The Best of December - Horror Stories From Advertising

I'm still playing catch-up! This month will bring the last two entries to get me caught so I only have to post my Horror Stories once a month after this.

Pretty-Boy was a young gentleman who got his job by being drinking buddies with my former supervisor (not The Boss). He was 23, from a fairly wealthy family, dropped out of college because he thought too many women had the hots for him and couldn't concentrate on studies, then had been kicked out of the military and lost his security clearance for getting in a bar fight and being stabbed (an argument over sex-appeal, ironically - and, yes, he told me the WHOLE story). Now working in advertising in any department is EXTREMELY demanding... it's a fast-paced industry that requires people who think and act quickly under stress. Don't go into advertising if you need direction in any shape or form, because most managers are too busy to wipe your ass for you, and don't mind firing you because there's a line 20 miles long of hopeful young college students that will try as much as you. Pretty-Boy believed that because he had an in with a manager he didn't have to work. Now in the department where I was training him, if you don't keep up with work throughout the day, you won't have time to catch up as 6PM approaches.

After the second time I caught him trying to check out porn pictures, I knew he had to go. The Boss, of course, is smitten with any good-looking guy that sweet talks her. It's a part of her overall self image problem, because she is very "troll-like" according to a friend who still works at my old company. The Boss desires attention from men to help her think she is attractive. Between her limited vocabulary that consists of mostly 4-letter words, crooked teeth, over sized muffin-top, fish lips, and overall bad attitude, one would think she had just enough intelligence (with a Masters Degree and all) to connect the dots and realize men kiss her ass because she is The Boss. Convincing her that Pretty-Boy had to go took much more than simply saying, "I caught him looking at porn," because I was told that I over-dramatize things.

So he continued coming to work in designer jeans (although company policy says jeans on Fridays only), and continued spending his days surfing the web, and his last day of training came & went. I moved back to my department upstairs and left his to his work. Day 1 alone - he fucked up every piece of paperwork being sent to stations. Day 2 - he didn't ship an URGENT package for a manager. Day 3 - he took a 3-hour lunch without telling anyone. Day 4 - The Boss comes to me to ask what kind of training I gave him. She and I went downstairs to talk to Pretty-Boy, and he assured The Boss that he listened, but had to learn his won way of doing things. She pulled paperwork off the printer to check his work and like the hand of God reached down and tore a hole in the ceiling to let in the light, she was holding a COMPLETED 20-page application for Deal or No Deal. "I'm so bored down here!" (Because I can't jack off to the porn I'm downloading over your network.) "What the fuck is this?" "I need this job! My parents are going to kick me out of their camper at the end of next week." (Yes, I live on my parents property in their camping trailer because they didn't want me in the house.) "What the fuck is this?" "You don't understand how my life is right now. I really need money!" (To pay my pot dealer and the hookers - being self-absorbed does have a cost!) "What the fuck is this?" "I have a modeling gig next week, and if it works out I will be making tons of money and won't need this job anymore!" The Boss walked out of the room. Pretty-Boy got fired that afternoon.

Now a short story about RJ - so nicknamed because she is obsessed with poop and Rim Jobs. Looking at her - she is the kind of young woman who could get away with a lot because she looks innocent. In reality, she's a sassy one - who comes out of her shell at a mention of something related to Feces. One day I was getting a box for shipping, and noticed the storage room had a foul odor. I asked her what had died in the vicinity - to which she replied, "I just dropped a foot-long in the bathroom! It took a whole pound off according to the shipping scale!"


Christmas Spirit

I think a sure sign that the country is closing in on a recession is the lack of Christmas Spirit that's all around. No one has money in the bank, middle-class is no longer a true classification because so many families are living paycheck-to-paycheck because of the rising cost of living, and Retail Sales, Housing, Personal Loans, and Automotive Sales are all down nationwide.

Although the more I think about it - Christmas Spirit has long been vanishing. Of course there's a lack of Christmas Spirit - or any Holiday Spirit - because of the fucking Liberal Douche-Bags get offended by any sort of decoration unless it's perfectly neuter. Hey! I have an idea... Let's just decorate in Beige. It's a safe neutral color that really doesn't mean anything.

The following was written by Ben Stein, and I think it sums things up beautifully - check out the full story at SNOPES.

Herewith at this happy time of year, a few confessions from my beating heart:

I have no freaking clue who Nick and Jessica are. I see them on the cover of People and Us constantly when I am buying my dog biscuits and kitty litter. I often ask the checkers at the grocery stores. They never know who Nick and Jessica are either. Who are they? Will it change my life if I don't know who they are and why they have broken up? Why are they so important? I don't know who Lindsay Lohan is, either, and I do not care about Tom Cruise's wife.

Am I going to be called before a Senate committee and asked if I am subversive? Maybe, but I have no clue who Nick and Jessica are. Is this what it means to be no longer young. It's not so bad.

Next confession: I am a Jew, and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish. And it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautiful, lit up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are: Christmas trees. It doesn't bother me a bit when people say, "Merry Christmas" to me. I don't think they are slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. It shows that we are all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year. It doesn't bother me at all that there is a manger scene on display at a key intersection near my beach house in Malibu. If people want a creche, it's just as fine with me as is the Menorah a few hundred yards away.

I don't like getting pushed around for being a Jew and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution and I don't like it being shoved down my throat.

Or maybe I can put it another way: where did the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and we aren't allowed to worship God as we understand Him?

I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too. But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from and where the America we knew went to.


Ah, Weekends!

This weekend was perfect. My husband and I hid in the house like mole people - cooked meals together, made a huge batch of Christmas Cinnamon Sugar Cookies, and played video games. All weekend.

Two weeks ago we went to Washington DC for the weekend. A few days later my husband was called to fly out again - just four days after we had returned - for him to be featured as a presenter for an upcoming contract. Now we have 2 weeks of taking it easy before he travels again.



My husband found this online - a Demotivational-type picture. I immediately thought of you, Derek, and your want for an Xbox 360. I can see you and Max already...