I’d like to thank Gawker for putting my Twitter page up under “Twelve People Worth Actually Following On Twitter.” I don’t know if I deserve it, but I appreciate it immensely. Hopefully it will result in some form of work. It feels really nice to be recognized. Almost as nice as a full stomach.
Yesterday Simon’s slogan for a local breakfast comfort food spot, Pine State Biscuits, ran in their ad in the Portland Mercury. Put your mouth down South.
I would like to state for the record that he absolutely knows what he’s talking about.
He has family from Louisiana and was raised in Oklahoma. He knows good biscuits. Pine State’s are fantastic buttery gifts for the mouth, I was lucky enough to sample one (with mushroom gravy) prior to my blogtastic vegan adventure. He likes to taunt me now by taking me to watch him eat there. He’ll get his. And it’ll be laden with soy.
Mr. Goetz has also penned this guest spot for Jerk Ethic, after much cajoling, pouting, and oral sex. Enjoy. Heaven knows we did. And, no, it isn’t a substitute for actual eating, but we wish it were.
Disclaimer: As stated before, we’ve learned our lesson. 50% upfront. It’s almost as much our fault as it is their delinquency. Hey, we’re new at this, and we used to believe in the good of mankind. We’re learning.
AN OPEN LETTER TO CLIENTS WHO OWE US MONEY
Dear Clients Who Owe Us Money,
We realize this letter is only one of the many we’ve sent over the last few months. Chances are it will go unopened, deposited in the entryway to your office with the others, mingled in with Netflix envelopes and reminders from your dentist about your next cleaning. If stacked, they’d be thigh-high by now. You probably stopped reading after we mailed the first. If you hear the voice messages we leave every other day, we hope, in the kindest way, that the guilt is mounting in your chest and around your neck, like an albatross made of leaden hippopotamuses.
We’re tired of writing letters to you and beseeching to your answering machines. Our index fingers are blistered from punching in your phone numbers. But we’re going to keep doing both until you deliver the money you owe us. We’ve done work for your business. Now pay ours. Please. Please? We’re starving over here.
See that sun outside, the one you were golfing under yesterday while you let your Blackberry ring? Sometimes we feel like we’re holding that up, arms and shoulders buckling under its molten girth. The bills are piling up fast on the hollow-core-door-and-sawhorse desk we all share. We’ve been digging through our office neighbors’ chromed trash cans, foraging for Snickers bar crumbs, sucking on used Kleenex wads for the salt.
Months ago now, we wrote tag lines on your behalf, bouncing numerous emails back with suggestions and revisions and reassuring you that no, your fledgling product or restaurant didn’t need to borrow the aesthetic of the Hard Rock Café. No, the slogan for your company should not be three sentences long. No, your product should not have a lower-case “i” in front of its name unless you want to be fighting off more lawyers than there were Persians at Thermopylae. But now we know that you aren’t really concerned with that. You’re probably lining the floorboards of your BMW with our letters full of quiet pleading, lighting your cigars off our desperate and clawing invoices.
Do you know that we don’t even have cars, that it’s a financial impossibility? That to pay the rent in our shit-heap apartment with the mystery stains on the ceiling, we have to overdraw our accounts? Last week we fought over the logistics of rationing a bag of Skittles. There were some tears and some biting, and as a result one of us needed to sell their bicycle in order to afford antiseptic ointment.
We understand if you are poor (which, judging solely by the size of the hybrid SUV that you drove to our initial meeting, you aren’t). Even if you don’t enlighten us as to the reasons, we wish that you’d at least possess the decency to inform us that you are not paying so that we don’t run out to the mailbox every morning, eyes welling with hope.
If you continue to leave your debts to us unsettled, we will use the one thing we have to (gently) destroy you: words. We will sell our friends’ children in order to take out ads in the New York Times, Business Week, The Wall Street Journal, Piantball XXXtreme, Better Homes and Gardens, and on websites across the illustrious adult novelty shop known as the Internet. We will combine the most cynical and atrocious words we know with the name of your business or product. And this will be done soon - yes, soon! - once one of us is able to reach the keyboard from behind our Biafra-wracked bellies.
So, before you take off to your beach-house, we ask yet again, with lightness of angels, pull out that Mont Blanc in your breast pocket. Fan out your checkbooks, pick one that feels right in your hand. Lick the etched-gold nib and turn need into have. Redeem yourselves. Save us.
Everyone at Ministry of Imagery
PS - Sorry that this envelope is slightly wrinkled and stained. The most recent mailman made the mistake of knocking. It has long been established in our office that government employees are okay to eat.