“Be a man.”
“Grow a pair.”
“Get some balls, you wanking tosser!”
As long as there's been advertising, there've been account people crumbling like school girls in the sight of the client. And while we creatives may beg over and over…and over for you to sprout a fucking sack already, our ideas still fall to chilling deaths by your hand. But here we are bursting forehead capillaries over your anatomy, when it is actually we who wear the crazypants. Because isn’t insanity defined as expecting different results from the same old method?
My friends, the time to break the cycle has arrived. Oh yes, you may indeed ride the shortbus down the road of bravery. Fairness may hate you. DNA may have failed you. Tumbleweeds may drift across the empty skin where your sack should hang. But, I say to you, account men and women of the world, welcome to a new season of hope. Can we change the face of advertising for generations to come? Can we turn your take-it-up-the-ass style of client liaising, into one that rips off the client’s fancy pants and gives him a thrust of his own medicine? Say it with me, “Yes we can!”
From the shanty gutters of Brooklyn, to the glittering high rises of NYC, I shall search high and low for what nature has so cruelly denied you. So help me God who art in heaven, thy kingdom will come! For I will find your balls. And on each occasion when I make my selfless discoveries, I will post them here. Real live cojones. Quivering in their boundless potential. Yours to keep, use and conquer the world.
Your thank you letters are not necessary. The opportunity to validate your paycheck is reward enough. Just knowing you’ll be out there, freshly discovered sack in hand, striding into meetings, proving your worth is greater than a sack of turds ablaze, makes this little writer tingle in her underpants, right there in her nutsack.
And now….to the balls!