, with the downfall being that the water was freezing, and by the time I got there the surf was all but minimal.

So in a bid to kill time until the tide came in, which would in turn hopefully improve the surf (Spoiler Alert: it did), Dad and I travelled to our holiday home, which we rent out to the general public and because of this results in us often being greeted upon arrival by some interesting scenes. Previously we arrived to find the biggest knife in the house taped to the bottom of  a chair, the only reasonable explanation (or at least the only one I will accept) is that there was a some sort of poker game being played for the ultimate prize, people's lives. I realize now that is probably a more interesting story, but we have begun now and once I get going there is no stopping me.

This time we were greeted with a sight far worse than any other. It looked like a pterodactyl had a seizure in the fridge and then proceeded to lactate everywhere. The table was smeared with a substance unidentifiable to the human eye, and I can only safely assume it was either class A pharmaceuticals or some sort of other worldly sex fluid. I was not impressed.

Either way I won the surf contest.

Monday, June 20, 2011

A Get Rich Quick Scheme That Is Too Brilliant To Fail

I finally figured it out.

The way I can become a millionaire without resorting to diamond theft/ multi-level marketing.

It all started on Saturday night (insert memory transition sequence here). I was talking to a lovely young lady at a bar, wearing my newly acquired frames. Because I am new to the world of glasses I took them off, and was holding them so to prevent forming a transparent glass barrier between me and whomever it was I chatting to.

 For the record, I got my glasses about two or three weeks ago and the idea of something resting on my face all day just doesn't agree with me. Don’t get me wrong, they don’t look bad it's just annoying having them there constantly (although they definitely do make me look like I’d be better at calculus or could tell you the first 100 digits of Pi or even be able to beat pretty much everyone I know at a Simpsons trivia contest - though one of those things may be true).

So after a while of me experimenting with various methods of glasses storage, ranging from on the table (where I was scared they would be lost/stolen/broken), in my pocket, on my head, on her head, to hanging them on the edge of my glass (although I'll admit that was mostly for comic effect). It was then that we tapped into an idea, an idea so brilliant that someone has thought of it before, but A) that someone is probably dead and B) I will rebrand it to be cool.

The plan: Those strappy things that let your glasses hang down by your chest.

I know what you're thinking - 'Adam, they were never cool, ever. BOOM!'. I simply rebut this with 'then why does my granddad have one?' (Oh snap).

What I need to do is make them cool again. The ones made out of wetsuit material are obviously the coolest ones so I will start from there. For daywear they can be whatever colour goes with our outfit and at night they can be fluro so you stand out on the dance floor.

There will also be cool slogans on the back of them like, 'How am I dancing?' then a phone number, or 'Honk if you’re Horny', or the ever classic 'Where’s the beef?'. The list goes on, you can pretty much customize them to be whatever your heart desires, and I can release new ones each season in a range of trending colours, with different slogans to cover all age groups, I mean, what kid wouldn’t want a Thundercats band (Do the kids still watch thundercats? If they don’t mine sure as hell will be)?

Also in my new fashion line, 'Zinc Stencils' - so if you want to zinc your sniffer* you can have cool slogans across your face. Of course in the long run I will release those sunglasses lenses that sit on your prescription glasses and flip down. And last, but certainly not least, I'll be rebranding those swimming trunks that are too tight and show off your junk and only seem to be worn by the one creepy, hairy, eastern European guy on the beach. Or speedos, whatever our public decides.

They will all be ready by summer (or winter American time)...

If I can find an investor (hint hint.)

*to all Americans, do you have zinc there. The flouro coloured stuff you put on your nose in the ‘90’s

Friday, June 10, 2011

Love in the time of Swine Flu.

As some of you may know, I am in fact a writer of more than just these blogs. Not only do I write these masterpieces some call mere blogs, but I'm also a copy writer for an advertising company.

I write all sorts of things: ads, shopping lists, stories, notes telling people to clean the fucking coffee machine so my coffee doesn’t taste like it was strained through ass, all sorts really.

Of course, I am also writing a book. It is called “Love in the time of Swine Flu”, my modern adaptation of a little book you may be familiar with called Love in the time of Cholera.

Production has halted momentarily however, mainly due to the fact that I have never read LiToC (abrevs, god I’m cool) amongst other things.

But with my limited understanding (i.e. two people fall in love, lots of people have cholera, one of them gets cholera, they both die happy even though they were probably only in their twenties and the dude was cheating anyway be he still totally loved her) I have managed to write for you, seen for the first time on the interwebs right here, the climactic scene where Franco and Cynthia finally realize their love for each other. In fact, it could be a short story and this could be the epic second half, not sure yet.

This is only the first draft, but its pretty much done.
I have also made the book classy by setting it in the not to distant past. Note the iPhone 3, get with the times.

“I totally love you.” said Franco, as he looked up from texting his boys.
“Do you really mean that?” said Cynthia, who was on facebook and so totes ready to change her realationship status.
“Yea, like, fully aye.” Franco said, casting his phone aside but making sure it landed on the soft part of the couch, because it was an iPhone and that shit was expensive.
They moved towards each other, angelically dancing across the room, dodging all of the discarded clothes on the floor because they both knew there was a playstation controller in there somewhere and you don’t want to stand on that.
When they reached each other they embraced, made out for a bit, then suddenly Cynthia turned her head.
“Hold up a sec.” she said before letting out an almighty cough.
“Ew that’s gross,” said Franco, “Do you have Swine Flu or something?”
“No, shut up!” said Cynthia defensively. But it was too late, Franco knew.
The anger welled up inside him and he imagined uppercutting the bitch, but didn’t because he didn’t hit girls.
“Bitch you know I have underlying medical condition that, if exposed to a disease such as swine flu, could cause me to die.” he yelled angrily.
Cynthia was taken aback, where did this sudden burst of intelligence come from? Despite her love  for him she thought Franco was a dumb shit, but then she realized he was reading it off the Internet.

Beautiful, isn’t it?
I cried a little writing it, I’m not going to lie. I think it could be a best seller, mums will relate because the characters are like their kids, girls will love it cause they relate the complicated relationship dynamics, dudes will find the swearing funny and emo kids can write fan fiction about dying.

It’s the book that has it all.

I am of course looking for a publisher, so email me, it will be the last thing you ever do as a publisher… (Because of all the money you’ll make).

Thursday, May 26, 2011

How I Single Handedly Defeated the Rapture.

I spent the last few days dying.

Or wishing I was dead.

Or being sick. It’s all pretty subjective really. Either way you can’t do me for it, I call diplomatic immunity, I have rights under the Hays Code, not to mention the Broadcasting Standards Authority will have something to say about this!

It's not fair, Disturbed made being “Down with the Sickness” sound oh so fun, with all their gettting up and getting down with the sickness, and that “oo wa a a a” noise they make in every song they've ever released. I thought it was all due to their excitement over being sick, and the fact that they were jumping around with excitement because they got the day off work, and could pusue leisurely activities like bowls and tea-drinking, the things you know wouldn’t exacerbate food poisoning too much but are still fun enough to prevent you dying from boredom.

That's not the case, so it would seem. The getting up and down apparently refers to the constant jogs to the bathroom, and that “oo wa a a a” noise is more familiar to that sound you make when you're trying not to get puke on your bedroom floor (ladies, can you believe I’m single, I sure can't).

Perhaps it was my own personal judgment day. God came unto me and said, “You’ve been a bit of a dick lately; have some sickness.” Whilst I am somewhat flattered that I was singled out for my own personal rapture (which was made worse by the fact that I missed two days of a job I actually enjoy), that’s a dick move. If there is a god that is, and while I don’t have scientific evidence (other than science as a whole, but y'know), it's quite possible there isn’t ( and the hate mail ensues... ).

All of this hate, just after he gave me a double yolk egg on Saturday,  is obviously a sign that I am special in some way.

Undeniable proof I was chosen. Even though it looks like I just cracked two eggs into a pan.

What I can't figure out is if Harold Camping was trolling (clickable word, I will replace Wikipedia in no time*) or just a deluded old man who read way too much into one of the most ambiguous books ever written, and found the date of an event that not even God's son, Timmy, would recognise (you thought I was going to say Jesus, didn’t you. He wouldn’t know that date either but God uses Timmy as more of a PA so he is more likely to know).

Oh well at least Mr./Rev. Camping gave stand-up comedians material for years to come, well at least until the Mayans kill us all.

But through all this we have learned that you shouldn’t really be hating me for not posting (I know you were, don’t deny it). You should be thanking me for singlehandedly taking on the rapture and, as long as I don’t have coffee, kicking its ass.

Also that I, as a human being,  am not that great.

In fact, if we want to do some math with this 'god'  who caused the rapture, I defeated the rapture. With some A = B logic I am > your chosen deity. Not blasphemous, just true.


P.S. Definitely going to hell. But It will be warm there so it's okay.

P.P.S. If you are religious I am sorry. I have nothing against you and I love each and every one of you (unless you A) force it down others throats or B) use it as a justification for killing and/or generally being a bad person). Belief is such a great thing, a trait I almost wish I was capable of having.

*Mwahaha. This one is an actual definition of trolling if you need one. I don’t care what you say, Rick Rolling is still funny. And I was proving a point, aren't I clever? Yes, yes I am.

Friday, May 20, 2011

5 Fast, 5 Furious. A Review

I broke a promise to myself.

None of you haters can say I already failed my 100 day challenge, I know, it hurts inside (not really but if you felt bad at all, then you’re a good person).

No, my promise was I went and saw something I didn’t think I wanted to see.

Two girls one cup you say? No.
Rebecca Black live? Does that exist? If so would assassination be a serious danger?

No. I'm talking a movie. A movie so bad it became good again, then bad.

I am talking about 5 Fast, 5 Furious.

These movies were badass when I was 15, when I could take my Toyota Corolla down to a gravel pit, rip the hand break and nearly write it off into a bank.

It was cool when I lived with car nuts and drifters and we went out in their cars worth more than our house and did stupid shit.

I thought "I am a dude. I know about cars. I can make one go forwards. I can change gear. I can put petrol in it. And if it stops working I can fix that shit, providing (and it is the case with my car) that the problem is that I have run out of gas." This movie will be awesome.

But they changed something. Like a porno directed by M. Night Shamalan, it had too much story and not enough action.

At times they just flat out insulted the audience by introducing us to douchebags with cool cars, race challenges where issued, pink slips were put on the line, then just as you thought this might be getting awesome... they are at the hideout with a new car, no fucking race! Not pleased, not pleased at all.

The Fast and Furious movies have traditionally been one thing, car porn. Being awesome, without being good. And before you ask, there is a difference in my opinion; Good movies have everything going for them, storyline, characters, cinematography, and the sorts of things that win awards and you leave going “that was amazing.” 

Awesome movies, like Transformers, or really anything Michael Bay has ever done, appeal to something deep within us. That part of you that is always there but only small in some people. The part of you that loves explosions and robots and boobs. The sorts of movies that are strung together by a loose storyline, but for the most part know that they won't win any awards and go "let's just make shit explode".

If you're making a movie like this, here is my advice. Pretend you're making a porn film. No one gives a crap about the characters except girls and that’s not the audience you're trying to appeal to, is it. You’re appealing to dudes, and any dude that watches this sort of movie should be instantly transformed into the sort of meathead who tries to fight everyone on a Saturday night. They want action, cool cars doing cool stuff with pretty girls.

Simple as that.

P.S. The acting was pretty terrible aswell.

P.P.S. I think I said porn too much in this post, pretty sure my mum reads this, and I am pretty sure its now NSFW. Ah well.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

I Brought A Note From Home.

I know I fail miserably at my challenge. But I have an excuse this time, honest.

I didn’t think there was any point because of the whole rapture thing, will that do professor?  

Come on, eternal darkness. Everyone you know and love dying. All of that happening on Saturday! This Saturday at 6 o’clock! *Runs around the room screaming we're all going to die, stopping only to take breaths and drink my soda.*

Yay for low res Monty Python reference!

I hope that came across as sarcastic. I am not crazy, well, in the sense that I don’t think the world is going to end, I have never sought the help of a medical professional to explain the inner workings of my mind and never shall unless I start stabbing, but that is a slippery road to head down.

I don’t think the world will end. It won't happen, but if it does I will pay you all of the money in my bank account, which right now is a paper clip, two dead flies and a rather impressive lint ball. Honestly, that’s what it says on my statement, along with a photo from the bank manager pulling the fingers and a message scrawled at the bottom in what appears to be his blood, spelling “save some money, douchebag.” I will save, Bank-man, when I am good and ready and not earning somewhat less than minimum wage at internships.

So with the predicted rapture looming (as it has every 40 or so years since the beginning of time), and the fact that if this rapture doesn’t kill us the Mayan calendar will, and if that doesn’t get us there is supposed to be some sort of world war that will wipe us all out, or the predicted earthquake last week that was meant to wipe Rome of the face of the earth (I don’t know who was to blame for that but still), my calendar is fast filling up. It seems I won’t even be able to watch the re-run of Friends that's on Saturday night.

So while there will be (if I am not to busy prepping for the end of days) posts between now and then, I will be seeing you Sunday for a glorious 'I told you so'.

P.S. Is the rapture happening 6pm NZ time or are we going by GMT or PST? I don’t know what the big guy upstairs sets his watch to.

Monday, May 16, 2011

What Would Happen If David Attenborough Got Drunk?

Have you ever wanted to watch a car crash?

I both do and don’t. On one hand the level of destruction would be exciting, bits and pieces flying everywhere, babies being launched from carseats, tyres flying through trees and into nearby houses. not to mention the flaming debris landing in the nearby fireworks factory.

But then there's also the fact that people dying sucks, and if I saw a baby flying through a windscreen I would be scarred for  life, probably cry a little and then get hit in the face by a rogue roman candle from the aforementioned, conveniently located fireworks factory.

There is one car crash, however, that I have to watch. It's gruesome, at times very painful, though it has moments, rare moments, where it can be funny, endearing, all while simultaneously angering me to the very core of my being.

This particular car crash is televised, watched by millions, who I hope merely laugh at it and take solice in the fact that they, the viewer, are more intelligent and overall better as a human being than the people that take part in this menagerie of fake tan and fist pumping.

The car crash, or should I say the documentary I refer to is none other than MTV's  Jersey Shore. The show I love to hate. The show that makes me weep inside yet has the ability to cause me the utmost joy.

It isn’t so much a reality show than a manual for how one should probably not live their life. Unless you're a cast member of course, making millions for acting like a d-bag, getting drunk, gettting laid and going to the fair. Then I'm sure it's a brilliant way to live your life.

If you haven’t seen the show, I firstly ask you why you haven’t, and mentally compare you to a child who says they don’t like a certain type of food, only to try it and love it. I know many who passed their judgement without setting eyes on the show, and this will not do. But for the sake of keeping you informed, the show follows the lives of a group of guidos spending their summer on the Jersey Shore (oh, so that’s where the name comes from).

It's an all-round cast, with characters like the hateable yet oh so lovable "Situation", the crazy drunken dwarf that is Snooki, the car-crash relationship that is Sammi and the giant gorilla of a man Ronnie, Vinnie and Paulie, the lovable twosome that are the funniest things in fake tan I have seen since the original Oompa Lumpa Dance, Angelia, who left after two seasons with a vow to never return, her replacement Deena, and of course who could forget the fake-boobed bombshell that is JWoww.
An example of how much a part of our society they have become.
Kickin' it with Obalms

The show in itself is just a chronicling of their exploits. Drinking too much, getting a little something-something, pranking each other and GTL-ing (for those of you in the dark, that’s the art of going to the Gym, going to get a Tan and doing their Laundry. Brilliant system, right?). 

This show has a huge influence on me, not in the sense that I want to be like these people, but instead in the sense that I have found myself and many people around me using lingo from the show, such as GTL, grenades and FTD (fresh to death, didn't you know). And the one thing I actually do do (hehe) like them, is the shirt before the shirt. This is the art of not putting the shirt you intend to wear out until just before you go out, so there is no chance of it not being pristine.

Another opinion I have in regards to the show, though many may disagree, is that in some ways, it sends out a postive body image message. Obviously the fake tan isn’t that great, but the fact is you see them all looking after themselves, never see them using steroids, undereating or having eating disorders. So there is at least one thing positive coming from it (I know I will probably get hate mail for that and will most likely have to write a whole blog justifying my opinions but hey, that just means more content).

So I’m not saying watch it, I sometimes hate that I love the show as much as I do. But if you do give it a chance (though you will have to give it a few episodes), don’t watch it as a bunch of fist-pumping guidos dancing around. Instead, view it as a documentary about how others live. And maybe, just maybe, it will teach you something about yourself you never knew.

Image from the fun factual site

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Lazy, Like A Sunday Blog Post.

Like a crack addict who was shoved behind bars, forced to kick his chemical addiction then cast back out into the world, I am back here, just like I always was, blogging and trying to post at least once a day.

Of course Blogger going down on Friday caused me to use my desk for it's intended purpose (a pool table, that is) more than I usually would, and also led to me actually doing some work.

This post, due to it's being a weekend post, I feel will be a little bit half arsed. This is because in New Zealand (where it's currently winter), we are all curled up under blankets reading by torch light as the elements batter us, whereas if you're in the Northern Hemisphere you are probably out climbing trees and pushing a hoop down a dirt road with a stick.

Nevertheless, I said I would write each day (yesterday doesn’t count because I assumed Blogger would still be down. I didn’t have anything to go off. If the PSN debacle is anything to go by I could have been down for at least a year, or four weeks, however long it has been),  and write I shall.

However I do feel as though by writing everyday I am losing something, diluting down what could be comedy gold into comedy silver or another precious metal that is only slightly less valuable than gold. I never want to be one of those people who feel the need to update their blog, Twitter, Facebook and any other contraption that the kids use these days, to tell the world they had a soda or that their cat shat itself on the rug (although to be fair a cat shitting itself on a rug could become a viral video on Youtube so, for the purpose of taking over the interwebs, that may be situational).

What I thought I would have for you today is an ad.

There's a compettion in the ad world that sends young creatives to the Cannes Advertising Awards and late last night I was browsing the briefs that they had online, and had an idea that I thought could be okay.

I tried to film it but alas my lack of knowledge meant I spent an hour trying to work out how I would film it (it seemed so simple in my head but how do you film finger shadow puppets straight on without getting the camera in shot?). I tried a few things, but ended thinking I needed to call up Peter Jackson and see if Weta Workshops could hook me up with a crew.

The other thing I needed was the voices of an army of small children, and for said children to make some cool shadow finger puppets (is there a shorter name for those?).

So time ran out and now, as the deadline looms due to it's being a 48 hour competition, I won’t be handing anything in.

But there's always next year; though by that time I will own the internets, the youtubes and have all the awards I will ever need, sitting in my ivory tower thinking  “I am the greatest.” And then crying, because no one ever visits me.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

Its What I Do.

Much like any other night I woke up last night with random ideas buzzing around my head, some random, some for what I am working on here and work.

However today, after waiting on a briefing for far to long I decided it would be simple enough to slap together in photoshop. 

I may make this a thing. Advertising Thursday but cooler, it really needs some alliteration. Make a logo (as you can see below I have a special skill for logo design.)

So here is an ad I made for you.

Just you, yes YOU!

My main inspiration came when I thought up the name of the car company I would one day own and run. 

Dont you think their catch phrase encapsulates everything it is to be a car  owner or manufacturer.

I know their are a few mistakes in the copy, and Hugh never even looked at it so the art direction is a little off but hey, I've only been doing this a few months now so shhhh.

Disclaimer: I have never worked on any car accounts in a real agency. 

Oh and shut your mouth I know this isn't a real "Car Company" car.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

How Do You Sleep At Night?

I have an annoying habit of having an overactive mind. It won't let me sleep much of the time, which leads to my being tired much of the time.

It's a bit shit really.

Usually I just write something vaguely interesting, or a stupid story and then I can stop thinking.

Here is one such story, a musing if you will.

Live every day as if it were your last.

I have always found this to be a bit of a stupid statement for many reasons.

Firstly because it doesn’t elaborate enough on why it is your last day. Is it everyone’s last day? Or just mine?

If it is everyone’s, and they know it, the streets would be an orgy of chaos. A sanctuary for the seedy underbelly of the human mind. People would be looting, shooting and doing all that stuff you kind of wish you could do but were always afraid to.  Of course this situation also has positive sides, for example you would finally ask out that girl you like... But then you would also bitchslap that dude in your office that you hate, too. You’d pop caps in various asses just for the hell of it. You’d take up crack because you wanted to know what it was like but you were always too busy being a functioning member of society.

And then how would the planet end, huh, wise guy? Would it just cease to exist? Would we just vanish into nothingness in a strange reverse of the way we were created all those million years ago, a single catastrophic bang casting us back from whence we came?

Or would a meteor hit? Like the movie Armageddon would we hang around watching the skies singing either Aerosmith’s “Don’t Want to Miss a Thing” or “Que Sera Sera”, depending on whether you’re A) in the movie Armageddon or B) a Simpsons nerd.

Or would it just end for you. Would it be merely your life, nudged from this mortal existence. To be, to live, to breath no more.

Do I have an illness, spouter of this annoying statement? Must I spend this last day in a bed, attached to machines, or maybe wacked out of my mind on painkillers because to spend this last day sober would be too painful?

I have always felt that this statement should be changed to something more relevant. Something that doesn’t conjure so many questions in my mind and that doesn’t annoy me for merely existing.

My new version, which I must admit I did not make up, but because of the fact that I read so much on the Internets and listen to so many different podcasts, I cannot attribute to its coiner.

“Live your life as though it was a story you’d want to tell someone.”

This partly means that you should do things you'll remember, or at least want to remember. And you should realise that no matter how stupid, crazy or how much you don’t want to do a particular something, one day, when you have your own popular radio show/blog/dinner party, you can tell that story and people will think “Well gosh, that sounds cool, I wish I was there.” And if you can do things in your life that can make people think that then I think you succeeded.

And you don’t have to die tomorrow.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Day 2: already phoning it in?

Today is day 2.
The familiar feeling of tiredness that comes with my body not being used to getting up consistently early once again washes over me.
And it may feel as though I am phoning today in.
I assure you I do not mean it to seem that way, it is something that I have been meaning to do for far to long and that I am sorry has not come sooner.
What I am referring to is the corrections to the film idea that I posted months ago (look I have links, Its like I’m Wikipedia.).
Mere minuets after I posted that particular post Joe, emailed me to tell me I had it all wrong, unlike me I know but he had a list.
And so without further adue here are his corrections to the summer blockbuster that will never get made until one or both of us is recognized as a brilliant writer (of course I am in more of a position to do this but I doubt I will ever get asked to write a screen play (if you would like me to write a screen play I’m sure I can get in touch.))

People may say they told me there was already a TV show with the same title and well there is.
Still... Its a movie so it must be different. Right?

Okay a few mistakes here.
1. The 3rd guy causes the meltdown and during the movie is trying to discover a way to get them back to normal, while at the same time he is trying to find a way of telling his friends it was his fault. Emotional stuff I know.
2. The bodies actually take part in the robbery, which leads me on to the next plot point I have just recently come up with.
3. The bodies are being tracked down by a detective, think Morgan Freeman in Seven.
4. They only have a certain amount of time to get their bodies back, maybe they are slowly decomposing? Maye too graphic? But we definately need a ticking clock for the big action concluding spectacular! at the end.
5. In one scene they travel around on a tandem bike, its funny cause there is only one of them with three heads! 
Three's Company! (Three heads are better than one!) I know it's gold, will practically sell the movie for us.

Monday, May 9, 2011

The first day. Again.

So after two weeks of blissful freedom, where hours were mere trivialities to be flittered away, I am working again.

The new job begins, like many on a Monday morning, in a room that looks straight out of a movie.

It has a pool table, a dartboard,  and many photos from the days of yore when men were men, and a photo of moose or an old sea captain and far too many mirrors were what passed for décor. There is also, strangely enough, a skull of a long since dead animal, and less surprisingly a TV with a PS3 and a Nintendo Wii hooked up... I don’t think much work is going to get done in here. Or who knows the sea captain in the photo, whom I shall dub Captain Graham Phillipstein (He is a very proper captain, none of this hippy Jack Sparrow bullshit), may inspire thoughts within me I never thought possible.
Gaze upon His Majesty. May he bring me luck and the ability to grow
a beard such as his. Glorious.

Despite his grim outlook after leaving our last place of work, Hugh, my friend and art director is here, playing pool after being left alone in this room for a grand total of about two and a half minutes.

I want this room in my house.

But anyway, I wrote this the other night to begin my new challenge.

You know those nights where you can't sleep, so you just stay awake singing one word over and over (or a Justin Beiber song)? You throw a tennis ball against the wall repeatedly, wondering if anyone can hear you, and curious to know if you could throw the tennis ball hard enough to go through a wall. You don’t try because, even though I’m pretty sure not even Batman could do it (Superman could obviously but what do you expect from the man of steel, he could throw a pea through a wall. I don’t even know why I’m talking about it because it’s so obvious), if by some miracle you managed to, you; 
A) don’t know how to explain that you threw a tennis ball through a wall just to see if you could and
B) You cannot be arsed trying to be Tim ‘the Tool Man’ Taylor and fix it (unless, of course, you had the assistance of Al ‘the Pointless Reference to a Sit-com’ Borlan). You can't tell me no one else has nights like that.

I am writing this at 1:07am. I cannot sleep. I have a job interview in the morning and I would like it to go well even though I have a job already lined up (Present me: That’s the one I am at today).

But the main reason I am writing this post is because I haven’t written one for a while. As a result I feel I must, in order to keep the ‘I blog’ thing on my Facebook profile or face being placed in jail for fraud and misrepresentation of myself on Facebook (because no one does that) and it is frowned upon in society. And so help me God, I will not have society shun me.

But more importantly as part of my new job I will be undertaking a 100-day internship (I always say job... it's not. Like my place at Mojo, they could just be using me for my ideas then say there are no full time positions; cries.)So I have decided that without fail I must write a new blog for each of those hundred days. My proofreading department may hate having to take time out of their busy days to do it but I don’t care because it's a physical challenge.

So let my hundred days of nonsense begin. Take the journey with me. Subscribe, click all the buttons that I put at the bottom, despite the fact I am not yet sure what they do. But they have to be good, all the bloggers I look up to have them.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Coming On Your Face This Fall.

Is that title too rude?

Many moons ago, when I wasn’t a hot-shot advertising intern.

Back when I could afford to flat and didn’t have to move in with my parents because it’s apparently difficult to remember to pay people.

Back when I could wake up at noon, drink on weeknights and didn’t have a care in the world.

Way back then (why did I get a grown up job again?) I worked with a friend of mine called Joe. You may not be able to call what we did work. We did stock shelves and occasionally talk to customers but mostly we shared our time talking about cartoons and making up insanely far-fetched movie scripts.
Now Joe and I, whilst very different people, work very well together when it comes to writing scripts. I like to think this is because, like our favorite writer John Swartswelder of the Simpsons, we enjoy trying to come up with insane yet funny scenarios.

Ours were less funny because a) it was us trying to outdo each other with stupidity and b) we were working in a timber yard and wrote several scripts on big sheets of ply-wood (If you brought one of those pieces of ply-wood, hold onto it, it may be worth a lot some day).

I will share these movie concepts with you, but I have to stretch these out to one a day. Mainly if you read them all at once your head will explode from how awesome they are, but also because I have work to do and writing them all at once would take my entire morning.

So, without further adieu.

“Three’s Company.”

This was our Avatar (a movie I didn’t care much for, for the record), the greatest one we ever thought of, and if one of our scripts could be brought to life it would be this one. It was a comedy, action, romance, drama, horror, with a dash of sci-fi and a whole truckload of WTF.

Three guys, I don’t think we ever got so far as to name them, all work at a nuclear power plant (I know you're already hooked). There's some sort of explosion, and a toxic waste spill rips the heads off two of the guys and causes these heads to become attached to the body of third guy.

It may seem insensitive with whats going on in the world but we wrote it ages ago
so it must I am exempt from being insensitive. 
Now this third guy is a nervous-yet-okay looking guy. He has a date with the hot girl that works in another department at the plant, I'm thinking Scarlett Johansson. He has one opportunity to take her out a few nights after the explosion. However, he has to go on this date while attempting to conceal the fact that he has two extra heads, hiding them with parrot costumes, potted plants, a boom box and balloons.
 These heads (because some how they survived) give him advice throughout the date, although in one hilarious scene one of them gets annoyed at something she says and tries to take control of third guy's arm and throw something at her which the third guy has to try and play off.

Another of the heads is an aspiring magician. His first gig is a few nights after the explosion but of course he doesn’t have proper control over the limbs of the body they all now share. So he has to teach the others the tricks. He somehow manages to incorporate the fact that he has three heads into his act and although he is very nervous, this is his golden opportunity after all,  after a few early hiccups and a lacklustre audience he eventually wins them over and his show goes well.

I can’t really remember the third guy’s back-story. Perhaps he was suicidal and the other two convince him life is worth living. That kind of works doesn’t it? Or he was a drug addict and they get him clean, the Oscar guys will love the gritty realism of that (Christian Bale can play him cause he does those roles well usually).

The B story, to add a comedy aspect (because the rest of the story is so gritty and real) the bodies of the two detached heads are running around town getting into all sorts of mischief. They foil a bank robbery, save a baby and are awarded the keys to the city for various acts of heroism. Obviously all of this is completely by coincidence because in reality they are just headless bodies running around aimlessly, unable to see, hear or respond.

Throughout the movie we see that though the three guys hated each other, they grow to be friends and by the time they are (miraculously) separated, they are the best buds and get together all the time for beers. The closing shot will be them sitting creepily close together because they miss all being attached.

There are probably more plot points I am forgetting and will be reminded of, so there may be revisions in the days, weeks even months to come. But as I remember it, this is our greatest master piece.

So next week I will discuss more of mine and Joes epic movie/TV show ideas.

P.S. This is mine and Joe’s idea. If you steal it and make a movie we want a cut, and to go on stage when you win an Oscar. Also I want to meet all the stars, because part of the reason for writing these concepts was to meet famous people and be their friends and piggyback off their success and travel the world.

Friday, March 25, 2011

Proof That My Proof Readers Are Smarter Than Me.

You know when you say a word too many times and it starts to lose meaning. "Proof" just did that to me and I only used it twice.

Right, so I have been stupidly busy recently (Read: I have been watching someone use Photoshop while standing behind them dancing and singing acapella show tunes) and you guys never got updated on the proof-reading contest.

Well, it didn’t go so well.

If you are foolish enough to explain the contest in a blog that both participants frequently read, you should anticipate it's failure. Especially because, if like me you haven’t told the participants about the competition beforehand, it might upset them.

However, I do highly commend Beka for her proof-reading efforts.
She went through and rewrote my entire post with atrocious spelling and grammar, here is a sample:

You get to sit their on yuotube all day, wear jadnals [or flip flops or thongs or what evr they are called in you're part of the world.), drink at lunch  time and do it all with a good freind.
Well I appare to be getting theyre. Its alot of work so sometimes youtubeing takes a back seat and today is the only day I have been alowed, neigh, encoraged to drink befre noon, it is apparantly a Birhtday traditon to drink guiness and do shots on you're birthday at   9 am. sweet
Any Whooo just a short one day, as it has been over the past few weaks unfortunatly as Hugh is looking at me angrilly and he actually read the blog the other day wear i called him names so idont think he feels to pleesed about the whole me wasting rejuvanating my craetive spirit by bloging and reeding other peoples blogs i will put a knew list on the side bar of the   awsome blogs i read and you shood read aswel, partly because you will find the genuinly funny and partly because i want them to see that their is so much trafic going to their site from my site and   then they wil email me and we can be frends and we can go out for cock tails a  nd tapas, o what awoderful world that wood be.
This essentially reminds me why she is one of my best friends (good, announce it on the internet, maybe then she will come back and proof read.)

Hayley, on the other hand, was less creative. She sent me a semi angry text and decided not to participate.

So it's relatively obvious who won.

Because today all we seem to be doing at work is moving desks around, and most of the work we had on seems to be coming to an end, there is a good chance I will try to get ahead on posts. Then you don’t have to deal with a) lacklustre posts like this one, and b) going so long without hearing my sweet, sultry text voice whispering gently in your ear though the interwebs. 

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

A Multilayered Business Opportunity And The Team Behind It.

The "The Whole Thing Stinks" Building.
I could of photoshopped it so it looked less like 30 Rockefeller but forget that.

You may not know this about me but I am not just one person.

No, there is a team of writers behind this voice. David, the clever one sits in the corner reading novels, currently he is reading of Elizabethan England.

Graham is the office drunk. Oh Graham, always up to mischief. Look at him now abusing the interns for not bringing him a bagel and a packet of panadol because, like every night, he had a big one.

Sherrie is the office slut, not much to say there.

And Liza is the level headed one whose job it is to keep this whole operation running smoothly. Oh she stresses a lot about peoples inability to keep to schedules or when Graham brings live animals he stole from the petting zoo down the road into the office (the “The Whole Thing Stinks” offices have a strict no animals policy, not after Craig the intern some how got an elephant, a zebra and 4 hamsters* on to the 37th floor of the building) but she loves it really. (Did anyone else notice how that brackets with an asterisks really broke up the flow of that otherwise pretty comical sentence. Note to staff: Don’t do that.)

That’s right it’s all one big happy family here at the office.

Except for the proofreaders. Hayley and Beka. They take liberties with the text, one more so than the other, some just leave snarky red notes and others send emails and texts throughout the editing process.

So, without their knowledge, until I make one of them proofread this later today an experiment will take place.

The team has written a dummy blog, it’s all happy and weird. It will be given to both proofreaders with the information that they can change it as much as they like (as opposed to my normal note of “make it make sense then don’t fucking murder my writing!!”).

I will post each persons revised copy of the, original admittedly average (but whats new), blog and we can all make our decision as to who proofreads my nonsensical ramblings the best.

I may get the 3rd floor digital guys to make some sort of poll for this, or we can just vote in the comments section. Stay turned.

P.S With regards the competition, Hugh entered the current header (he blogs, as well have a button Hugh.). He has the slight advantage of sitting right next to me and the fact that he was one of only two entries. Come on people.

But let me know if you like this one.

*Being an office based in New Zealand there are no hamsters in the country so know one really knows where or how he got them. We assume he liberated them from the hamster fighting league but we all thought that that we a legend. 

Friday, March 11, 2011

I'm Like The Beatles, Only I'm One Guy. And Only A Blogger.

Me: What should I write about today, Hugh.
Hugh: What you write about everyday, Adam. Trying to take over the world.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I prep for my writing.

Almost everyday Hugh and I have that conversation. It is usually after we have gotten annoyed at each other for not being able to come up with ideas, because let's face it, it's his fault (I can say that with some confidence knowing that he rarely reads this, despite now having a button for my blog on his blog).

So, at that point of the day we call a truce and go write a blog each.

Mine made up of my pointless ramblings, much like you're reading now. His a well-structured deep and meaningful jaunt through his thoughts… nerd.

And I think this defines us as a pair, unit, collaboration, whatever completely heterosexual way you can describe two incredibly good-looking males that hang out a lot. Hugh is the logical-ish one and I am the “fuck advertising let's ride bikes” one (due to this being my blog I have to be the one that sounds more awesome). From that cool shit usually evolves.

So my friends, as the weekend approaches and our spirits are uncharacteristically high because of the amount of praise and adoration we have received over the last few days, I muse (yeah, that's right, I muse. I muse so hard Chuck Norris made a motivational poster about me), about the power of the human mind.

Seriously it is insane. Last week we didn’t have any ideas for any of the briefs we were working on. Today and yesterday we presented them and got pats on the back, literally (to be honest it was weird because the guy giving the pats was old and has a pedo-stache).

UPDATE: Remember the competition, read all about it here. I have an actual prize. The prize is you! And by that I mean that a robot-you.

Hugh and I spent a good few days last week with very little to do but make robots, paper ones, of some of our favorite characters. 

So your prize can be either you or your favourite character in robot form! How badass it that? (Pretty badass, don't deny. You are probably entering the competition multiple times right now, because let's face it, I have awesome prizes).  So get creating me some banners people. (Please and thank you, obviously).
Also check the casual lean and displaying of bling I have going on in this picture. That's all you really need in advertising - a casual pose, a bit of bling and a cardboard Invader Zim.

*Allusions to myself and Hugh being good-looking heterosexuals, mentions of Chuck Norris and the insertion of manners were actually the work of Beka.
*Footnote is also the work of Beka, who didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about Adam's self-image, sexuality, fondness of Chuck Norris or ability to be polite.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Drinking And Driving. Separately of Course Because I Am Safe

First and foremost, competition in the post below.
Enter it.
I've already had some cool entries, but would love some more. I will post my favorites over the next few weeks.

Now, onto the important stuff.

Have you ever just driven?

Like gotten in a car with nowhere to actually go?

I don’t really like driving so I don’t do it that often, but one of my most favourite times that I aimlessly drove was around New Years a few years ago. 

*Looks up to the left like JD from scrubs*

*That weird water wipe that means it’s a memory*

Enter me, with a whole bunch of my friends.
If it were a bad sitcom we would look almost exactly the same as we do now but with cool, old-school hair. Come to think of it that’s pretty true - I had long hair back then. This was about 3 years ago, and I looked like a d-bag. How quickly times change (cries as “Time After Time” plays).

So there we were drinking - as friends do (beers appear in our characters' hands).

We did all that normal stuff - drinking games, shots, long walks on the beach, pretending that pouring beer on the barbeque meant that we were beer-battering whatever it is we were cooking at the time. For the record, it just makes it taste like an ass.

All of a sudden we noticed one of us was missing.

It was a girl I had known since intermediate school and went out with at one point, and we had noted earlier in the night how, at the time we referred to it as 'crunk', she was (as was the style at the time). 

Her boyfriend was also quite drunk and we had to save him from the “Sea God Nimfrus” earlier in the evening - a story that deserves its own post.

So in a bid to save this female friend, who had pink hair at the time and as such was referred to as a princess by many other much younger campers, had gotten severely entrenched in a campsite of what we referred to as “D bags”.

The battle that ensued consisted of one of my friends getting thrown into a car, another being threatened with a 2x4 (or 4x2 depending on your country of origin), and me trying to carry her home while she scratched my face.

All in all - not pleasant.

So the next day Hugh and I packed our shit and drove. And drove. And drove.

It was soothing as hell. We listened to bad emo-punk music and sung, and visited several different campsites of people we knew.

We stayed with a family that had the best camping set up I have ever seen - with everything but a TV.

We slept in the car and on beaches. And drank back drafts and Heineken at every stop.

It was brilliant.

It will always remain in my memories as one of my best New Years - despite the antics that went down with our friends at the first campsite. 

Call this a “part one”, an overview if you will, of this New Years because there is much more to it.

P.S Remember to follow and stumbeupon and all that stuff that can get more people reading this. And remember to enter my competition, it will be fun.

Free Stuff! Prizes! Neato!!

Alright Ladies and Gentlemen.

It is time to win free stuff.

And by free stuff I mean I want something from you.

You may have noticed that I have a badly, or perhaps brilliantly, depending on who you ask (although those who say it's 'brilliant' tend to express themselves through art, using the medium of their own fecal matter), designed header. Shh your hating faces! I am a writer, not an art director and therefore I don't know how to use photoshop.

SO... Competition! Email me (I just put a button on the side there, aren't I clever) a design for my header, preferably in JPEG but crayon will be accepted. If I like it you get the mystery prize, and prizes could be anything from a personally signed picture to something cool I steal from work.
Its all part of the fun!

Also tweet about me, put me on your Facebook, follow me. Exploit my newly installed button! Email me and you might get a mention (prestigious I know). All that stuff. And your prize for that will be that tomorrow or maybe today I will write a funny and entertaining post about something funny and entertaining.

Might start on that one now.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

The Day The Magic Died.

A week or so ago I worked at Subway for a morning. Because apparently that’s what you do as a junior copywriter.

The first thing this allowed me to do was fulfil a dream I have had for a long time. Not a Martin Luther King style dream of racial equality, or even a dream of curing the world of some disease, because beyond leaving the bread out and inventing penicillin the field of sandwich artistry has stayed pretty much the same for the last 50 years or so. No, it was a dream of being able to actually get behind the Subway counter and make the sandwich I have always dreamed of.

Oh, you’d be jealous of this sub.

It looked amazing.
Bread cut at the recommended 45-degree angle.
2 meats (say what?).
A pig load of bacon (slow down buckoo!).
At least 2 avocados worth of avocado.
More than the company's recommended 6 tomatoes slices (you fiend).
More than the 42g of lettuce (are you mad?).
Even more than the suggested 12 grams of onion (he did what?!).
Only 3 sauces? Bah, I bend not to your rules!

I, ladies and gentlemen, thought of myself as a sub-shaman.

Like Jesus fed a whole lot of people with bread and fish, I fed myself with bread and chicken and bacon and Subway goodness.

However something went wrong. Firstly, my manager looked at me weird and scolded me a little for my liberal use of everything.

And secondly it tasted like ass. Well, not so much ass as that taste you get in the back of your mouth after you throw up. It had too many sauces, including the weird new sauce that I had never battle-tested. Foolish.

Day one sandwich artistry fail.

But gather round boys and girls, because there is a moral to my tale of misery and woe (I know none of my posts have really had morals before, but this is one lesson I think we can all learn from).

Lesson: You know all of that 'less is more' bullshit people keep telling you, that you only pay attention to because you cant afford to put all of that extra shit in. Listen to it. They be spitting the truth.  *Tips 40oz of Jack Daniels to the curb*


Also my art director and creative partner Hugh just started a blog. He is a cynical douche but go read it, it has pretty pictures and if enough of you go to his site from here he might design me a header that isn’t average.

EDIT: I also got stuck on a problem at work and as part of my research on said problem I put buttons down the bottom for Digg and Stumble. Click them so even more people can come and enjoy the fun. If you came from one of those sites, welcome! Click the like button... please.