Dear Sir,
It has always baffled me that, come Sunday morning, there are hordes of red-shirted legions hawking the mass-produced homes of the various real estate conglomerates. Baffled, I should say, not because I doubt the ability of those comglomerates to foist their small-parcel no-yard quick-build cookie-cutter homes on unsuspecting first-time buyers, but rather baffled by the ability of those selfsame conglomerates to acquire and retain such talent.
With what finesse do you twirl that sign in your hand! With what nonchalant grace do you intermittently pause, holding it steady for passing drivers to better read! With what... je ne sais quoi do you deftly spin and twist, toss and catch, flip and turn that oversized arrow! You, sir, are the very future of marketing, staring me right in the face as I turn left at this busy intersection.
Focused direct mail? Bah! Radio spots? Pshaw! Thought-provoking advertisements in market-focused publications? Hogwash!
One small question, though, before you turn back to your life of glamour and acclaim: have you considered how unstable your current employment is, given that you can -- at any time -- be replaced by a stick?
Sincerely,
The guy who made that smarmy, superior face as he drove past you this morning (that is to say, me)
1 comment:
No, the worst is the sad looking kid sitting on the street corner in a cow suit hawking leather furniture. I mean, can life get any worse?
Oh and Devo, all your base are belong to us.
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