Wednesday, 20 January 2010

Knockles vs planner



I know, okay?

I know.

I go on about planners a lot. Here, here, here and here. But this is possibly the most intriguing mystery in my life. For some people, it's God. For some it's medicine. For some, it's strippers. For me, it's planners. (Actually, put me down for strippers too.)

I flip-flop between blind awe, gulping dread and proper, honest hate. So today's meeting with the agency gave me a good opportunity to do battle with their 'Director of Insight, Account Planning & 360 Consumer Environment Engagement'.

It started well. I bowled into the agency at 11, pumped right up for the 9 o'clock meeting. 'Good morning, beautiful', I whispered to the receptionist, leaning in close over her desk. (I really felt full of vim!) 'Are you a magician? Because something has just appeared in my pants!'

Flattered into silence, she sent me straight up to the usual roomful of dour fuckers looking repeatedly at their watches. (I can't be doing with clock-watchers. I need to work with people who put in a full day and then some. Oooh! That reminds me - I have to get away by 3 today to make the golf club January Jolly with Ken Crappallan.)

'Cheer up!' I roared! 'I'm here!' (Sometimes people just need a rocket to snap them out of their rut.)

The meeting began. Badly. The planner stood up and, although he had a sensible haircut (though that may have been ironic) he was wearing very, very elaborate trousers. Sort of like flares, but with strips of cloth hanging off them, and the word 'ASS' across the backside.

'Dave - I'd like to talk about your brand. I want to get to know it. What do you think your brand feels about Obama?'

'Er...who is Obama?'

'Ah! I get you - exactly. Who IS Obama. Your brand doesn't have time for politics, especially foreign politics. So it's low-culture? X-Factor, I assume. Maybe Katona? Maybe Celeb BB?'

'Well....'

'Okay - not specific enough. Fair enough. Let's drill down: who's your brand's favourite X-Factor winner?'

'I...er...I think my brand is busy on Saturdays.'

'Right, right - I'm getting this. What's it up to on Saturday?'

'Cor. Erm...probably shopping or something.'

'Of course! Because it's got kids! It's a consumer durable! What are its kids called? Are they boys or girls, do we think?'

'I...er...don't really...know...'

'You don't know? Are you serious?'

'Ha ha! Ahem. Of course I know. They're called...Dave...and...David.'

'Really? Two boys?'

'David is a girl.'

'Hmm. I see.'

During this and the subsequent exchanges, I made an excuse to visit the bog on several occasions. Finally, when faced with the questions 'Does your brand take baths or showers?' and 'Is there room in your brand's life for an affair?' I made a decision. I assumed I'd visited the thunderbox so often that pretty much everyone must have inferred that I'm a wank addict. So I faced the elephant in the room and hit it squarely in the face with my cock and balls.

'Could I leave the room for a moment?' I announced. 'I very much need a wank.' And I left.

Then, comfortably ensconced in the lavvy, safely away from the planner, I thought 'Well, seeing as I'm here...' And I did, indeed, enjoy a brief and quite explosive jostle.

It worked wonders! I felt revived, energised and in full control. I walked back into the room and said, 'Look, Casper - I haven't got time for all this brand bollocks. I've got a hole in my tum-tum that needs filling with Mexican food, tequila and the extra-hot salsa they keep in the fridge in a cast-iron pot just for me. So fuck off and do me some ads. I like women with big bristolas, I like the product name in the headline and I like women with big bristolas. On you crack!'

And I walked into El Mexicaniac with a spring in my step I haven't felt since the day I got the all-clear from Doctor Treiffel at the special clinic, then realised it was Flange For A Fiver Night at Delilaz, then realised I had several fivers, then found a fiver in my old suit, then won a bet for a fiver with Big Brian Humpage (eat everything on the Burger King menu in under 3 minutes - easy), then got a packet of McCoys with an absolute MONSTER of a crisp in it, then had a one-wipe shit for the first time in 4 years, then had a think in my office without having the dream about the vagina with teeth!

It just goes to show that when you don't know what somebody's talking about, shouting at them makes you feel better. It's how I shall proceed from this day hence!

Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!

2 comments:

  1. Would be amusing if Martin Amis hadn't already done all this about twenty years ago. But then you know all this because you sit at home reading his books every night wishing you could write like him.

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  2. Ouch! You've been 'pwned' there knockles...outted as a fraud and a plagarist in one foul swoop.

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