In times of such heightened economic uncertainty, it is essential to take no chances. The world out there, I have learned, is a cut-throat one. The competition will quite literally cut you up in your throat just to get ahead. After having been downsized, by both my place of employment and by many of my peers, I have found it necessary to streamline, and ultimately better, my public appearance. My work for the Hillman Group has provided me with all the necessary tools for a complete image overhaul. In the hopes of presenting the world with an easier-to-relate-to and more commercially viable me, I’ve rebranded myself.
Reasons for choosing me:
My clothes are better. Never under-estimate the power of the perfect summer suit. Every successful retooling begins with a reconsideration of the outer shell, and I am proud to assert that I have emerged from weekend shopping expeditions with the plumage of a powerful peacock. My clothes are nicer, more fashionable, and more expensive than ever before.
I’m greener. I recycle. I buy commodities from local stores and opt for organic produce if it is priced affordably. I am currently working towards complete carbon neutrality, a goal I plan to meet for 2025. I have discarded much of the accumulated waste that was littering my apartment, and found new and innovative uses for products that the trash would not accept. An old oven is now a clothes dresser. A broken cat litterbox has become a birdhouse. A soiled blanket has become a curtain. My hope for a happy future has become a soiled blanket. My newly developed tinkering skills will come in handy (no pun intended) for future husbandry or apocalyptic survival scenarios.
I’m more truthful. One particularly poignant lesson I have learned from a lost employment and shipwrecked relationship whose shambles are now plummeting, anchor in tow, to the ocean floor, is the importance of honesty in daily activities. I will not tell another lie!
I’m more marketable. I can say with confidence that I have become the type of person you would be truly happy to introduce to your co-workers, spouse or intimate aquaintances. Ever since I decided to re-emerge from that grim season of intense personal darkness, I have become adept at the art of conversation, knowing when to dominate, when to accentuate, and when to sit back and just listen. I have reduced unpalatable conversation emissions and wasteful statements by 40%. Never again will I derail another office party by shifting all conversation to discussions of my most recent self-diagnosed ailments, or by using different accents and voices to agree with my points when in I am engaged in argument. The rebranded me is polite, well-groomed and always ready with an insightful observation or witty quip.
I have returned your stuff. If I ever borrowed something from you (even if it was years ago), it is now back in your possession. Check your front lawn–it’s there.
I have sex now. I have, until very recently, been publicly perceived as a person with a meagre sex life. Not the new me. My retooled, revamped and rebranded self has buried those associations deep below the past, placing them in the same coffin as Pepsi Clear, the Bad Religion prog album, BMW’s sordid Nazis ties, and Sketchers’ sordid history as L.A. Gear.
The new me has sex on the regular. And it shows. Just look at me, it’s written on my face: I look sexier. Please do not hesitate to come at me with questions, anecdotes, or tips. I guarantee that I will be able to provide knowledgeable responses with a flair and panache that you would never have expected from the guy who was ordered to take a Minesweeper-induced mental health day. Men, feel free to compare sexual partners, or if you are the adventurous type–share them. Women, feel free to approach me for any act pertaining to sexuality or its vicissitudes. Be it be a heated night of two souls entwined in Dionysian passion or the shadowed act of a more obscure sexual peculiarity, I am the man for you.
Never again will water cooler gossip about the latest office hook-up halt to a hush as I approach, hair frazzled, slouching, maybe even drooling, the ferocity of last night’s laboured masturbation session still waxed across my pockmarked face. I do not blame you for silence, just know the turmoil it has caused me. But also know that I have reemerged a fresher man, and should you cross my path in the street, do not be afraid to slip me the juicy details of a stolen encounter. I might just have a detail of my own to share. Wink.
While I do not profess to have yet achieved perfection in this field (I am still “working the kinks out”; no pun intended), I am making serious headway. I currently have more sex and think more sexual thoughts than ever before in my life. The reason? To put it simply: Sex sells, and I’m buying. Into the idea, I mean. I do not intend to imply that I pay for sex, or that this new dawn of sexual renewal in my life is the result of gettin’ low with a ho. In honour of Promise #2, I will not officially go on record as denying this, I just would not like it implied.