This is the awesomest guy in the world. If this guy had worked in Patrick Bateman’s office in American Psycho, Bateman would’ve killed him immediately. Or at least he would’ve tried, but this guy would’ve used his card as a shield and scared Bateman back into the corner with his awesome hair.
-”It took me 25 years to design this.”
-”Yeah, it IS expensive. It’s about FOUR DOLLARS A CARD. Because of the STOCK.”
-”It doesn’t fit in a rolodex, because it doesn’t BELONG. In. A rolodex.”
-”It’s the kind of thing where your card should be SO GOOD, EVEN IF they DON’T LIKE YOU, they wouldn’t throw it out. Because it demonstrates INCREDIBLE. MARKETING. ABILITIES.”
-”Life isn’t about being liked, it’s about being EFFECTIVE.”
Long story short, your business card is lazy and impotent like the rest of the sheep. This guy’s business card leaves particles of your business card in its wind. Real business cards don’t have job titles. They go home and F the prom queen. Wait a second, does your truck have a step? I can’t even look at you.
[thanks to Dan for the tip. lunch is for pussies, Dan.]
And here’s that truck/step reference explained. It’s a little Howie Long commercial I like to call, HEY, NICE STEP, FAGGOT!
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This guy wants the prom queen to clean her vagina.
“In fact, if you get this business card, you don’t NEED to hire me, because the card is smarter than I am!”
I have a “Bidness card”
That card looks like it’s designed to clean the prom queen’s vagina.
“What do you do guaranteed?”
I guarantee I don’t use the amount of hair gel you do.
I guarantee that my teeth aren’t capped.
I guarantee that when I walk passed someone on the street they don’t break into uproarious laughter.
So what, this guy is a bad ass because he has the smallest pop-up-book ever made?
In Patrick Bateman’s world that is the Jake Steed of business cards. Big, black, and probably diseased.
I don’t have business cards. I just take someone else’s card, piss on it, and hand it back. If they want to find me, they can just follow my musk-trail.
Something tells me that guy hasn’t met a gerbil he hasn’t liked.
“My HAIR will fuck the shit out of you”
“IROC, and I don’t even DRIVE a Camaro”
“Listen, one wink from me, and your girl is MINE, Chief”
“Let’s go back to my place and bang while listening to The Best of Boston.”
“I had to have women surgically removed from my CACK!”
It doesn’t belong in a rolodex… it belongs in a fourth grader’s crudely fashioned valentine pouch.
Construction paper, taped to the side of the desk… fuck you, juco marketing major, I’m starting to cry.
“Cash4Gold.com asked ME for MY gold chain”
“My cologne? Drakkar.”
“Most men would rather fuck me than their wives.”
You see how flimsy your business card is? See how easily it tears? Your business cards are weak! You’re weak! I’ve been in this business twenty-five years!
This guy’s business card gives good letterhead.
I have a business card for him.
*reaches into pocket, pulls out middle finger*
HOW THE FUCK DID THIS MIDDLE FINGER GET IN MY POCKET?!?!
My business card doesn’t fit in a rolodex either.
It’s a 3×5 card with my name written on it in crayon. Some of the letters are backwards too.
Oh, and I spelled my first name slightly wrong.
“Even if they don’t like ME, they don’t throw my card out!”
Dick… It’s a fucking coaster.
Dammit, the camera needed to pan out to reveal Mr Hair and his bin destined card had been addressing a fallen over teddy bear and the same disinterested beagle that got bored licking peanut butter from that idiot’s snatch.
Christ, this got me laughing. Whatever happened to Juan?