Note: Back in the 90s, I did a few slogan and jingle contests on my agency’s website and also created the scenarios for each season. What you will find below was one of them. (I hope to have the rest of them preserved here in the near future.)
The PAW! World’s Worst Slogan Game Scenario Number Seven: Project Qwerto
It’s been another run-of-the-mill Monday morning at the ol’ advertising agency. You promptly showed up for work three hours late and have settled into the daily grind of creating marvelous, cutting-edge ads for your admiring roster of global clients. And a small black and white print advertisement for the local babushka factory.
A low, discontent rumble rises from your toned, tanned tummy — Your body is still attempting to digest yesterday’s glorious feast at Buffet World’s “Day-Of-Our-Lord Smorgasbord (patent pending).” You decide that another liter or two of delicious office coffee should help things along, so you grab your vintage Bill the Cat coffee mug and head off to the break room.
En route, you are suddenly attacked by a shooting pain in your coffee hand’s wrist. You howl out in pain as your mug falls to the marbled hallway floor, shattering into a thousand shards (the mug, not the floor). “Darn repetitive stress carpal tunnel syndrome,” you mutter as you weep openly from the pain and mug loss. You’ve spent so much of your life on the computer creating marvelous, cutting-edge ads for your admiring roster of global clients that your wrists are now a mangled wasteland of suffering and torture.
But believe it or not, today’s about to be your lucky day.
Later on, just as you are getting ready for your usual two hour lunch break, you are called into the agency conference room for an impromptu meeting with a new client. Waiting inside are nine of your closest bosses and a seven foot tall bearded gentleman who extends his hand out to you in greeting. As your hands clasp and shake, you try to stifle a yelp of acute, aching anguish but fail pitifully in your attempt.
“Good grip,” you wince.
The man looks down at you with knowing eyes and asks, “Darn repetitive stress carpal tunnel syndrome?”
“Darn repetitive stress carpal tunnel syndrome,” you reply.
“What size shoes do you wear?” he inquires.
What the…!? You’re a tish confused, but you answer him. He then heads over to a brushed steel trunk, opens it up and pulls out a pair of the freakiest shoes you’ve ever seen. “It’s time you tried Qwerto,” he says as he hands you the pair.
He then offers you a chair in front of a beautiful prototype G7 GGIF computer (Golly Gee It’s Fast). You sit down, take off your tennies and slip into his funky footwear. They’re surprisingly comfortable. Almost soothing.
“Now click your heels together three times,” he instructs.
You shrug and play along, attempting your best Dorothy impersonation. Click. Click. Click. Whirr.
The sparkly shoes come to life as hundreds of tiny bumpy things activate and scroll over the bottoms of your feet, then cease as a small green light starts blinking on the side of each of the shoes.
“Now you’re ready to type the Qwerto way,” he announces as you stare down at your feet in surprise. And a little bit of fear.
You look up at the G7, but there’s no keyboard. “There’s no keyboard,” you say.
He chuckles with glee. “You don’t need a darn repetitive stress carpal tunnel syndrome-inducing keyboard! Use your feet! Use your toes! Use the shoes! Use… Qwerto!”
You’re stunned. You’re confused. You’re aghast. “But how!?”
“Wiggle and think,” he replies. “Wiggle and think.”
So, you wiggle and think. The tiny bumpy things kick in again and stop a moment later. You look up at the monitor and see “This (unprintable) guy has got to be (unprintable) (unprintable) me!”
“(unprintable)!” you think.
“(unprintable)!” it types.
“(unprintable)! Delete! Delete! Erase! Erase!”
The words disappear from the screen.
He laughs heartily. “Now, my friend, you are typing with Qwerto.”
He goes on to explain how he had spent the last twenty years of his life in Asia studying acupuncture, reflexology, telekinesis and martial typing techniques from the local masters. After his two decades of discovery, he returned home, had a few beers and created Qwerto, his amazing, intuitive, unisex, cordless and wrist-friendly toeboarding technology.
Now he has over a million pairs of Qwerto in various sizes and colors (named after five popular jellies), ready for packaging and shipping. All he needs now are customers. He asks you to devise a slogan that will magically turn the public on to his magical accomplishment. You agree. He then tells you he needs the slogan by tomorrow. You still agree. After all, that’s longer than you usually get.
You start wiggling and thinking as he leaves the conference room with your nine bosses. Just before he exits, you look up at him one last time and ask, “By the way… What’s your name?”
“My friends call me Tony,” he answers, then disappears around the corner.
Now get to work.
What’s your slogan?