Client Kamasutra

A few boardroom positions we're all too familiar with

The Client on Top

This is one position that is sure to send your client over the edge because he controls both the depth of penetration and the intensity of stimulation. The focus here is on getting the client off; possibly not the best position for you.

The Tight Squeeze

With your media budget clenched and your creatives crossed, you can feel the entire length of your client and grip it tight, creating loads of friction as he thrusts deep. With the agency rocking precariously, have the client reach under you and play with your strategy, or eat into your production budget. Mega-sensations guaranteed.

The 360

With a little bit of practice and a certain degree of flexibility you could pull off this position with amazing results. While you have your hands on his ATL, you could bend over to handle his BTL as well. This angle allows for super-intense deep penetration.  Bonus tip: With a little extra flexibility and reach, you can also pleasure him digitally, sending him over the edge.

The Toy Boy
If your boardroom routine is a tad stale, it might help to liven things up with a little toy. Best sourced from the South of France, or New York or London, these shiny metallic toys are built for pleasure. There's the deep reaching pencil-shaped pleasurer or the specially contoured Lion shaped pleasure enhancer that's sure to guarantee synchronised multiple orgasms in the boardroom.

The Headstart

A great amount of satisfaction has been had by the client in this position. Orgasms they say happen between the ears after all, and sometimes the only way to get ahead is to give head. Start by gently massaging his ego, while you simultaneously apply lips to his derriere. With the right amount tongue work and excellent gagging reflex, you will have him coming all over your double spread.

Some things just don't fly

Dear airline,
Thanks for making us all walk through first and business class in order to reach our shitty economy seat. Not!

Dear airport security,
I thoroughly enjoyed the intrusive frisking. More time on the nipples next time.

Dear person at check-in desk,
I know you'll now charge for meals, seat selection and luggage. Now, how much for a smile?

Dear baggage handlers,
Thanks for marking my bag fragile, then flinging it across the conveyor belt.

Dear passengers,
They're not playing the national anthem. There's no need for a synchronised standing up on touchdown.

Dear lecherous co-passenger,
Put your eyes back into their sockets. That hostess is as old as your granddaughter.

Dear airline,
Could you serve something other than cardboard tikka and palak cardboard?

Dear passenger in front who loves to recline,
If you push back any further you just might feel my crotch.

Dear flight caterer,
Probably not the best idea to serve egg sandwiches at 35,000 feet.

Dear trolley dolly,
You say wig, I say dead raven pinned to the head.

Haldirams and Bikanervala packs tell you how to deflower a virgin

Of all the intentionally hilarious advertising messaging we are served with on a daily basis, this one takes the cake. Or probably the namkeen.

This pack opening instruction sounds like a line out of Joy of Sex.

 
It also doesn't help when the top view of the back looks like this:

This knife Fuxwell. That file is a bastard!

Speaking of hilarious German brands, Fuxwell knives were an integral part of every household for as long as I can remember. There was simply no competition in the category, and the cheap, durable, and German-made knives made easy work of slicing in the kitchen.

Of course, it was the closest, my Catholic mom came to uttering an expletive. And the sales guys at Currimbhoys in Chennai never batted an eyelid while being asked for one. Whether it was ignorance or just routine that made them straight faced while shouting out the brand out across the store, I'll never know.

Of course, when cousins came over, we'd huddle over the knife and giggle at the brand name which was printed discretely on the blade.

That, and the flat bastard file caused a giggly huddle of cousins.

.

The bastard file, I discovered later, wasn't really a brand, but rather a kind of file whose teeth configuration was in between a rough and coarse.

On a recent shopping spree for knives, I kept an eye out for a Fuxwell knife, only to discover that it is now called Fixwell in an apparent whitewashing attempt The corporate website of course has no record of its history and no mention of Fuxwell. Sigh!

What wouldn't I give to see this brand launched in India!

Polishing your wood? I have just the product for you.

This German company has a series of products which it manufactures under the brand Lundmark. The most famous being the wood polishing wax which it strangely describes as 'Lubricating Compound'.

Another product on offer is Lundmark Anti-microbial Hand Soap. I'd kill to do an ad starring any of our leading Bollywood ladies in a bathtub saying, Isko laga daala toh life jhingalala.

A Case Of Potty Mouth

Ladies in Lungis

Whoever said we weren't a progressive bunch. Our ads have featured cross-dressing as early as the 80s.

How I read a Monday morning brief

What's the objective of this brief?

To ruin my Monday, and the rest of the week subsequently.

What facts support the benefit?

Calling us in at 9. To the client's office. On a Monday. After a working weekend. With an impossible deadline.

Who are we talking to?

No one in the room I guess, from the vacant expressions.

Who are we competing with?

A huge massive hangover.

                                                                        

What should the tone be?

Soft, not over 20 decibels.

Key fact

I need coffee, and I need carbs!

Are there any mandatories?

Yes, cancel all plans for the weekend.

Booze for gay men, cottage cheese for lesbians

Recently, Michael Stevenson posted on targeting the LGBT consumer through mobiles:

http://michaelstevenson.wordpress.com/2013/08/15/targeting-the-lgbt-consumer-try-mobile/

And here's a hilarious excerpt from the post:

Well, I knew that lesbians were into pussy. But cat food? Cottage cheese?

And sour cream????

Reminded me of a joke I heard once:

I went into the gym today and asked the butch-est woman there, "How do I get bigger triceps?"
She replied, "Try a few dips mate."
So the next day I walked in with sour cream and mustard.

Amul gives Lincoln a good fingering

Oh the unintentional hilarity! Am I the only one that saw the double entendre in this ad? I'm sure it wasn't intentional. It's not like Amul to be so risque. Nevertheless I got a good laugh out of it. Bad, bad Amul Girl.

Wake up and smell the client's ass

It's hairy, smelly and ridden with dingleberries. But you'll rim it with gay abandon and you'll like it!

It's 2013, but it still feels like the 60s in the ad world. And particularly like the backstage of a Rolling Stones concert. Or a back street in Pattaya for that matter. Clothes, and morals are off.  Everyone's putting out. We're pimping underage ideas. And nobody seems to be using protection. The client wants to make it bigger, and we're stripping ourselves of everything to help him get it up.

Tell people that fair is beautiful. Done.

Could I see two more  alternatives? Sure.

By end of day? Of course.

Name your first born after the brand? Done.  

Sell me your Grandma? Why not!



Apparently, the only position that gets  the client off is Client-on-top.

What you drink and what they think.

So, a man walked into a bar. And here's what they thought.
  

Long Island Ice Tea

You are: Down-to-earth. Usually face-down.

You have: Been on the floor more times than your mop.

You ride: The taxi home (we hope).

You wear: Whatever was in fashion 10 years ago.

You know: The bartender better than anyone else at the bar.

You talk: Incoherently.

You need: Help getting the breathalyzer in the right hole.

You own: An unopened pack of condoms from 1984.

You think: Long islands are your cup of tea.

What people really think you are: the guy who got on the table and danced wildly to Summer of 69.

Margarita

You are: Comfortable with who you are, but you’re the only one.

You  have: a karaoke mic and aren't afraid to use it.

You ride: A car that's run into too many lampposts

You wear: Whatever it takes to look like a walking tropical garden.

You know: A few expletives in Spanish apparently. After a few drinks.

You talk: Too loud and too unnecessarily.

You need: To leave the party before the party leaves you.

You own: One too many Hawaiian shirts

You think: "Last call!" sounds just like "Please don’t leave! We love you and your charming wit!"

What people really think you are: The guy who takes 'pub crawls' literally.

Cosmopolitan

You are: Too colourful for colour TV

You ride: A yellow Lambretta

You wear: This season, dahling.

You know: The dialogues of 'Sex and the City' by heart.

You talk: Like the love child of Elton John and Liberace

You need: to put your pinky back with the rest of your fingers when you're drinking.

You own: All the back issues of Vogue (not India Vogue silly. US!)

You think: You are Fabulous honey!

What people really think you are: G.A.Y.

Beer

You are: The guy who can single-handedly wear-out a fresh urinal cake.

You ride: A bike that was handed down by your elder brother.

You wear: Whatever your mama sets out.

You know: How to order a beer in 37 languages, but can't pronounce 'Perrier.'

You talk: More 'dude' per minute than anyone else in the room.

You need: To try something other than the missionary position.

You own: Nothing.

You think: Beer is reason enough to wake up every afternoon.

What people really think you are: The dud in dude

Martini

You are: A wannabe. In denial.

You ride: An Aston Martin. Not.

You wear: Whatever's appropriate for a funeral.

You know: You aspire to a life of quiet dignity, but will settle for a life of quiet desperation.

You talk: In nods. And a nod means, 'another martini please.' And you've nodded nine times this evening.

You need: a new liver.

You own: A branded ball point pen. But no, it doesn't also function as a bug or a gun or a parachute.  

You think you are: not drunk, just 'gravity-challenged.'

What people really think you are: A well dressed drunk.

Scotch on the rocks

You are: Half scotch, but your ancestors aren't from Scotland.

You ride: A damn expensive set of wheels to go with that damn expensive watch to go with that damn expensive drink.

You wear: What most people's grandpa's wear.

You know: Anything sounds interesting with a bottle of scotch in your hand.

You talk: Not. But just sit there and look profoundly at your glass like you're supposed to. 

You need: To stop fighting your rescuers off when you fall into the vat at the scotch factory.

You own: A snorkelling kit for those scotch factory visits.

You think: You are someone who enjoys the finer things in life.

What people really think you are: A rich asshole.

Rum and coke

You have: a sense of deja-vu every time you walk into a bar.

You are: A breathalyser's best friend - it can recognize you a mile away.

You ride: Into trees and lamp posts and hydrants.

You wear: That leather jacket from your college days. Or you're probably still in college.

You know: How to handle your liquor - with both hands.

You talk: In (hic) coher (hic) ently.

You need: An AA meeting.

You own: A shag carpet because it’s easier to hang on to.

You think: You're as cool as Hemingway who used to drink rum too.

What people really think you are: The person Hemingway tried to make interesting with a drink.

Wine

 You are: Someone who'll drink vinegar if it comes in a long necked bottle with a French name.

You ride: A French car brand, n'est-ce pas?

You wear: A lot of white shirts.

You know: How to pronounce Merlot and Sauvignon Blanc.  But who cares.

You talk: Un peu Français.

You need: To stop talking like you have a cork up your ass.

You own:  Several wine bottles that would require a degree in French to decipher.

You think: Your DNA is shaped like a cock-screw (and you might be right).

What people really think you are:  A load of merde.