Go chic! sau… “La Chic-a-go cu noroc de World Business Class”

(din seria “To the land of the brave")

Somn putin, dush rapid revigorant. Nemancat (nu-I o problema), necafeinizat (un pic de problema, viciu placut tatuat pe rutina mea matinala de noptile de ros cursuri la poli) - bag viteza pe autostrada. Se pare ca am zburat suficient de jos incat nu m-a luat nici un radar.

Mi-am parcat masina la parcarea aeroportului - o mina de aur pentru posesorii afacerii (ca si Dali in Bucuresti de altfel, dar despre Dali va spune mai multe Badea zis Fratili-tau), jaf pe fatza pentru client 3 metri patrati costand 11 auroi pe noapte. Bai, astia cu parcarile tind din ce in ce mai mult sa se asemene cu peshtii traficanti de femei - si la preturi si la tipurile serviciilor oferite (una scurta, una pe toata noaptea, etc. - la parcari ma refer, depinde ce si unde parchezi )

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I like the idea of shoe attack… It is simple, yet so powerful… Unharmful, but devastating… People rising in a whole country because of a pair of size-10 shoe…

I find it very illustrative, so that I decided to make myself a so-much-meaningful T-Shirt. If you need large scale prints to make your T-Shirt, drop me an email and we’ll manage.

Shoe Attack supporter T-Shirt

This “president’s most bizarre incident", this sign of protest, this simple yet so powerful gesture generated subcultures and mini-industries overnight…

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How crisis changes things

The Job (of an ex-executive)

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Sponsor an Executive

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Crisis Rebranding - cool list of branding images for crisis days

Apple

Apple

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“Trainspotting”

“Choose life”

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

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