The second oldest profession

The second oldest profession

By Joe Renna

"Hi, my name is Joe Renna, and I'm an Advertising Executive." . . . "Hi, Joe" . . . `
So begins my AE Anonymous meeting. A twelve step program that should rid my superego of the stigma of my profession. I am not a monster. Mine is a story of desperation and confusion. It's an illness. It's not my fault. Deep inside I'm an artist, but now I have a business card with a title - Vice President! What does a vice president do?

I write this now, but tomorrow I will design a package for powdered water. It comes in packets. You don't have to lug any bottles home. Just add water. One packet makes one gallon.

It's easy to slip. I must take it one day at a time. I will be an Ad Exec for the rest of my life. The temptation is always there. I get a rush when I see people wearing magnets. I don't feel sorry for guys who use Minoxidil. I'm envious of the marketing director. Wouldn't hair grow on the palms of your hands from applying it?

No one is immune. In fact, we all have the gene that can lead us down a darker path. Girls who stuffed tissues in their sweaters in junior high school are now sporting Wonderbras. Men have actually taken to spray painting hair on their head. I must believe that no one made them do that. Is the advertiser evil for making a mere suggestion?

All the vertical strips in the world won't keep the scale from spinning, but people do try. You can't be rough on them. They are amateurs the only ones they hurt are themselves. Beware the pro. If you're dumb enough to buy it, he'll sell it to you. If a guy's not careful, he may find he has a lot more in common than he thought with that girl named Lola he met at the lounge in the Airport Hilton. It's buyer beware. So kick the tires and look under the hood. Hence, the perception of the Advertising Executive.

Please don't condemn me by association. There are many more righteous products and services that the masses should know about. It is my duty to inform the public that they are out there. Wow, I feel better already.

I want to thank my wife's Uncle John for the eye opening intervention. Right now I have a fish on my wall that sings "Don't Worry, Be Happy".

Not for Nothing But...
instead of saying that I'm an advertising executive, my
grandmother tells her friends that I play the piano in a whorehouse.