Welcome to another edition of State Og, the only internet periodical that's forward-thinking and daring enough to have white males on its staff. Special thanks this week go to: John "Clitch" Macbean and Don "Motorcycle" Jolly.
To: Grand High Marketeer
CC: The little elves that dance around my office and bring me bourbon
Subject: New Marketing Gimmick
Lately, I've come in contact with a strange invention called Television. It seems that there are these devices that can receive radio waves, decode them, and present them as images and sounds on a mystical black box. I know. It sounded just as crazy to me, but I assure you it exists. I encountered this contraption some 8 days ago. You'll recall the moon was exceptionally round that night. I was feeling depressed and quite bored, it being the end of Inter-Office Deathmatch season. The elation of Accounting's triumphant and particularly sanguinary destruction of Shipping had been replaced with those post-bloodsport championship blues. You know how that goes.
So there I was, moping about over a bottle of scotch, when that weird kid that hangs around my house comes in and suggests we watch some of this "T.V.". Now I know I've told you on several occasions about this boy. He's always running up and hugging me, calling me dad, asking me for money, and wondering aloud why my wife is constantly sobbing like a battle fatigued doughboy. That little guy creeps me out, man. However this "T.V." intrigued me, and my curiosity quickly overcame my distaste for pre-pubescents.
He led me into this odd room. It was comfortably furnished with plush couches, reclining chairs, and small tables strewn with absorbent discs of cork. A "Family Room" he called it. I don't mind telling you that I was frightened. Had it not been for the fortifying power of 36 ounces of Cutty Sark, I doubt my mind could have survived it. Yet, there in the center, with all manner of over-stuffed seating focused upon it's fuzzy, white glow, sat the black obelisk I would call "Master" for the next several days.
I sat there, on a rather comfortable bag said to be filled with beans, and became spellbound. It seems that Television is a highly efficient advertisement delivery system with poorly written stories thrown in for filler. The possibilities for corrupting the minds of our customers are endless. Thus, I must insist that you suspend all current projects and focus all of your department's assets on television ads.
Luckily for you, old friend, I've already started us on the road to television dominance. I noticed a common thread in many of the more cloyingly hypnotic commercials during my 132 hours of continuous viewing. They all have gimmicky mascots. Stuffed bears, cartoon monkeys, sock puppets, giant toy-hawking demon giraffes, etc.. Noting the subversively clever effect that these animated avatars have in softening the brazen facade of our corporate greedocracy, I've decided that State OG needs a mascot. Thus I present; "CASHY! The Talking Dollar!"
His happy-go-lucky demeanor and endearing catchphrase are sure to delivery us like bloodthirsty ninjas into the hearts of our customers, where we can hack away at their budgetary resolve and conditioned skepticism toward us and our products. I arrived at this epiphany about 15 minutes into hour 133. It was 3:30 in the morning on Saturday, and I knew your department had the day off to bury your dead(By the by, you were robbed in the semi-finals, old buddy). I had to act fast. The 1.3 Kiloliters of Cutty I'd consumed during my imprisonment at the hands of that infernal box had left me bereft of all short-term memory. I felt it urgent that I put my mascot plan into motion before it was lost to the sea of sweet, smokey, scotch inside of me.
"An independent marketing consultant!" I slurred to myself. They could create our corporate trick or treat mask! Alas, upon a quick inventory of my liquid assets, I found that only my Booze and Hooker Fund was available. It was more than enough, but like any shrewd businessman, I know where the buck stops. And like any shrewd businessman, my buck stops at a steady supply of alcohol and loose women. So I had one of the kids from the sweat shop whip this up. It should get you started. See you at the board meeting. Remember, the theme sauce is Tequila.
Thank you for your time. Now leave me alone, I'm behind on my TiVO.
P.S. That creepy kid's reading over my shoulder again.
You have been selected from a random lottery of our entire employee database to receive FREE LIFE-SAVING SURGERY courtesy of your benevolent higher-ups.
This offer is valid for the next week, and must be redeemed at State Og’s state-of-the-art “Room Full Of Sharp Things That Spin” located in our Beijing office. This offer is not only good for you, but can be redeemed for all members of your family as well.
If you feel that you and your family do not require LIFE-SAVING SURGERY at this time, think again! You all need it, and you need it within the next week. Unless, of course, the idea of little Timmy’s face collapsing inward into an infinitely dense mass of horror dredged from the shadow world where physics collides head-on with Satanism is appealing to you.
If the journey to Beijing is impossible at this time, please dedicate the next week to informing your supervisor of your predicament and relocating yourself to a an area where massive, bloody geysers of offal and heavy flux in the space time continuum will be less noticeable.
Congratulations again!- State Og Representative
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
State Og... what is it? Who knows! Where do they operate? No clue! All we know is they're fairly evil, and nobody dares question the might of State Og!