For those of you who frequent the Young PR Pros list, you’ll know there’s another sheriff in town over there. Greg Brooks is now a co-moderator. He penned the piece below and was kind enough to let us re-post it here.
‘Twas the night before ChristmasAnd all through the worldSanta was thinking about flack boys and girls.
Releases were sent to BizWire with great careIn hope that a journalist might be aware; The AE’s were nestled all snug in their cubes, The VPs were thinking the AE’s were rubes.
Clients and bosses, they’d all headed home, And lo, just a very few flacks toiled alone.
When out of the stillness arose such a clatter, (The intern jumped up screaming “Sh!t! What’s the matter!?”) I sprang onto Twitter to uncover the fuss(Just kidding. I really don’t use Twitter. Much.)
Away to the web I searched all around, And there, right on Drudge, was truth laid down. With a sirens a-flashin’ and bright red headlined(Holiday ink — the very worst kind.)
There, much to my wondering eyes did appear, A banner: “No presents for flacks this year!” I paused and I panicked (both billable, true!), I had to do something – the moments were few.
More rapid than eagles they ran when I called, And I shouted aloud as they came up the hall: Now, Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! On Cupid! On Donder and Blitzen!
(The interns you see, don’t have real names at all; We might give them some, if they last ’till next fall.)
We sat and we pondered and made lots of schemes, The brighter among us even came up with memes. After much talking, a campaign soon was hatched; Would we? We would! “Make Santa love flacks!”
AEs were called, VPs were roused, Interns were beaten (why yes, that’s allowed). Professionals all, to the web they dispatched, The bold message of: “Make Santa love flacks!”
Santa, of course, was quite hard to reach; He didn’t like pitches and would often beseechFlacks to disperse and hound him no more(Often derisively: “You’re just a flack whore!”)
With time running out and pressure so highYou’d think it would have been some other guy; But Rudolph the Intern spied Santa online; (His 6 billion friends made him easy to find.)
With Kris Kringle spotted we made our big pitch: Santa: Don’t be a Christmastime b!tch! (OK we were nicer than that but be sureBy only a bit – no time to demure!)
St. Nick you bring joy and presents galore; Please show us some love though we’re just “flack whores.” Like you, we endeavor to spread much good cheerWe’ll even leave cookies! We’ll even leave beer!
His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses (he’d been in the sherry!) His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And through his white beard, he just uttered “No.”
We paused and we gasped — what of Christmas this year? But a wink of his eye showed we have nothing to fear. He smiled (via webcam) and said “Here’s the thing, You have to deserve all the presents I bring.”
“Send on-target pitches? Get results evermore? You’ll find that I never call you a ‘flack whore.'”
“But if you’re a spammer, or if you are lame, Or treat clients’ money like some kind of game. Or if your releases read somewhat like a$$, Over your house I’ll fly — but presents? I’ll pass.”
We sat gathered round the computer so bright, And pondered the year’s work — yes, some with fright.
And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, from the webcam he rose; He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistleAnd away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
We got up from our seats, headed off to our homes, When Rudolph the Intern stood apart, all alone. “It’s been a good year,” he said in delight; “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”