So, I obviously have to write about this, considering I was laughing about it the whole way home:
I’m crossing the street at Yates and Douglas after watching Death to Smoochie at Matt & Xavier’s. It’s raining and I’m avoiding the puddles with my usual death-squad stride. I’m wearing a US Army jacket, tightish black pants, and Mary Janes that are strategically cut so my feet won’t bleed into my socks. High above my head, I hold a black patio umbrella that’s obviously stolen from the Laurel Point Inn: that may be why this tragedy occurred.
I look to my left and there’s a blond girl. She’s crossing onto Douglas kiddie-corner to me. She’s wearing this tight, white zip-up lulu lemon type sweat shirt (uhh “urban Zen workout gear”?). Anyway, her bangs are great, have this feathery effect without actual shagging. She’s standing in the middle of the intersection, holding this tight white shirt over her head--to, you know, protect her blondness from the raindrops, or something.
By this time, I’ve crossed to the other side of Yates and am now making my way past the Shoppers Drug Mart along Douglas, when all of a sudden, Blondie and her friend are upon me.
“Excuse me, do you have any . . . .weed?” She asks me.
“What?” I say.
“Do you have any . . . . .weed. To like sell?”
(I think I may have stared at this point until it was a bit uncomfortable--for her.)
“Uhh. No. No I don’t,” I say, pointing gaily in the direction of ghetto slice. “But you may want to try one of them. There’s a psycho guy just there who usually has some.”
“Thanks!!!!” Scamper away, little girl. Scamper.
I mean. I’m assuming he has pot. He usually has a veritable cornucopia of uppers (not that I’ve bought off him, but we’ve talked before) so he must have pot . . .to like sell. Fuck. What really got to me, apart from the obvious, was the Excuse me, do you have any . . .. I think I’ll try the polite, multi-syllabic approach to buying next time I feel the like, need to like “get high.” Victoria: a place where I’ve been mistaken a countless number of times for a hooker, a drug dealer, a high class escort girl, a Native with Status, someone you probably had a drunken orgy with, but never for a person who’s going to KICK YOUR FUCKING ASS. Coming soon. Soon. Like the book says: birth is imminent or: Me. a Brand of One--I have to work on my product positioning (Positioning: “developing a marketing strategy aimed at influencing how a particular market segment perceives a product or service as being differentiated in comparison to the competition.” And you thought I didn’t have it in me. Marketing! Marketing! No, really: fuck you. I can make money. I just prefer to give blow jobs. On a regular basis)/go the slut shirt I bought today! Its cut says to you: fondle me. go ahead. I’m ripe. Ripe and filled with nicotine and luke-warm tea.
Most ironic statement of the night: “Szpak,” Bulford says, “do you have a well developed sense of irony?”
Obviously, we need to engage in some intensive branding to really get your name and image out there to the public (ie, the consumers). I'm thinking a multi-part television advertizing campaign with a lot of close-ups on you, to really connect you to your product (ie, you). We'll get Narcis Pravda, celebrated pornographer, to direct; I gather he's going mainstream.
Additionally, I propose one of those "fake" magazines, with lots of glossy photographs - images that will encourage the consumers to buy into your brand; anything to demonstrate how much richer, sexier, younger, more symmetrical, more prone to blackouts, more violent they will become for buying CS. Faux movie posters as you jump off the Empire State Building - base-jumping is in right now - and possible tie-in campaigns with Bombay Sapphire and Volkswagon.
Posted by: ben at September 29, 2005 10:41 AMyou're hired! I'm glad I'm not that only one who sees how ridiculous this all is. It's basically another way of begging for money--they just have blinged out cardboard. I really enjoyed your use of parenthesis--very representative the overall nature of the marketing course. I think we can tap into a previously untapable consumer base here: the consumer that leaves a trail of destruction behind him, can of petrol in his hand. This is niche propagation at its highest. all synergies say go. Let's have shareholders. Let’s serve them tea with the quarterly report.
Syngery! I went to a workshop on Syngery with my friend K (as if she got her name from Kafka!) during Grade 10, for one of those "career day" debacles. Yes: a workshop on Syngery.
We will, of course, need to recruit shareholders (as in, convince them to buy in) who lack the capacity to share. I nominate only children, we're all bastards every one.
Posted by: ben at September 29, 2005 8:02 PMhaha. children are walking pigtails with wallets and no buying authority. :)
a synergy workshop? holy shit. that's the height of terrible. I’m truly and unironically sorry you had to go through that. holy, holy shit. that's sick, Ben. :/