Update: Classes no longer require sign-in.
Dearest sweet love Meredith,
At long last, I have arrived in New York City to pursue my dream of becoming a comedy writer. Lucky for me, I discovered an advertisement in the Times: “Seeking comedy writers for commercials. No experience necessary!” I replied, secured the position, and begin on Monday! I’m sure I will render them speechless with my quick wit and brilliant writing. Wish me luck!
Dear darling Meredith,
I have made a grievous error. They want the comedy writers to write humorous commercials so they may sell… car insurance! What debasement. I used to write cutting satire for the Harvard Lampoon! I got encouraging rejections from Chris Monks! Alas, where did my career go astray?
Last week, one of the more dimwitted writers pointed out that the name of the company, Geico, is similar to the word gecko, so he suggested that the mascot for the company should be a gecko – with an English accent. I laughed not because I found the suggestion humorous, but because it seemed like such a contemptibly foolish idea. Unfortunately, the commanding executive – whose every dictate we must dutifully obey – took my laughter for approval and greenlit and expedited the pitch. Now we must suggest fifty jokes a day for the gecko. What balderdash! How I miss civilised discourse with friends, now that I’m confronted with the brutality of modern commerce!
Once I find respite, I will be sure to let you know
I have sent this letter through poor, departed Bethenny, who lost her employment only last week – she was so young! There is no end to tragedy here… My fellow writers and I proclaimed that we would no longer debase ourselves in writing puns for the gecko. The executives had us punished for insubordination: we’ve had to work all weekend, unpaid, and produce more gecko content than I’d previously thought was humanly possible. We were chained to our desks. Forbidden from contact with the outside world. All we can do is produce… more… gecko… content…
I miss my home. I miss my grandfather. At night, when I can’t sleep, I remember how he would play “This Little Piggy Went To Market” with me. But then, one meeting, in my delirium or absent-mindness, I suggested that we use “Did the little piggy cry whee whee whee all the way home?” in the same way one could ask “Do pigs fly?” – but the twist would be that a piggy would actually be shown crying ‘whee whee’ all the way home to prove that the company has a good product.
After I made the suggestion, I fell unconscious at my desk. Exhaustion had caught up with me. I thought it but a dream, only to discover in horror the next day that they were starting to produce it for their next ad campaign.
Meredith! Please! Save me,
I have paid the mail boy with Werther’s originals, so that this letter might reach you.
It is our tenth day in captivity. But the other writers and I have devised a plan. If we provide terrible ideas for the commercials, other than the gecko, surely they will discern our worthlessness and set us free. I have an idea about cavemen. Unlike the gecko, it has no relevance to the company at all! My fellow writer, Simon, is planning to suggest a camel, inquiring if it is Wednesday and then proclaiming excitedly that it is, indeed, Hump Day.
Undoubtedly, we have discovered our keys to freedom.
Yours in imminent liberation,
I dropped this correspondence from the 11th floor window with a note that asked whoever might find it to please place it in a mailbox.
I have unfortunate news: Our plan has backfired. They love and adore every one of our silly, terrible ideas. They press us for more and more of these vacuous non-sequiturs! At this point, we say literally anything that appears in our minds – Lisa Loeb singing about a cracked windshield; the Pillsbury Doughboy going through airport security; a manatee in a “Come at Me, Bro” smock – but nothing gets us fired!
Oh, Meredith, when will it end? What I would give to even be a writer for an Allstate commercial. I could work with a cohesive character with a point of view, like Mayhem!
I have entrusted this letter to the pigeons on the 12th floor. I only pray that they dropped it at the post office.
I fear that this might be my final correspondence. Robert and I tried our best to escape this hellish place. Unfortunately, we were caught and forced to watch our terrible ideas in their final, horrific form: as a never-ending pre-roll of YouTube ads – we can’t even “skip in 5 seconds” or anything! Just one Geico ad we vomited out after another. Robert is constantly babbling, “Geico can save you 15% more on car insurance.” Oh no, I fear Geico Madness taking hold…
How happy are you to be saving money on car insurance?
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