Advertising is the only best orgasm you can get with full clothes on.

Seriously, what kind of working do you do? And actually, do you really go to work in the office? And on and on the questions go…

And I blame nobody who doubt my work as a serious job, i mean working with torn jeans, aged t-shirt, semi-filthy Chuck taylor’s converse and a postman bag contains of pencils, [s]crap book, a novel, walkman phone, lip balm and name card box really don’t make me look like a proper employee.

No stylish hair, no smell of sweet-scented perfume, no miniskirt, no decent shirt, no hip blazer, no scheduled agenda, no make up on, no executive phone, no trendy high hells…and you said you were working in one of Thamrin buildings? Give me a break!

And now, you work in a -3-hours journey- office, feel heaven to be home at 9pm and you said you enjoy your work? Ok, tell me what’s wrong with you?

And those irritating queries could go longer than you think, but…I don’t have anymore energy to tell it after driving a 1,5 way back home with no jam.

Well…my job is being a copywriter. What is so great about my job? Now, you may have my laugh.

My job is analogized as being a comedian in the opening of Woodstock.

I have to make people feel it is worthy to listen to me and I have to make them laugh or else (you think about it yourself…and remember, Woodstock.)

And now, imagine what I feel if I succeed to make them all laugh…

Imagine the feeling…

And if you said…”that’s great”

Again…imagine my feeling to have you say great about my job…

Well, honestly without trying to make you believe in me and believe that my job is great like what I do everyday when a client spend more than hundred millions to make people believe in what my team say about their product

Without any eloquent sentence…my job is what a passionate masochist chooses to live for…

And now you may laugh.