THE GREAT GADFLY:

Poppin' Fresh Doom

I'm not sure which will be more memorable - this evening's nightmares or this afternoon's bowel movements. You know?

So anyway, as of this past Friday, I've been officially unemployed, but yesterday my temp pimps sent me off to an intriguing one-day assignment. I can't really speak in specifics about this gig, other than to say it was a creative gig where I was working for the advertising division of a biscuit company which boasts a giggling little manchild of dough as its mascot.

My job, you see, was to read scripts for upcoming biscuit television commercials and then use my "creative artist skills" to describe how the Manchild Of Dough should behave at the end of the ad. For example, if it was a heartwarming family holiday biscuit ad, the Manchild of Dough would maybe swoon a little bit and give an especially saccharin "tee-hee!", or if it was a biscuit ad where a couple is engaging in an erotically-charged sparring match in the kitchen, well, I'd write that maybe there'd be a devillish look in the Manchild of Dough's eyes and a little bit of earthy rasp in the "tee-hee!". And then I'd type up my notes and send them to the chain-smoking animators in the basement, they'd look at me like I was overripe carny trash, and I'd go back up to my little cubicle where I'd eat squirreled-away biscuit dough that I'd tucked away in a drawer, and wait for the next script to hit my desk.

I think the most challenging one was the biscuit ad script that took place in an Afghanistan war zone, where a group of American soldiers enter a strange dining establishment and all the Afghani customers look at them with dread until the owner of the cafe trots out with a piping hot tray of sourdough biscuits, his wife trailing behind with a big pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Everyone erupts into big, hopeful smiles and war becomes peace as they all enjoy their flakey bounty.

So, shit - how would the Manchild of Dough respond to THAT one?

I wrote:

"Have the Manchild wink and then do that Jay-Z raise-the-roof elbow-pump thing. I realize the Manchild's arms are a bit too stubby to make this work 100%, but if you add just a titch of pelvic movement, people will identify the rhythm of his motions, honest. Then put a little stress into the 'tee-hee!', as if the Manchild were saying, 'shew - that was a close one!' And then have the Manchild lean against a giant tube of biscuit dough."

This did not go over very well. My supervisor, a bird-faced dominatrix of a project manager, approached my cubicle with a sour scowl and held my treatment in her talon in much the same way a mama cat would hold a baby in her teeth.

"This is simply unacceptable," birdface said with a remarkable tinny treble in her voice.

I tried explaining to her that it was my first day and even though, yeah, I'm a writer, it would take me some time to get into the mind of the Manchild of Dough, to step into his supple white skin, to wear his fluffy sourdough chef's hat.

"I think we both know what's going on here," birdface replied. "So knock it off, mister." And with that, she did a half-spin on her shiny black alligator pump and clip-clopped back to her office, her heels performing a cacophany of manic percussion.

And that's when I got pissed off.

So the next script hit my desk - oh, heartland America, blah blah blah, a little girl is crying because her damn cat's stuck in a tree so a firefighter comes by and gets the damn thing off the branch and the little girl is all happy and then Granny comes out on the porch with a big ol' tray of biscuits and the firefighter gives a big thumbs-up and they all sit at a picnic table eating biscuits and drinking tea.

Here's what I wrote for the Manchild of Dough's response at the end of the ad:

"The Manchild should be leaning seductively against the giant tube of biscuit dough, with a sly, clouded-over come hither look. He has a petulant half-smirk on his face, as if to say, 'yeah, you want some of this, don't you?' He taps his crotch a couple of times, quickly, as in blink-and-you'll-miss-it quick. He then does a dirty little hoochie dance where he is bent over and gyrating his doughy little ass at the camera. Finally, he spins around, cups his doughy Manchild breasts and waggles his tongue a la 'Girls Gone Wild', and emits a sheepish 'tee-hee!'"

Well, I'll tell you what - I got sent home early that day, but I finally earned the respect of the surly animators in the basement. Upon hearing of my termination, the guys downstairs took up a collection for me and handed me over $73.00 which was mine to take, no questions asked, as long as I promised to spend it all on alcohol and smokes.

Those guys. I'll miss them.

Tee-hee!