Pfizer Markets New Wellness Drug

n a move that market analysts hope will save Christmas for the pharmaceutical industry, American drug giant Pfizer has launched a new marketing campaign this month to promote Heroin™, the company’s revolutionary new “wellness� drug.

Pfizer’s first ad, aired during a particularly painful recent episode of Joan of Arcadia, opted for stark minimalism, featuring a still shot of a satisfied Heroin™ customer, slumped over a very clean toilet, married with the slogan “Heroin™: The Other White Powder.� In addition to establishing their brand in the marketplace, this first ad served to differentiate Pfizer’s new product from rival Glaxo-Wellcome’s Angel Dust™.

Other early ads, run during football games, select MTV programs, and really sad chick flicks, have also been deliberately vague, aiming to raise brand awareness without mentioning the medication’s effects, enabling Pfizer to sidestep governmental regulations requiring pharmaceutical ads to disclose all of a drug’s side-effects. This tactic is especially shrewd with a product like Heroin™, since it’s tough to find a nice way to say “back-alley cocksuck� or “deadly constipation.�

While some consumer advocates have complained in the past that such direct-to-consumer marketing is predatory and harmful, drug companies like Pfizer argue that it’s actually very profitable.

“When there’s just some spaghetti-spined M.D. standing between customers and our products, consumer education becomes more important than ever,� contends Pfizer spokesperson Dennis Tanner. “Consumers shouldn’t have to trust that some kooky doctor is looking out for their best interest. They need a name they can trust, like Pfizer.�

Heroin™ is being marketed as a revolutionary “wellness� drug; one that Pfizer claims will “knock aspirin on its ass� and “make Prozac look like dogshit.� Rather than prescribing numerous non-Pfizer drugs to treat an array of patient maladies, the pharmaceutical giant hopes doctors will turn to their new wellness drug as a cure-all, one that leaves patients with a euphoric sensation of well-being, regardless of whether they are suffering from general anxiety, cancer, or baldness.

“That’s the miracle of Heroin™,� explained Tanner. “It doesn’t matter what’s wrong with you. From erectile dysfunction to agoraphobia, Heroin™ makes it all better.�

Due to FDA hang-ups regarding such a revolutionary new treatment, Pfizer has opted to avoid the usual years of getting-monkeys-high testing usually necessary to release a new drug. Instead, the drug giant has followed the lead of Merck’s Crack™ and AstraZeneca’s LSD™ by bypassing the usual established network of doctors and pharmacists, and is offering the drug through a network of authorized Pfizer representatives nationwide.

“Heroin™ will not be available in stores, but instead through a special network of independent distributors. It’s sort of like Amway,� claims the company’s latest ad. “Ask your dealer about Heroin™.�

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"If I had a dollar for every time I got a blow-job, I'd probably have the best job in the world."

Everybody remember to get out and vote on Tuesday. If you don't vote, you can't complain. At least not to the president himself. If fact, if you do vote, they still won't let you complain to him. They just escort you out and taser you in the alley out back. And don't try telling them you pay the president's taxes, that shit don't work more than once or twice.

I vote early. Really early. I fill out my absentee ballot as soon as I receive it in the mail. I'm a native of Mescalo, Puerto Rico, which is a Puerto Rican territory of the U.S. territory. But we still get a vote, so there, Dominican Republic. Since I don't live in Mescalo anymore, except on Thursdays, I make sure to get my vote sent off early. I check the ballot, but I know there's a lot of trouble with reading the ballot, so I write the name of the candidate I want to win several times, on the inside and outside of the envelope. No way I'm voting for Buchanan again, even by accident.

The worst part about voting by absentee ballot is, you don't get one of those stickers. How the hell are people supposed to know you're a good citizen and you voted and you can make them feel like shit for not voting if you mail in your ballot? I deserve to be patronizing, too. So I made my own sticker, from the Chiquita banana sticker I snagged, but it was too small and hard to read. So I had it tattooed on my back. It's not perfect either, since I have to walk around with my shirt off, and the local cops keep telling me they warned me about doing that. Plus, it's only right once every few years.

Another thing I like about tattoos is, they're conversation starters. Instead of getting the name of a girl tattooed on you, which no one ever believes, I just put a strange word somewhere. I tattooed the word "dog" on my forehead one time, 'cause I have this really funny story about a dog biting my fellas while I was trying to test him for rabies once. No one ever asked me about the story, so I had the tattoo removed in a really expensive surgery. I'm thinking maybe next time I might try "dog bites balls" or something, that might make them curious enough to ask.

So what I'm saying is, it's important to vote. Our grandfathers and grandmothers fought and died on battlefields all over this country just so white men could have the right to vote. And then they gave in and let everyone else have it. Never forget their sacrifice, 'cause they're all dead now and can't ever come back, unless they're ghosts. Exercise your right to vote. It doesn't matter who you vote for as long as you vote—they don't even count those things anyway. The same dicks get into office no matter what. But vote, like I said, or the rest of us will make you feel bad.

Heh, heh. That reminds me about this dog story—ask me about it, I'll tell you next time.

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I've spent more than a few years climbing the corporate ladder, ladies and gentleproles. Not meaning I'm no good at it. It's common to spend 16 years to reach an Office Manager position at a low-traffic website. I believe I still am Office Manager, I have to check with Monsieur Bagel about that. He was a little pissed about the whole "re-imagining" of the commune thing I did in his absence—not quite ready to accept my vision yet.

There. We've established my superiority as a ladder-climber. Now let's talk turkey: Resume. That's French, if you don't know. A lot of you probably believe "resume" is an option when you pause your Tony Hawk video game. See? Funny and upwardly-mobile. They don't call me "prize pig" around here for nothing.

Some people will tell you a resume is where you tell potential employers exactly what you're capable of and any possible limitations that might interfere with your job. We call these people the unemployed. I've known a handful of people over the years who have told the truth on their resumes, and admitted they don't have all the necessary skills for certain jobs—I usually give them cans of clam chowder or split pea soup when they come nosing around my door around the holidays. Here's a simple equation: Truth = no job. See if you can work that mathematical formula out, Einstein.

I'm not telling you to lie. Bend the truth. Stretch the truth. Break the truth off in half against a hard surface like a Kit Kat bar. Exaggerate. You know the old saying: An exaggeration is a lie they have yet to catch you in. That's what an old white collar criminal friend of mine said once during a visit, and I still hold it to be true.

This has never been more important in the age of computers. After all, who can figure them out? No one. Which is to say me and a small handful of other people. In truth, when you strip away the ominous looking monitor and daunting color schemes of Windows XP, computers aren't really so bad. But, and here's the important part: They scare the shit out of monied people. People who can manage accounts by the barrelful and measure interest rates in their head soil their underpants and hurl themselves out of a window when confront with an intimidating DOS prompt. Consequently, a modicum of computer talent (which I have in spades) makes them think you're Jesus 2.0.

Basically, if you can open a spreadsheet, they'll hire you as their IT lord and savior. Take me, for instance. I was catering a lunch at the commune when Bagel's Windows recycle bin filled up and he demanded I fix it—part of my job, taking out the trash. I did so and Bagel has yet to shut his gape-mouthed jaw. I was hired on as computer consultant, then moved into reporting when I convinced him to hire a guy who could change the screensaver to replace me. In this case, no resume required. But my point is solid. If I had a resume, I would have mentioned my experience in Sims, Civilization, and Quake 2. I know those are games, but dollars to donuts your future sucker-employer doesn't.

Once you're hired you can write your own ticket. I'm not sure what's happening on the outside, but if everything is like the commune offices I believe it's a federal law you can no longer fire people. There must be a Statue of Bagel on our front stoop, with a plaque reading, "Give me your shitheads, your slack-offs, your inbred mentally deficient yearning to rake in a cool $200 a week, and I'll put them on staff immediately without a probationary period and give them lifetime job security."

No wonder everyone else hates me. It's like having Michael Jordan playing for the Generals.

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