February 22, 2002

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am following up on an invoice dated January 10th, 2002, that you have failed to respond to.

Perhaps my unsolicited invoice was a tad presumptuous, but my reasoning was this: despite cigarette industry's voluntary ban on product placement in movies in 1989, a recent study showed that the endorsement of popular cigarette brands by actors in the US film industry has increased since then, and Marlboros accounted for 40% of the identifiable brands. I figured if you had that much faith and determination to solider on with product placement in the face of such adversity, that it’d be an easy sell to get you to expand to books.

Admittedly, books aren’t as macho as action flicks, and I’d personally be quite surprised to learn that the Marlboro man can read past a Grade three level. And it’s not as broadband a media as movies are. But consider the value. Ten dollars per impression! In Everyone In Silico, you’ve received eight prominent mentions for under a hundred dollars, in such dynamic scenes as this one:

          Doug lifted large handfuls of fries to his mouth in an effort to inconspicuously eat more quickly. He could only swallow the potato derivative so fast, however, and he looked up to see the gap-toothed kid veering towards him on his way back from the counter.
         “So-so-so,” the kid said, getting out a pack of tokes and sliding in beside him. He sparked up and gave Doug the once-over, pausing at his expansive bald pate. Doug realized that what he’d thought were gaps were teeth tattooed black. “How you doin’, guy?”
          “I’m fine.” Doug raised his eyes to the kid’s, but the kid was already glancing over at his friends, who were talking amongst themselves. Only the little girl was really paying attention. Doug steadily mowed down his pile of fries.
          “You know, guy,” the kid said. “These Marlboros are really smooth. It’s a perfectly balanced mix between tobacco and marijuana that packs a punch while staying really flavourful.”
          “Really,” said Doug, happy that the kid was just pitching at him rather than something else. “Marlboros, you say,” he said in an interested voice, mopping up the last of the ketchup with the last of his fries.
          “Yes! Why not try one?”
          Doug took one of the tokes from the green and white pack and set it on his tray, “Thanks.”
          “Yes, Marlboros. Marlboros are...” the kid was checking his watch.
          Hopeless, Doug thought, out of pitch ten seconds into it and checking his account in front of the mark. “Tasty?” he prompted. “With a high that lasts all day long?”
          “So-so-so, with-a-high-that-lasts-all-day-long,” the kid said, more to his watch than to Doug. A second later, “Fuck. Why didn’t I get anything for that?”
          Doug got up. “I said it first. You should have also offered me a light.”
          The kid went for his pocket.
          “I don’t smoke. But you get a few extra bucks for offering a light,” he dumped his tray into the garbage, the mat sticking for a second before obeying gravity.
          “Whattaya throwing the toke away for,” the kid said bitterly.
          “They’re not cool any more,” Doug said, walking away, taking his handkerchief out of his pocket and rubbing the grease off his fingers.
          “Whatta fuck you know about cool,” the kid muttered. “Bald-ass.”

As a fellow businessman, I gently remind you of the adage: you must spend money to make money. This investment of eighty dollars has every possibility of returning to you two- or even three-fold. Ask yourself: can you afford to pass that up?

Anticipating your check,

Jim Munroe.

Letters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10