Run Paco, Run.

I have an unopened box that has been with me since I left BBDO for the first time in 1997. It has traveled to Goodby, back to BBDO, over to Chiat, to Saatchi and finally here, to Barton F. Graf 9000. It’s labeled “Office Things”. It has remained unopened for so long that it has developed a sense of mystery. It’s turned into a magic box. What’s inside the magic box? It’s just like that box JJ Abrams had at the Ted Conference with the question mark that his grandfather gave him. He’ll never open that box because inside there is mystery, actual Mystery, and if he ever opens that box he feels he will lose his sense of mystery, his sense of wonder.

So I opened my box and there was a bunch crap inside. Expense reports from the Four Seasons, a filofax with numbers to some guy named Ed at some place called Mad River Post. But then, underneath a 3 hole puncher, was a bottle of Drakkar Noir.

Oh lordy, the mighty Drakkar Noir! Woman slayer! Squirt-Squirt and it was over. It’s coming back to me now, I had to retire the ebon bottle when I got married. But that was some sweet-scented scent. Created by the Uber-Frenchman Guy Laroche. And if that’s not a name I don’t know what is. That would be my spy name if it was the fifties and I was in a place with spies. I’d say my name is Guy Laroche and crack my spy whip and laugh and they would all be afraid because I didn’t just smell like some ordinary Huguenot wearing Drakkar, I smelled like Drakkar Noir, the dark side of Drakkar. And they would run, run like that little runt Paco Rabbane used to run. He and the rest of the cowardly Rabbane family from Guy Laroche and his sexy smelling spy whip.