Vote Early and Often

I’m voting for Ben, the guy who runs the sandwich shop in the lobby of my office building. I figure he has the perfect background to be governor of California.

First of all, Ben’s place doesn’t do just deli. On the contrary, you can get empanadas and pasta salad, sometimes on the same plate. That, my friends, is diversity. Moreover, Ben totally knows how to deal with a deficit. I bought salami sandwiches from him three days a week for more than a year, but when nobody else ordered salami, Ben stopped carrying it. Boom. Just like that.

This is a candidate who is not afraid to make the tough calls.

Still, to each his, her or its own on Oct. 7.

My stylist at Supercuts likes the punk rocker from Orange County. The girl in the management office of my apartment complex is going for Arianna Huffington (why anybody would vote for a candidate who talks about issues is beyond me). An animal-rights-activist pal is leaning toward Gary Coleman, because he believes everybody should have a pet.

When those of you in less fortunate states stop laughing at us for a minute, you may notice something. Californians are having as good of a time celebrating our recall election as you are making fun of it. And not just because putting a barbarian in Sacramento is hardly worse than having a cowboy in the White House.

No, we have had a revelation. We recognize the wonderful concept of a recall for what it is: a universal stain-remover. A way to quick-fix any dilemma, to dissolve any problem, to rid ourselves of any obligation. No muss. No fuss. Just $3,500 and 65 signatures.

And what better place to play the recall card than in the advertising business? Think of all the badness we can undo with the California Recall Process (in L.A., we call it CRiPs): purchasing departments, personal video recorders, “integrated solutions,” Asian-car-company reviews, the upfront.

We should bring John Dooner back to IPG and recall him again, just to make sure he gets it this time.

Toyota’s newest consultant, Kurt Ritter, should be recalled so Maurice Lévy can remember to tell General Motors.

The team behind the Miller Lite’s “Catfight” should be recalled and their mouths washed out with soap. Let’s recall the Coors Light twins, too—one at a time, in slow motion.

We should recall the new, lecherous Snuggles character, then call the NRA.

T-Mobile could recall Catherine Zeta-Jones and give her job back to Jamie Lee Curtis.

Let’s recall the Dell interns, give them jobs so they don’t have to be in ads anymore, and bring back the pothead.

I bet Richard Parsons would love to recall AOL. He’s already dumping the name.

We should recall 45 percent of the FCC media commission.

Kobe recalled himself.

And for the love of God, let’s recall—over and over again—anything to do with the California Lottery.

The opportunities make one giddy, don’t they? And yet the recall sword cuts both ways. What if clients start using CRiPs? There’ll be nothing but pay-for-performance compensation then. Agencies would get paid for spec creative, and then the money would be recalled.

And all the logos will be huge.

That’s not an ad world worth pitching in. But as dire as that possibility is, it’s not even the worst that could happen. The worst would be if consumers get hip to CRiPs. Then we’re all toast, because you know how they get. There’d be no journalism, just Entertainment Tonight. No politics, except The Daily Show. And no advertising of any kind. Except “Catfight,” which would be recalled from its recall.

So laugh it up, America. Once again, California sets the pace.

And remember: Vote for Ben.