I may have been bought off the black market.
One morning, as a kid, I opened the newspaper to discover a doctor had been arrested for trafficking babies. As expected with these sorts of things, he happened to be the same gynaecologist who had delivered me. By mid morning I was bursting with questions. What’s for lunch? How many crayons can you put up your nose? Does green wall paint taste the same as orange? But no answers. My usually forthcoming parents were unusually quiet.
I don't know the truth to this day. But I am willing to speculate that if my birth was a black market handshake, I must have made a bloody good ad. Perhaps, I put a sticker on my left cheek which read “EATS, POOPS & SLEEPS ALL NIGHT”.
I rode on the success of that first ad by storming into the industry when it was legal to do so. For ten years I honed my skills at some of the best agencies, creating work for some great brands. Then, my wife and I packed our bags and took the year off to get shot at by boar hunters in Spain, crash into parked cars in Lisbon, cram eighty kids into six cottages in the Himalayas and grow potatoes in Kodaikanal. At the end of that cliché we moved to Singapore, where I took some time out to write this incredible true story.
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