Unless it's written by a Flack, of course.

(image via)   

As I post my third Flack Limerick, I confess I feel humbled by the technological savvy of my Twitter friend and fellow Flack Poet Karyn Cooks, who has upped the ante on our friendly limerick competition by adding an audiovisual component.  (Damn you, Cooks.) Any other aspiring Flack poets out there, feel free to join the fray!

Herewith, my latest offering:

What to do with old flacks who have no skills,
But whose time still shows up on agency fee bills?
The staff think them creepy
They make journalists sleepy
And the clients all think they’re just big pills. 

And for those of you dying to know the origins of all this silliness (and surely, you are), see Karyn’s chronology (and her video throw-down) here.

What is a Flack Limerick, you ask? A glimpse inside the thrilling life of an agency PR person, expressed in poorly-written verse.  This is the second in what may just — if you’re very lucky — become a series. Thanks to PRCog and karyncooks, my Twitter pals, for introducing the concept.  Finally, a way to exercise my liberal arts background.

There once was a retailing giant
Who with budgets was famously un-pliant.
Their account we did pitch
But got kicked to the ditch
Our city slicker vibe–they weren’t buyin’ it.

(In response to PRCog, original concept by @karyncooks…)

There once was a flack with a big crush

‘Round her studmuffin client she became mush

On a press trip they hooked

While in a jacuzzi they cooked

The boss found out and kicked her out on her big tush.