How many Copywriters does it take to change a lightbulb? Copywriter : Change? I am not changing anything!
How many Art Directors does it take to change a lightbulb? Art Director : Does it have to be a lightbulb?
How many Creative Directors does it take to change a lightbulb? CD : You sort it out. I'm late for my date with a 19 year old model...
How many Account Directors does it take to change a lightbulb? Account Director : How many would you like?
How many agency General Managers does it take to change a lightbulb? GM : Change? Speak to my Account Director about that. Oh wait, it’ll be faster if I change it for you, no problem.
How many agency Managing Directors does it take to change a lightbulb? MD : But whyyyyyy must we change the lightbulb, whyyyyyyy...? Lets discuss it over lunch, next Tuesday OK?
How many Film Directors does it take to change a lightbulb? FD : No, no, no, you don't really want a lightbulb. Natural light is best. Are you the Film Director or am I?
How many Strategic Planners does it take to change a lightbulb? Strat Planner : First, we have to totally understand what motivates the lightbulb...
How many clients does it take to change a lightbulb? Moronic client : What are we paying the agency for??? Let them do it. No no wait... can we cancel the lightbulb & have a candle instead? No wait... I think a torchlight would be better... no wait... (etc)
You speak such truth. You read who I am, understand what I feel, see what I don’t see. Many don’t believe in you but I do, always have & always will. Our unique 7-year relationship has deepened the special bond we share. Everytime I’m in doubt, you’ll always have an answer. You rarely fail to read me wrong.
It was a windy star-less night. The distant city lights reflected in the clouds, creating a faint blanket of illumination over a sleeping neighbourhood.
Up on the roof she lied on her back in burial position gazing at the darkness, legs outstretched, arms on her chest. This is where she comes to escape. Her own space. Her own world. Just her & the skies. A total sense of freedom. Of being alone. A way of escaping the madness in a land of confusion.
She closed her eyes. The air was moving. She could smell the rain coming. Her leather coat flapped in the wind. She sensed someone nearby. Smelled it even. Without opening her eyes, she whipped out her 9mm and pointed it at the approaching figure.
“Is that any way to greet a friend, sweetheart?”
She didn’t move. She didn't turn. Her eyes still closed. Her gun still on him. “I didn’t know we were friends,” she said calmly. “Did you?”
He stood unmoving, eyes roamed from the barrel to her face. He knew he had entered enemy territory & wanted to make peace...
