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The Visitor |
The Suits Must Die
So today I was supposed to be taking my 4 year old bro out to see Shrek 2 with my girlfriend. Tickets are bought, bro is waiting, and I'm in the fucking office because the suits have the communication skills of a limbless deaf mute who just happens to have been shot in the brain by an elephant gun.
We were given the brief on Friday, and the brief made less sense than Once Upon A Time In Mexico, except at least that movie was kick-ass cool. This brief wasn't even sure it was a request, statement, or an extract from an Irish novel.
Monday comes around and we're briefed by the suits. Some sense, but not much. With what little we have to go on, we trudge on with a pretty good campaign all done up.
Now it's Tuesday, 8:18pm, and I'm still in the office because the big boss has just explained what we're ACTUALLY supposed to do.
Now, I'm beginning to understand America's fascination with guns. A .357 Magnum would feel so good in my left hand right now, aimed right between the suit's eyes. Fuckers.
It's not that I don't like working late. It's that I've made a commitment to my bro to take him out tonight, and now I can't. I hope I still can. I'm right now, at this minute, waiting for approval for the copy I've just written, which will no doubt go through rewrite, and I'll be stuck here till the wee hours of the morning.
I need a Mars bar.
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