Archive for May, 2008

Guinea Pig

May 29, 2008

On my reel is a spot for Pine-Sol. It’s not the best spot ever, but it may be the best spot ever done for Pine-Sol. The creative brief for the project called for the need to include the following: 1. Cleaning 2. Get across the insane scent of Pine-Sol (reminds me of a fourth grade bathroom) 3. Must include Diane Amos, the “Pine-Sol Lady.”

So we thought…. Pine-Sol is so powerful it could wake a man from a coma. That’s where it all started. The spot launched nationwide, and the next day Terry Schiavo died.  I guess they weren’t using Pine-Sol in her hospital room. Or maybe they began using Pine-Sol in her room after seeing the commercial, the smell of which finally led to her death. I don’t know. Either way the timing was impeccable. 

The spot was very successful and the client requested that it be turned into a campaign. The next commercial was slated to involve a New Orleans style Jazz funeral in which a woman cleaning wakes a man from a coffin. Katrina came a few days later and now that spot will never ever be made. Greg and I were now predicting the future. It was kind of fun to have the world in our hands.

We continued writing and finally landed on the following script. It is inspired by a memory I have of a backyard funeral for my hamster “Sherlock”. I was five. We sang “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Sherlock had a proper burial, and I cried a lot. Both Greg and I left DDB before the spot could be produced, but I thought some people might enjoy seeing one of the millions of commercials that never got made. This drawing and script are both dedicated to “Sherlock” and my old partner Greg, who has a keen sense of what is awesome.

GUINEA PIG :60 TV – Pine-Sol

We open in a suburban backyard, facing the house.

A young boy, seven, toots mournfully on a white recorder. Through sliding glass doors in the background we can see Mom mopping the kitchen floor.  A bottle of Pine-Sol Lemon is at her feet.

A younger girl, 5, sobs quietly.  We see a pile of flowers, a small hole in the ground and a deceased guinea pig at her feet.

Girl: Why’ d you have to nibble the wire, Rhonda? Why? (to Dad) Why?

Dad pats his daughter on the shoulder to console her, and reaches down to place his flower on the pile next to Rhonda.

We notice in the background Mom opens the sliding glass door, mop in hand.  The curtains blow briskly out towards the backyard.

Cut to a close up of Rhonda.  She wiggles her nose and takes in a series of quick sniffs.

Off Screen: Girl in a Shrill voice: RHONDA!

Off Screen:  Dad (under his breath):  That smells clean.

Cut to Diane who leans over the backyard fence, pruning shears in hand.

Diane:  That’s the power of Pine-Sol, Baby.

Cut to a close up of a Pine-Sol Lemon Fresh bottle next to a bucket.  We see Mom hurrying out to check out the commotion.

We see a pack Shot.

Super reads: The Powerful Scent of Clean.




The Red Left

May 28, 2008



In the wake of the spanking post, which due to demand will now be a monthly installment, I wanted to post a note that I found laying on a sidewalk in Oakland. This note was typed, using an actual typewriter, on the back of a half torn envelope.

With the current state of the “Union”, and I use that term loosely, I’m not sure that Jerry and his anonymous vice president are bad candidates for the upcoming election. 

If Jerry and his writer friend can remove our entire government in one “fail” swoop, while being high on governmentally legalized medical marijuana, I’d be willing to vote for the guys. Shit, I’d give them a parade, or at least a high five. I’m also attracted to party lines due to the diversity of the radiant color wheel. I like color wheels. I like radiance. I like real typewriters. 

VOTE For Jerry.


The Serial Spanker

May 24, 2008

Last night my buddy Adam found a stack of “spanking magazines” on a sidewalk in Santa Monica. I wasn’t aware that there were “spanking magazines”, much less a spanking community, but it’s now evident to me that there’s at least one huge collection of this spanking shit, and it’s now in Adam’s possession.  

Apparently after 15 years, some poor soul had come to a bitter end with his/her spanking fetish and had decided that they would leave their legacy of spanking in a brown paper bag for some lucky soul to carry on. That soul was Adam, and we’re hoping his new girlfriend likes to be spanked. Adam now has the tools at his disposure to be a pro.

The magazines (37 in total) range from the vintage Serial Spanker series to several issues of Strictly Speaking Spanking (#27 pictured) to Paul Davie’s Wild World Of Spanking. The collection includes illustrated spanking, photographed spanking, editorials about spanking, spanking interviews, spanking personals, spanking fiction, non fiction, and a host of other spanking shit. Most of the issues are from the Serial Spanker series, in which the “Serial Spanker” hides out in alleys waiting for unsuspecting young women who are begging for a serious spanking. 

Here’s a gem from Davie’s WIld World of Spanking. I’m sure of two things about the following illustration. 1. This guy wears Old Spice. 2. He’s damn good at spanking.

This man’s arm could double as a fraternity paddle. Maybe a sorority paddle. It’s some kind of paddle. It’s a hand that’s done a lot spanking, for a very long time.  Judging by his clothing choice, body hair and lamp, I’d say he lives near the beach and vacations in the rockies. Spanks a lot of junior lifeguards and ski bunnies. Probably drinks Canadian Club Whiskey.  Picked up the girl when he picked up the lamp. Maybe at a lamp store in Manhattan Beach. The illustration was white and black but I took the liberty of coloring it in photoshop. The man looks strikingly similar to my buddy Jon, who recently got married to a beautiful blond from Sweden. So I colored it their honor.

Then there’s this…

What the fuck is this? Yeah, I know. I’m pretty sure this is the most insane photograph involving BK Night kicks that’s ever been taken. If in a thousand years we are all dead, and some alien life form comes back to El Segundo and finds this picture, I’m pretty sure they will think that this was a culture based in some serious spanking and some badass shoe technology. If you’re gonna get spanked by an old british schoolteacher with a wooden cane, you better be rockin the BK knights. Nice ass. Teacher could use some dental work. Set dresser was evidently a rockstar.

My friend B.

May 22, 2008

Throughout my life I can count on a single hand the people who I envy. Charles Bukowski is one of them. Another is my friend B. I met B in advertising when I was working in San Francisco. We stay in touch mostly via email these days. Here’s two I recently received.


I´m in Panama, on my way back to the states. Got myself a business class seat home 4 days early. I´ll have to explain over the phone but long story short, KC and I had a rough time in the jungle with the medicine man. Like violent, dark, and evil. And I´m talking beyond a bad trip. Spirits and dark forces and energies were involved and we both felt it. The shaman had to come the next day to scrub my body down with lemon and blow special smoke around me to ward off the spirits that were hovering around me all night. he says he had to fight them off really hard. he said the Ayahuasca liked me and took its hold strong. I couldn´t move from one spot on the floor of a wood hut for two days and for two days after could only walk with someone holding me or I´d fall over. They´d just come in and force feed me water and small pieces of fruit every hour.
Then I found out that even the Shaman said he mixed the juice too strong because he was drinking it during the ceremony and said it fucked him up too, which rarely happens. When KC was better, the Shaman showed him where in the jungle he made it, he said this bunch he sent himself away from the village and fasted while making it for two days. Was some serious shit. I had the most evil visions on earth and I´m honestly convinced that plenty of them weren´t just hallucinations. I honestly had to call on my faith to fight off some major demons.
The only positive that came of it is that I had lost my wallet and during the second day when I went back into a zone I had a vision of exactly where it was. As soon as I was conscious and able to move I went there and it was there. The shaman said when you ¨learn the ayuhuasca better´it can show you visions of what plants contain what medicinal properties and that´s how medicine men get their other cures. They also do use it to find lost things or people. Too bad I wasn´t aware of that, I would have at least thought on Erika…
I don´t ever want to learn the ayuhuasca. I don´t see myself ever doing anything like that again. I honestly fought myself away from death that first night. Thank goodness for the krav Maga! Man but seriously, if I would have given in, that anaconda would have taken me somewhere bad, maybe even violent.
On another note, did spend a few days looking for Erika and no luck. i was disappointed but I think that with all that went down it simply wasn´t meant to be, and I hope she´s well and wish her the best but I´m fairly content with that, for now.
not sure if that´s the vintage story you were looking for but it helped to write it out a bit. KC wasn´t as taken by it as i was, which is relative,  but he even said it was the darkest place he´s ever been and kilimanjaro was nothing compared to it, physically or emotionally.
Remind me to tell you about the woman in the speedboat, in which they had to build a bed for me just to get me out of the jungle because a mega storm was coming down river. We raced it for three hours with it literally on our tail like in a cartoon – or so they told me, as I was barely conscious. Little children had to carry me off the boat. Man, what movie did I just escape…
Anyway, I´ll call you guys soon. Can´t wait to talk in person and hear an update on your world.
Cucc, sounds great about the pad. Brett, go spill some Absinthe in it for me…
EMAIL #2 From B:
So, I was gonna tell you about my training, but I think i should tell you about my last weekend.      

Of course, I may well have set back my two weeks of training this weekend alone. Allow me to summarize: Friday night, after training, a young bloke from Manchester and I rode our motor bikes across the Island to Patong, had some drinks, met a man who claimed to be Dennis Hopper’s son, he was annoying but his friends ditched him for being too drunk (should have been the key warning) so we felt bad and invited him to the stadium with us to see some Muay Thai fights. Fights were hard core as fuck. Way more so than any I’ve seen in the states. Saw 2 ten year olds fight a serious battle ending with one getting KO’d. There is something so innocently desperate and frightening about seeing a ten year old get KO’d. Even the winning boy wasn’t 100% comfortable with the result. Some other really good adult fights. One guy from our gym won by pretty vicious elbow KO. Hopper Jr., challenged everyone in the stadium to a fight, including members of the Thai Mafia who, I believe, only didn’t kill him because they were confused by the level of his obnoxious ramblings. After the fight, we ditched hopper, went to see Nuch ( A Thai go-go dancer I’ve hung out with a few times ) who immediately called 3 of her go-go friends to come out, manchester boy disappeared with the one ugly girl in the club, go figure, and I partied the night away with Nuch and her 3 cute as fuck, way enthused, energizer bunny friends. Finally made it back to camp around 6pm on Saturday, hungover as hell, to find my neighbors on the front porch drinking, hazing me to grab a drink and yelling that we’re going to Patong for a Ping Pong show. I felt bad that I haven’t hung with them at all since I’ve been here, and I’m not one to pass on seeing a ping pong show, so… Round 2. Ping Pong Show: You put out your hand, nude girl squats over it and drops ping pong out of her pussy into your hand. Then a girl comes out with a fish bowl full of water, drops a fish from her pussy into fish bowl. Then a girl comes out, puts two cigarettes in her pussy, asks you to light them, she takes a few drags, blows smoke out her pussy. Then a girl comes out and, in short, pulls a string out of her pussy and keeps pulling until about 20-30 threaded, long, thick, sowing needles come out. From there it was basic partying, after hours clubs, then after-after hours club, until finally, me, on a platform at a club, dancing with a gorgeous Thai girl who has 6 fingers on her left hand (two thumbs). She ended up really digging me but I actually felt bad that Nuch, who I actually like, was home, sick and hungover in bed. So, I finally just headed home. Now I’ve been in bed sick for two days. Hoping that the pills “yes, for stomach pain” I got from the pharmacy (where you can buy everything from codein to steroids) get me well enough to train tomorrow. I actually prefer that pain to this.

two of my favorite conversations:      

Swedish girl: Why are you wearing socks in Thailand?
Me: Oh, I just took off my sneakers.
SG: Why are you wearing sneakers in Thailand?

Thai girl on beach: What you look for in girlfriend?
Me: Oh, ya know, just someone I can laugh with and stuff like that.
TG: Oh, you no like boom-boom?
Me: Well, I just figured that was a given.
TG: What?
Me: Yes, I like Boom-boom. Very much.
TG: Oh good.

Anyway, aside from this week, training has been very difficult but very good. Hoping I’ll be well enough to get back to it and back on track soon.

How are you? Let me know what’s going on there. Say hey to Brenda.


My time with Mr. Hasselhoff

May 20, 2008

The following short story recounts a journey I took a few years ago with Mr. David Hasselhoff. I’d like to preface the short story with the following. 

1. I ran this short through a computer program that’s supposed to be able to tell at what level it’s written at. The result: 5th grade. Now I’m not sure whether that means the story can be comprehended by a fifth grader, or if it seems to be written by one. Either way, I remember fifth grade kicking ass, so I’m fine with it.

2. This is a work of Non Fiction.



The doodler.

May 20, 2008

My good friend Jiv spends a lot of time doodling. He’s a writer, but also a very good doodler. He draws lots of caricatures and usually includes a caption with each one. Most of these end up in the trash. I’m not sure why. I’ve been secretly collecting a couple of my favorites. Maybe one day Jiv will cut off his ear. And then I can sell these for a bunch of money.

Wang Jing Lou – Call for Firee delivery

May 13, 2008

             Located in Richmond’s Church Hill district, Wang Jing Lou is the personification of “Hole in the Wall” Chinese food. Upon entering the small establishment guests are greeted by a three inch thick bullet proof plexi-glass wall that separates you/them/robbers from their money and your food. There are no places to sit. This is not a restaurant. This is simply a place where you exchange cash for food. For patrons not brave enough to go the distance, Wang Jing Lou happily offers Firee delivery. I mean why not, it’s firee. But patrons who do pay Mr. Lou a visit may receive a personal limited edition Wang Jing Lou calendar: Part authentic chinese menu, part calendar, part photo shoot of hot naked asian chicks in random but appetizing settings. It’s authentic. And Firee.

Deez Beez Some Arts I Beez Doin

May 8, 2008

 Pen, ink, watercolor and whatever else happens to be around. I’m doing these to further my lifelong career in art (without instruction from the Art Instruction School of America).






May 7, 2008

I recently acted on an advertisment. I’ve seen this ad on TV for the past 25 years and I finally decided to call the 800 number to get more information. It was the commercial for Art Instruction Schools of America. The one where some guy who looks like my grandpa tries to convince me that I may have what it takes to be an amazing artist. Evidently, hundreds of accomplished artists have gone through this program and come out with the ability to draw wonderful pictures of pirates and turtles and hot rods and waterfalls. I’m a writer by trade, but it seemed to me like maybe this was my opportunity to become a true artist. I called for my free art instruction kit and in three months it came in the mail. Inside the art instruction kit I found an art test.

The test involves recreating one of three pictures that some accomplished “artist” has already drawn. The choices are as follows: A surly looking pirate. A dog. And Cubby. (No turtle?…wtf) The dog seemed kinda boring and Cubby made me feel gay. So I drew the pirate and filled out the form and sent it in. (click image to enlarge)

Seems I’ve taken the first step towards a lifetime of creating art. My pirate scored an 85. I guess he looked a bit more slim than the one the artist had drawn but I felt it helped make him look more scallywag and badass. I was pretty proud of this so I put it up on my office wall.

A couple of weeks later my boss walks into my office, looks at it and says,
“Hey, I drew Cubby!”
“Interesting choice.” I replied.
“No. I drew Cubby. I was the artist who came up with that original drawing.”

That explains a lot.

May 7, 2008

This past February I went home for Mardi Gras. It was the first time I’ve ever gotten to ride on one of the parade floats and it was an experience I’ll never forget. Mardi Gras is all about Catholicism and at lunch one day my father and I got into a discussion about the decline of the Catholic religion in recent years. It seems young people just aren’t that interested in going to church anymore. We spoke about the pros and cons and I came to the conclusion that the Catholic religion just doesn’t know how to talk to people. It’s like a 2,000 year old trying to talk some sense into an 18 year old. It’s just not gonna jive. So I drew this picture. It’s not gonna solve the Pope’s problems, but I think it’s a step in the right direction. All you OG gangstas can relate to what I’m saying here.