(I am fucking famous, by the way. Don't listen to what that cunt-portion Barry Cockle says. He's just jealous because I've got an ergonomic chair and a window over the air conditioners while he has to sit on a standard issue pleb's blue three-wheeler and has a window facing the bricked-in office where Colin Balls hung himself. Get over it, Barry, you fucking wank-pole.)
With a new campaign beckoning for an as-yet unnamed product (without giving too much away, it's a consumer durable that will bring new levels of cleanosity into the low-to-mid range category, whilst maintaining strong margins into the medium-to-long terms - hope that doesn't spoil the surprise) I needed a big idea.
Luckily, big ideas are what I do best. I provided the genius juice for the Cleanavia campaign. And it looks like I've done it again.
I'm going to crowdsource my next star pair of bristolas.
Doritos can fuck about getting the great unwashed to make their next commercial for them if they want. Let's be honest, unless I enter, it'll be won by some mumbling Jasper or Giles from the dank creative corner of a London agency who's never quite had the dangle-bag to tell his creative director to let him have a crack at something other than BOGOF ads for elderly ladies' discharge management products.
I don't need the plebs to tell me how to make a great commercial! I make the fuckers in my sleep! (Well, at work - but that's where I do a lot of my sleeping.) I just need a muse for each campaign. For the Cleanavia ads, it was some girls I stumbled upon, through sheer good luck, at Delilaz. This time, it'll be a punter.
Now, a note of caution, my fellow marketing professionals. The commonly agreed rule in marketing is punters = munters. Many is the time an unseasoned marketeer has tried to make a consumer a star (they try it in PR all the time) only to find that Mrs Dawkins from Sevenoaks is actually a part-time gargoyle at her local gothic flying buttress and has a face that could curdle children. I'll make sure entrants submit a picture, ideally of their bristolas - and we know that a cracking pair of bristolas is at least 33% of a good ad.
We'll launch the competition with a TV spot. (I called the agency today to tell them that I'd come up with the entire campaign for them - AGAIN! - but they must have been in the middle of something. The account director just sighed and hung up. Weird.) It'll have a silhouette of a bird against a glitzy background where loads of paparazzi are snapping away, and a fat agent-type with a cigar is showering her with jewellery (not money - it's got to be tasteful). The VO says 'Could you be the face of the next Blah-di-blah from Blah-di-blah?' It'll be brilliant.
The prize - fucking get this - is a tour of the factory, a year's supply of mops, a voucher for knickers, a topless photo-shoot with a renowned glamour snapper (Big Andy Poleman's mate, Micky Porn), 5,000 points on their Tesco card and, of course, 25% off the consumer durable itself, subject to availability and at recommended retail price.
What woman wouldn't want that?
Well, I emailed all this over to the agency but there's been no response yet. (Fair enough. I'm always a bit stunned when I'm awestruck. Not that it happens that often! HA HA! I'm in a fucking great mood!)
We'll run it all online - and for me that makes it groundbreaking. Some people might say that making a customer the star of your commercial has been done so many times it could be Madonna, but I say this: listen again - it'll be online. It's virtually social media, for fuck's sake, and that's the future, today, now, yesterday.
So. How many of you will enter? Wouldn't you fancy being the new face of my consumer durable? I might even throw in a night with DK for the winner! It'll fucking work too! Now BRING ON THE TITS!
Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!