As you read this, know that I cannot be found nor can my steps be traced. I have given all of my possessions (made possible by the generous overpayment of ad agencies) to the poor and have fled the country for the warm embrace of the South American bush. I have also altered my appearance with the help of the kindly Dr. Alemania who owed me a favor for mocking up a rather believable license enabling the good doctor to practice medicine in the States.

I have taken these drastic measures out of a genuine fear for my life. For after spending many years in the trenches of the ad biz, I know how the words of an unkind critic can send one into a violent, murderous rage. My new endeavor, this website, is likely to have that effect on those who take great pride in creating advertising. My weekly mockery of them and their shallow business would have certainly resulted in my death had I not the common sense to flee.

My new home is rather primitive but quite nice. I spend my days drinking homemade Ouzo and making small fruit baskets out of dried papaya rinds, which I then sell at the open-air markets for a pretty penny. At night I go into town to select some lovely, olive-skinned Mexican whores for an evening of music and sex.

I will stay here as long as I can remain free of detection. But who knows how long that will be. It is, after all, a small world. Why, just last month, while perusing the selection of chiquitas for the evening, I recognized an art director I once worked with who was here on Holiday. I’m sure he didn’t recognize me but one can not be too careful. That night I arranged for a few of the local thugs to drag him from his bed and beat him into a coma. I received word that his condition has been upgraded as he is now learning how to use a spoon again.

Indeed, it would have been far less dangerous had I taken to writing words of praise for the industry and handing out compliments against my better judgement. I would have been courted by desperate creatives hoping for recognition. I would have had my pick of sinfully-young media beauties offered up in exchange for positive reviews. But I would have been miserable. Finding flaws in others is far more enjoyable and, I must say, so much less work.

Is it all worth it, you ask? To have given up a promising career as a well-paid advertising copywriter? To be forced to live out the rest of my days hoping that the next person I bump into isn’t one of the poor bastards whose ad I publicly skewered? Hmmm. Did I mention the Mexican whores?

–The Editor