60's advertising au cute drugs fanfic hugbox mad_men part_1 safe showbiz_fluffy

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Olivia walked into Sterling-Cooper-Draper-Pryce, a martini in one hand and a stuffed manilla envelope in the other. Following her was a nebbish looking Jewish dude who isn't important to the story, but it's mad men, there needs to be some jewish subplot going on. Anyway, he held an occupied but very quiet plastic fluffy carrier, and he held it very carefully, keeping it very stable.

"I don't care if you have to downsize our holding companies, get me those funds, Johnathan!" she said authoritatively to the fluffy-toting eunuch. "We can buy and sell those Japanese kids ten times over, I want better advertisements than them."

"Of course ma'am," he agreed jewishly as she clogged her way through the carpeted office, men turned their heads, and women that could catch a sight inside the carrier aww'd.

"That's Olivia Goldorfmansondrovich! And Meatball!" Ken Cosgrove whispered to the rest of the junior guys.

"From Eriksson?" Harry Crane asked. "What are they doing with small fry like us?"

"I heard she's an account exec.... Man I need to bang her...." Ken said, drooling.

"Wait, Meatball? The 'Sketties!' fluffy?" Pete Campbell realised.

"Yeah, do the rest of you guys not know him?" Ken said.

"How do you guys know about fluffy stuff?" Peggy asked (because she was there for some reason as usual; this was in her shitty hair phase), between amused and accusatory.

"Daughters," they said, not quite in perfect unison.

"Dat ass doe" is roughly what they all took away from the situation.

"You know, maybe we're going to be representing some fluffy-based industries! That opens up so many new avenues of marketing now that we'd own the rights to advertise with our own stock of fluffy photo material. Most women are crazy for the cute angle, so you can make that angle sell any copy...." Peggy mused, as her blood was in her brain and not her throbbing corporate elevator shaft.

------

"Has-bioooo," chortled Bert Cooper, who did nothing to bring in this account, yet would still collect on it.

"Yeah, these little monstrosities are like easter and valentines day rolled into one," Roger Sterling (pre moustache) groaned. "They make me want to drink!" he quipped.

"What doesn't, frankly?" Don Draper jested, spreading his arms out over one of the four couches, a cocktail of his own in his hand, a cigarette in the other. He was the picture of machismo.

"They're bigger than the Beatles, and we all know who they were bigger than...." Lane Pryce said in a faux warning tone. "But then, filthy lucre maketh one prone to apostasy anyway."

Roger's secretary let Olivia in. She took the carrier and set it down on the boardroom table, leaving it closed for the time being. It was too dark to see the fluffy contained within.

"So, Olivia, how are things at Eriksson?" Don said warmly, offering her a cigarette, which she accepted, but lit herself. Don pulled back his lighter, between scorned, surprised, impressed, and immediately tempted to commit adultery with.

"Fine," she said curtly after a drag and puff on the cigarette. "Surprisingly I'm not here on behalf of Eriksson, I'm just handling the transition of this account to a new firm. Meatball's owner found that Eriksson broke its contract regarding animal cruelty with his treatment. Thus, making good on our obligations, his owner has graciously decided to accept our suggestion as to who should handle his account," she said in such a professionally disinterested tone that Don knew she was in the doghouse, and this was part of her punishment. She probably had nothing to do with the account, but was just being made to take out the garbage.

"Shame... Say, why don't you and I discuss this at the Waldorf?" Roger said comfortingly, obviously having realized the same thing Don did.

"Actually, you need to talk to the animal itself, it's been granted power of attorney over the account, ~as per contractual agreement~" she grated, taking a huge drag off the cigarette. She wasn't just angry, she was downright embarassed to be associated with it. For the four Partners, they could take any account, lipstick, lingerie, even fluffies, and it was okay because they were Mad Men. But for a rising star female account exec at the biggest ad firm in existence... It was hard to feel upward mobility. You needed a reputation, and this wasn't how you got one if you weren't the head of the account.

"Well, let's hear what it has to say; they're quite the talkers, I hear!" Bert said cheerfully. Old people did tend to like fluffies quite a bit, reminding them of their children or grandchildren. Olivia opened the carrier.

"Can they... Is a fluffy capable of that?" Don asked skeptically. It's hard to have not seen fluffies on TV, especially if your job at home was to watch your competitors ads. So of course Don (who was still creative lead) had seen Meatball on the page, but never on video.

"Of course, mistew dwapew."

Out of the carrier stepped Meatball, a two year-old colt with a light yellow coat (almost the color of pasta) and a light brown mane, perfectly coiffed into the cutest possible hairstyle. Of course they knew what he looked like already. Most of them had dogs at some point, and dog food was next to fluffy food, so they saw hundred of copies of his adorable little mug staring at him in vacuous glee, implying that any fluffy who ate the mass-produced nutritionally complete pasta would be in for just as much happiness. A big open-mouthed smile, a flashy label of "Sketties!", and the cans just flew off the shelves. Has-bio even started selling, but not advertising, special brands of sketties that acted as birth control, stopping desire for babbehs, or even permanently chemically neutered the fluffies who ate them. All with this little bastards airheaded little face on it. It stepped out of the cushioned box and stamped its hoof on the table.

"Dis am Smawty boawdwoom nao!" he growled, puffing out his cheeks. The four men looked nonplussed.

"Otay, Stewwing Coopah Dwapew Pwise nu wike Meatbaww's funny-siwwy, fwuffy jus' kiddin'!" he chuckled.

"He does this at every. meeting." Olivia groaned, having somehow acquired a gin and tonic that she was nursing.

"DOWN TO BIZWIZ!" Meatball said, psyching himself up. "Meatbaww wan Esidipi to make fwuffy commewshul! Put Meebaww on TeeBee!"

Bert beamed, but inside he was jew-handing so hard. Roger found it hard not to pet the little guy after how he said SCDP as one syllable. Don immediately began concocting an idea of where he was going to fuck off to so Peggy and Pete could handle this shitbiz, and Lane Pryce was daydreaming of foxhunting in Kent.

"What kind of commercial? For 'Sketties!'?" Roger asked.

"Yes, mista Stewwing. Sketties... Mummah... fwuffy mean, fuwffy's ownew asked specificawwy fow mista Dwapew. She say he hab a cewtain... jay nah say kwa in his newsie pwetties," he explained.

"This thing knows French!" Lane snapped, incredulous. "How can it know French?" Olivia, well into her second G&T (furnished by Don) rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"Calm down, it's just a working animal. If trained dogs could talk they'd be saying more complicated things than him," Don said, smoke wreathing his head. He knew it sucked to work with animals. One time Pete had roped him into an account with some negroes.

"Meatbaww am out of wines, its twoo," he said, grinning. Olivia threw her head back in tipsy exasperation as she produced a treat from the manilla envelope and gave it to Meatball. He nommed the special-nummies.

"That's his cocaine," Olivia said, her voice oozing with contempt. The partners looked at each other in shock.

"It's on drugs?" Roger asked skeptically.

"As artificial life there are no laws surrounding them to prevent them from being legally abused yet. They certainly haven't gotten around to making drug laws for them," Olivia said. That seemed to satiate watever concerns they had.

"Uh... Okay, I give," Don said, looking the fluffy in the face for the first time. "What kind of commercial are you looking for, Meatball?"

"Fow nyu type of sketties. Pway dis wight, mista Dwapah, Meebaww haf a sewies mebbe!" he giggled, having indulged his coke-lust. "Ebbe'ting is in da packit, and Meatbaww wan meeting wif cweatif' watew! Fow nao, weseawch!"

-------

Creative had not taken it well when Don told them to resarch fluffy ponies, with the exception of Peggy. She had been thrilled to finally have an excuse to get one, or at least play with one. Michael Ginsberg immediately began to detail his theory on how the fluffies were an early sign of the apocalypse, the weakest and most innocent "un-saved" souls (usually of children) manifesting as mostly good-things. Soon the unredeemed masses would appear, and then the murders, then the psychopaths, and eventually genocidal dictators would re-emerge as evil demon overlords. Everyone else just smoked the ganj and secretly sort of wanted to to pet one.

Don was unsure if he could handle bringing one home; he already had one spead impediment in the house, so what if their adorable-yet-annoying wisp rubbed off on "Thally?" But as soon as Sally and Bobby heard that Don was working with fluffies, Don caved and brought home two fluffies. One colt, and one filly; one for Bobby, one for Sally. He figured he would need to see them interacting naturally if he was going to be advertising to the fluffies.

He already knew exactly how he was going to pitch the product in the bit that went over the creatures' heads: affordability, availability, consistent quality, and a very happy fluffy. That pitch was cake. Anything that made them feel like they were making a smart purchase, and morever, a kind one, people would buy anything. But what Don wanted was a way to appeal to the fluffies; to make them sing some sketties jingle or somesuch. Make them scream for mommy or daddy to come see the magic food they want so bad when they see it on TV. Hopefully, they'd work like children. If they did, Don felt this would be the easiest cash cow account he'd ever worked on.

The two fluffies that Don bought were named by bedtime. The filly, Rosie, was a two-month-old with pink fluff and a grass-green mane. The colt, Atilla, was a very ligh tan with a brown mane, almost horselike. The breeder Don got them from had already gone through the trouble of housebreaking them. When it came to spending on his children Don went all out, and high-quality fluffies only cost $100 to for a pair and a kit. Don wiped his ass with that kind of money. Besides, there was no way Don was going to be whacking fluffies around to make them shit in the house. He didn't have time for that. After Bobby and Sally went to bed, you took both fluffies and played them some projector tapes you borrowed from your firm's archives. Fluffy adverts. You wanted to gauge their reactions and see what what going on inside their heads.

"Wosie! Wook! Nyu daddeh have fwuffy teebee! Am bestes daddeh ebaw!" Atilla burbled happily. Hmm, a tv channel for fluffies? Something to leave on for your fluffy while you're at work so they don't get lonely... Don thought he was on to something.... But something for another time.

"Pwetty fwuffies on picsha! Dey am su happy! Wan gif huggies!" Rosie replied. Atilla responded buy hugging her. Don's steely heart felt no diabeetus, only harsh scrutiny. So they liked hugs!

"How important are hugs to you?" Don asked, crossing his legs, having pulled a scotch out of longhammerspace.

"Huggies suuuuuu impowtan!" Rosie squeaked. "Dey fix ebbe'fing!"

"Iss twoo! Huggies make saddies go way!" Atilla agreed. Don mused on this. He was definitely going to use a huggies angle at some point in the commercial. But he had heard from Peggy that sometimes they tended to reject each other based on color. He had to find a fluffy whose colors looked good in monochrome. He decided to try an experiment.

"I'm going to show you both a picture of some fluffies, and you tell me who you think would be best to give hugs to, and get hugs from, okay?" Don asked, pulling out some black-and-white photos of some fluffies. Among them was Meatball. His colors looked good in the technicolor photo of him on the tin, but in monochrome his colors looked greyish, almost brown, and his mane looked very dark.

"Dis am best fwuffy! Atiwwa wan hug dis fwuffy mostes'!" he peeped, resting one weggy on a snapshot of a (from the writingo n the back) "light blue mare, golden mane, infectious good-nature. Name: Nora"

"How come?" Don responded, while Rosie was looking over the pictures again.

"Am pwetty fwuffy, wike Atiwwa mummah!" he chirps. Aww.

"Dis am bestes' fwuffy!" Rosie concluded, gently pushing a picture of a very poofy olive-green and orange maned "Malachy from Connecticut".

"How come?" Don prompted again.

"Wook wike stwong daddy fwuffy; make Wosie feew safes'!"

Hmm, maybe a parental angle would be good. Maybe it would even be best to have a family; a mom, dad, and foals, to give each all ages something to latch onto, just like real advertisements.

"Alright, then, who is the worst fluffy you see here? Who would you least want to give huggies to or get huggies from?"

"Dis fwuffy!" Atilla cried.

"Dis meanie poopie fwuffy!" Rosie joined in, both of them crying and pointing to the photo of Meatball. This took Don aback. He tried another tack. He took out a can of "Sketties!" from the garage. He was pleased, at least, that he would never have to pay to feed the things, thanks to his client. He put it down on the desk where they lay crying, and doing their pathetic best to thrash the photo of Meatball into submission.

"How about this fluffy? Is he bad?" Don asked, a little annoyed at all the extra work this was going to take to explain to meatball.

"Nuuu! Dat am Meatbaww! Am Sketties Fwuffy! Am gud fwuffy!" Rosie peeped happily, glad she didn't have to see any more meanie munsta fluffies.

"Ov caows not daddeh!" Atilla agreed. "Dat am pwetty fwuffy! Pwetty cowwow and happy facies!"

So you were right, Meatball sucked in black and white. This would be difficult to explain.








Uploader Heatseeker_Boy,
Tags 60's advertising au cute drugs fanfic hugbox mad_men part_1 showbiz_fluffy
Rating safe
Source Unknown
Locked No

Comments

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Anonymous1: I feel like this would be much better and say more hilarious if I were in the know.. However I did enjoy reading it. Fairly interesting

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deathproofpony: I don't watch Mad Men so I don't know what's going on.

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Heatseeker_Boy: @deathproofpony: its probably pretty good if youve seen it. i found it funny enough to actually post part 1 instead of deleting it
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