Trees blow in the wind as your agency’s helicopter touches down in the field near my remote mountain cabin. You and your hiring staff hop out and approach, cautiously. I’m too busy chopping wood to make eye contact. You jealously observe my full beard and bronze, glistening muscles.
“We need you for one last job, David.”
“I’m retired,” I say, gruffly, badassly. “Tell President Obama to find somebody else.”
”Wait, what year do you think it is? Never mind. Listen, insert product here isn’t going to advertize itself. We need the experience you’ve gained at Miami Ad, Ogilvy, Doner, Havas Health, and D’Addario to help us write brilliant ad campaigns, as well as exposition dumps that sound more natural than this one.”
“Fine, I’ll do it. You spelled ‘advertise’ wrong, by the way.”
You scroll up to check, embarrassed.
“My God, he’s good,” your assistant whispers in your ear.
You give me money and head back to the chopper with your team, talking about my abs probably.