Truth in Advertising by John Kenney

world for hours at a time. They are true believers and they will one day run this place. Or someplace like it. They bear an uncanny resemblance to Elmer Fudd.
    They run the fizzy orange drink account. The fizzy orange drink is preferred by the African-American community. The fizzy orange drink is very important to the agency. The agency hopes to parlay our success (as-yet unproved) to the fizzy orange drink’s parent company, based in Atlanta. From the sound of it, Glen and Barry are very excited about their idea.
    Glen (or maybe Barry) says, “Youth-oriented. Hip. Street.”
    The other one says, “Jay-Z, Young Jeezy, Lil Wayne.”
    Which is when they say their idea is a small black doll that talks.
    I peek my head in and see that Barry and Glen are each holding a rubber doll about a foot high, presenting it to Martin and a few others.
    Babs Moss, management supervisor on the account, says, “Do the thing, guys. Talk like them.”
    Glen talks as if he were the doll. “What up, yo?”
    Babs says, “No, the other thing. The funny thing.”
    Glen says, “Blast is so right , yo. Fresh.” Blast is the fizzy orange drink.
    Babs squeals with delight.
    Barry says, “I find it quite refreshing.” He says this in a posh English accent.
    Martin sits, hands in a contemplative tent over his nose, a deep thinker, a man listening to a new idea for peace in the Middle East.
    Martin says, “So they’re two puppets who talk.”
    Glen and Barry nod.
    Babs says, “I think that’s right, Martin. I think that’s ex actly right.”
    Martin says, “Aren’t they similar to what Nike did some time ago with Lil Penny?”
    Nike used Chris Rock as the voice for an inanimate little doll that was former NBA great Penny Hardaway’s alter ego. It was funny, in no small part because it was Chris Rock and not Glen and Barry.
    Babs says, “They most certainly did, Martin. But we feel this idea is very different.”
    Martin says, “How is it different?”
    Glen says, “We have two, not one.”
    Babs says, “I think that’s a crucial difference. Also one’s white.”
    Martin says, “Why is one English?”
    Barry says, “It’s just funny.”
    Martin says, “Is it?”
    Babs says, “It’s certainly not classically funny, Martin. Not laugh loud funny. It’s a chuckle. A smile. A half grin.” Babs makes a half-grin face.
    Martin turns to Glen and Barry. “Did you do two because you’re twins and they’re twins?”
    Glen says, “That was part of it.”
    Babs jumps in with the intensity of a hostage negotiator. “Martin, the target is African-American teens, thirteen to seventeen, hip-hop culture, NBA-focused, single-parent homes, at-risk kids who consume on average two to three bottles of our product a day. Our projections want that closer to seven to ten bottles a day. We think the doll will reach them, and the client is putting major money behind it. NBA playoffs, MTV Music Awards, and Bling Thing.”
    Martin says, “Bling Thing?”
    Babs doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s the inner-city anti-violence initiative sponsored by Iced La-Táy, the rap star who was shot two weeks ago.”
    Martin says, “Interesting. Part of me thinks it’s funny. Part of me thinks it’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever seen.”
    Babs says, “That was the brief exactly. It almost makes you wish you were African-American. Not literally African-American, of course, but you know what I mean.”
    Barry says, “It’s stupid, right? That’s what I love about it. It’s just so stupid.”
    Martin says, “I love their pants. They’re very baggy.”
    Babs says, “Should they have little belts?”
    Glen says, “That wouldn’t be true to street.”
    A junior account guy says, “That’s true. I’ve