Ode to a government bureaucrat


The portrait of a fried egg hangs on your wall
It's your daily object of desire
They call you the government oddball
Because you don't care if you manage an empire

Let others care about small town affairs
You dream of fried eggs and six pounds of steak
To the one who threatens your laziness, beware!
Your icy blue eyes will make him shake

Libertarian to the core
You give school kids grenades for a present
Sir, what's government for?
they ask of you, valiant
All you say is,: "Nothing, it's a bore!"

Yet there's that crazy side to you
The saxophone, the mad ex-wife
And through Pawnee, you blow
With virile sex appeal, unseen in life

While passions for parks leave you cold
When tempers flare and deputy directors shout
They rely on your intervention, cause you're so controlled
You frown at the head butting, and then bail them out

What's irresistible , Ron Swanson, is this:
That slight air of inconvenience with which you dismiss
All of Pawnee's employee storms and scandals
And to the barrel of your gun, you blow a kiss.

This product says:

Thank You For the Memories

Thank you for the memories
Though I will never relive
The magic I felt so close to you
I'll reminisce as I lay in dark alleys

You unwrapped me with unequaled excitement
You unfolded me with careful precision
You caressed me and with one swift swoop
I fit snugly around your firm skin

Thank you for the memories
For what's to come is unforgettable
You guided me to unknown land
If I lived longer, I'd sing about it in a novel

Carefree, you let me enjoy the moment.
Gently rocking back and forth with me
I am your knight and shining armor
I brought her caresses of spearmint

She didn't even notice my presence
That's how slender my shape was
But when your passion carried you away
I held you back within my gates.

Thank you for the memories
I was the one to seal your union
And what more could I hope for
Than a life lived to its fullest
As your one-time, explosive companion...


Yours, the Durex Condom

Sloppy Joe Sushi- a radio commercial

Troy is recording an online video profile for a dating website on his computer

Troy
Hellooo, ladies! ....My name is Troy and I'm ..uhm..new to the city ...and to online dating, ha!
Ok...I love chardonnay, long walks by the lake, and... uhm...
I love Sushi.
Every day, every night, sushi, sushi, sushi.
Sorry, I'm getting excited but... I just love...
Tako, Ebi, Saba, Maguro and Hamachi!
(Gasps for air)
I work for a bank...and there's this sushi place...
Oh, God, excuse me, but I am so hungry for sushi right now...
Tobiko, Unagi, Toro and Smoked Sake. Spicy Tuna roll!
(Sobs)
I'll take you!

Male voice (becoming louder in the background)
DUDE, where's the Manwich? I can't make Sloppy Joes without Manwich, you know that!
(Pause) Why are you reading a menu out loud ?

Troy
Are you KIDDING? No Manwich??? No Sloppy Joes??? WHAT???
Uhm.. Ladies, I swear I love sushi and.. uhm...in particular, Sloppy Joe sushi.

VOA
It's Ok to fess up, Troy. Ladies love Sloppy Joes, too. Manwich. Be yourself.

Holger The Disco Freak

Holger beger Hintzen was eager to take the stage even at the tender age of five. Instead of playing with action figures, he would sing Top 40-hits into broom handles. He loved Pink Floyd and the Rolling Stones. People would call the Beger Hintzen's answering machine, just to hear Holger sing an outgoing jingle. Unfortunately, Holger suffered from a hyperactive gland problem, which caused him to sweat profusely after even the lightest physical activity.
Even though Holger was eager to show off his singing skills to his first crush, Christine, at age 7, he had to watch her recoil in horror as she saw sweat drops run down his cheeks during the nerve wracking performance of Blondie's "Call Me." He had brought his cassette recorder with him to her house to croon for her, and had donned a blonde Debbie Harry wig, but the wig slipped down his forehead into his eyes as he started feeling hot and its itchiness made him explode into spasmodic sneezing.Christine covered her mouth with her hands and shouted :"Ewwww!" Holger tore his wig off, threw it on the floor and stomped past Christine, out of the bedroom with his cassette recorder still playing "Call Me."
Luckily, Holger's mom doted on her only child and showered him with love and attention and an unparalleled belief in his show talents. She bought a video camera that was compatible with their Betamax video player, a little Sennheiser microphone and even installed a replica of Studio 54's Disco flashlights in the family basement hobby room.
She recorded Holger's first forays into re-enacting superstar performances, from Freddy Mercury to David Bowie and together they watched this performances on TV in rapt attention. Holger was chubby, wore glasses and had braces. But his mother saw a shining star in the making.
At age 11, when teased by his classmates about tumbling down a ski slope during a class skiing excursion, during which he broke his glasses and revealed his fleshy belly something happened to Holger. He vowed to become as photogenic as his idols. He had recently started reading the British avantgarde fashion magazine The Face and sported the New Romantic look of Duran Duran, purchased for him by his mom in a teenage boutique, but, who was he kidding, he looked more like the fat pirate guy from Adam Ant when he looked in the mirror.
So Holger went on a diet and started wearing contact lenses. A medical breakthrough in fighting excessive sweating with injections of botulinum toxic, now known as Botox, led to the miraculous disappearance of the product of his overactive glands.In fact, he smelled like peaches most of the time, now.
This change did not go unnoticed by the girls in his grade, who just recently discovered that kissing a boy may not be as disgusting as previously thought. The girls at school started talking behind Holger's back and giggling. An emboldened Holger meantime started inviting various girls indiscriminately to his house after school to perform karaoke for them, but none seemed too enthusiastic. Until one day in late August, when summer rain excluded all other fun activities for the girls. It was the first time Holger asked someone to slow dance with him. Eight years later, Holger changed his name to Ryan Seacrest.

Autobiography

My original career plan was to become a spy, a hit singer in a language I'd make up, or a vet. I have become neither, but I can spy on unsuspecting strangers' conversations in five languages, which I owe to the many places I have called home and the impossible-to-monetize talent to learn a language in three months.
Until I became an American citizen in 2008, I didn't even know I was a refugee, as my parents kept that detail carefully under locks when we "left" Poland when I was four years old.
I grew up mostly in Munich, Germany. The bedroom I sulked in as a teenager was last occupied by Moamar Ghaddafi's late son who was assassinated this spring.
Years earlier, when I was 18, I escaped it to "take' New York, where I attended acting school to become the next Marlene Dietrich. Instead, I got to portray dead hookers in student films. As I lay there pondering my stardom prospects, I knew I'd be much better off behind the lens, where surely every aspect of storytelling would be under my control.
My final film at NYU's film school, which sealed my Bachelor degree, was called Loveless. It dealt with the travails and heartbreak of a Japanese immigrant Kendo fighter in NY. I am especially proud to have had a chance to direct my movie on 16 mm celluloid film. Do film students today get to film their movies on film?
Finding myself cut off from funds and the good will of my parents, I returned to Europe and became a production assistant on a TV crime show, which meant I had to close roads at 6 am. When I garnered my first "job," which was described as producing a tourism program that would be sponsored by local businesses, I fled Germany again. This time to Madrid, Spain. Unfortunately, no one told me the producers wanted girls in bikinis instead of the Prado Museum. I ended up without a penny form the zero commission I garnered in bartering deals. I tried the girls in bikini route and hotel tours in Mallorca, but that wasn't for me.
Continuing to amble about Europe rather aimlessly, I decided London was my dream city and I would make it there, as a documentary, fiction or TV director. In the meantime, I got a Master's degree in European languages and literature, a now defunct program that was delightfully useless for any job prospects. But I was accepted off the bat into German television's crime-series producer-trainee program. Unfortunately, it meant trading London for Mainz, Germany. But I got to tell amateur-sleuth writers off for killing their fictitious victims in a cliched manner.
Who knows, I might still be sitting there today had not fate tossed one of the most incredible and ridiculous fellowships ever to exist into my lap. The goal was to become one of the founders of a pan-European co production studio. Our generous sponsors,Les Freres Carat, resembled French versions of Rupert Murdoch and were fond of checking on their golden goose fellows by helicopter.
One of 16 winners among 2000 applicants, I got to live in Paris with a monthly stipend of $8,000 to write a "pan European" TV series. Ah- there's the rub. Writing means you have to sit in your lonely room by your lonely self while your fellow fellows toured Japan and Australia "in search of production techniques that could get Europe to rival Hollywood."
So this is how I switched my career focus from writing fiction to producing. I'm still not sure that I created the European Dreamworks, but I got a few pre-production gigs in Paris and a freelance gig editing trailers and doing the voiceover for a new Tv station out of it. Until it merged with the German counterpart.
When my luck ran out in Paris, I had no desire to return to Germany, nor "measly" state-run TV. I married my American college sweetheart in Paris and set off to L.A. to be part of the only existing Hollywood to date, dreaming of producing feature films.
Five years in L.A. entailed a series of stints as a "director of development" for a company whose CEO later handled Michael Jackson's film investments and as a partner in a distribution company, who saw the promise to develop screenplays thwarted when glimpsing an insight into the company's finances. I also started writing entertainment news for a German radio syndicator.
On the groupie front, my best memory is of hopping a Limo to the MTV party with a pre- Titanic Leo Di Caprio in Cannes, after my professional party crasher friend Tarek convinced him they went to high school together. Tarek,who used me as a pawn to get into the coveted MTV party, chased after Leo's limo in his rental car, full of dirty laundry.

Cut to 1999, when I found myself divorced and alone in Chicago. I might as well have blindly tapped a spinning globe to decide where to move to, but Chicago seemed the only liberal and big city-haven left in the U.S. I wanted to explore.
And did I ever receive a great intro into all things Chicago and local politics by earning a Master's in Public Affairs journalism at Columbia College. Surly police chiefs, mobsters in federal court, corrupt cops, Betty Loren Maltese, Jack Ryan, Mayor Daley ....there's no way that living in Hollywood ca inspire anyone more to write good fiction than Chicago reality.
To cut a long story short, I learned about America in Chicago. I became an American in Chicago. I now love NBA basketball and even understand Football. Yes, I cheered for Plaxico Burress in 2009. I also cheered for "our" President Obama in Grant Park in 2008. Two years earlier, I had been one of the many local Chicago reporters vying for microphone space, as then Senator Obama came home for a press conference. Back In 2000, I even had the pleasure of shaking hands with then-state Senator Obama. I was introduced to our President by a politician named Rod Blagojevich outside the East Bank Club, where I enthusiastically thanked Mr. Blagojevich "for being our new governor." Mr. Obama flanked a beaming Mr. Blagojevich, who was the star of the moment...
My two years at Chicago Public Radio as a radio news intern and producer were very happy,but I am not sorry I didn't get stuck in public radio, after all. My desire for creativity won out over my passion for politics, opinion and bias when I realized that dealing with or having to debate with tea partiers would give me a heart attack.
Two years after more hilarity as Rotary International's International editor, here I am at Chicago Portfolio School, a copywriting student who's as old as some teachers and trying to make it in advertising. Why didn't anyone tell me about advertising earlier?
It's the perfect career for me, I'm sure!