Little Miss Crabby Pants

Whoa Anna … looks like someone has their crabby pants on. Let’s just step back, take a deep breath and try to put on a happy face. Look, I’m not sure if you’re just not pleased with your chosen profession or the market is starting to feel like a little over-weight pool boy pulling your fingernails out with a dull needle-noose pliers, one at a time? Either way, it appears that career change may be in order.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to tell you what to do. I mean, you look like you could hold me down by the neck with a triple-leg lock tummy fold followed by a ten minute session of noogies, only stopping when the crown of my head is as red as a monkeys butt. No thank you.

Now, here’s another theory: you’re just a sweetheart, convinced by some over-worked, over-paid, under-skilled ad exec to play the role of real estate bitch. And, if that’s the case … well, it’s genius. Got me. I actually thought that you wanted to kick my … but you … then I … HA. You’re good Anna, real good. The heavenly gates of gold nominations have just opened up and guess what? There you are. MAUH! MAUH!

Just in case my theory isn’t 100% correct, let me just say that the black one piece jumpsuit looks lovely and … I bruise easy.

Wanted: Lunatic stark raving mad fans that are willing to run naked in public forums, paint their faces with Real”ad”tor pride, scream puns at the top of their lungs and beat the crap out of the arch rival fans. If this sounds like you, click here.
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World Wide Wonders

I couldn’t think of a better way to kick-off 2010 than kicking off a new chapter in the Real”ad”tor Awards story. So, starting in 2010, we will now be taking website submissions. Yep, you’ve asked, and now you’ll receive. And, to be honest with you, I think the real talent is online anyway. WAIT … THAT WASN’T ME TYPING, SERIOUSLY.

Anywho, to wet your palate (just a bit) before the new year and let you know just where we’re going to set the bar, I thought I’d bring you a little teaser. It’s my pleasure to introduce none other than Earl & Marilyn Mendoza and their website. Which, by the way, is frickin’ sweet. Between the pleasing colors, modern layout and nifty navigation graphics, you will undoubtedly agree that they deserve nothing less than gold.

But … they did one better. They gave us a hook. Or rather, a little something to remember them by. The decided to cleverly merry there catchy headline, “Shopping For A Realtor?”, with a literal interpretation of just what they were talking about. Looks like Marilyn found herself a good deal on some Earl.

These two are a couple of characters. Bravo Home Team, Platinum it is.

Fame Comes at a Price

Sometimes it’s hard to be a gangsta.

Reference

Wanted: Lunatic stark raving mad fans that are willing to run naked in public forums, paint their faces with Real”ad”tor pride, scream puns at the top of their lungs and beat the crap out of the arch rival fans. If this sounds like you, click here.
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Merry Chri … I Mean, Happy Holidays From Glen

You know what they say, you can’t improve upon perfection. So, rather than us muck up some holiday-esque greeting by alienating certain religions and over-emphasizing our love for Santa’s little helpers, we thought we’d take a ride on Mr. Kitto’s coattails. In fact, we’re just so dang pleased with his message, that we’re just going to let him say it.

Glen, the stage is yours.

Yeah … what he said. See you all on the flip side of this holiday thing.

BTW: Glen will be under the mistletoe at noon on the 24th for anyone interested in little tongue wrestling match before the long weekend.

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An Agent By Any Other Name …

If there is anything that I hope you can take away from this blog, it’s this: if your name is Steve, you’re done. As in, screwed, washed up, finished. But wait Steve, you’re not alone. In fact, if your name is Ted, Mary, Crawford, Joboo, Jimbo, Jane, Brian, T-bone, Jason … or whatever — you’re toast. Just pack up your pencils, aluminum signs and mortgage calculator and call it a day.

However, I repeat, HOWEVER. If you were so fortunate, so blessed, so fortuitous to be named John Albee … well then, you are in luck my friend. Because — John Albee is the ONLY name you need in real estate. And, if you’re smart (like Edie and Cynthia who, like many of us, weren’t so fortunate at birth), you’d jump on board the John Albee wagon. It’s heading to the promise land and these gals are riding it all the way to the end. Brilliant move ladies.

In an attempt to reach John Albee for comment, I was presented with a menu of Johns to pick from. In my brief moment of uncertainty, I panicked and quickly hit zero. When I was greeted by the receptionist, I asked her to tell the boys that they’ve got a platinum, which I’ve aptly renamed the “John Albee Platinum Nomination”.

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Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door

Oh, Steven. Steven, Steven, Steven … what are we going to do with you? I’m not a suit expert, but unless my eyes are playing tricks on me, that appears to be a three-button classic Ralph Lauren $3,995 suit, tailored in Italy from extra-fine wool, with a lean silhouette, slightly shortened rise and narrowed lapels, designed to flatter the ladies with a streamlined fit. But, then again, what do I know?

So, why don’t you have that puppy bagged? Wait … don’t tell me, I already know the answer. When you’re money, material possessions don’t matter.

Look, I get the whole “I won’t out-dress you” bit, but c’mon. A man with such exquisite taste in men’s wear? The stonewashed jean look didn’t fool me.

I’ll admit, the bitchin’ “half-hand in the tight-fit pocket” and mullet had me going for awhile. He’s just a good ‘ole boy, right? Yeah, nice try. Once I caught a glimpse of that lapel, I knew exactly what we were dealing with.

Well played Steven, well played. In addition to stealing a few laughs from your biggest fan, you’ve also stolen the coveted gold nomination. You are one smooth criminal my friend.

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Snow Day

Guess who? Well, if you guessed an outrageously witty and super smart real estate team from Iowa … you’re absolutely correct. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Doyle and Devoe — you complete me. I mean, aren’t they exactly what the real estate advertising world needs? Better yet, aren’t they exactly what WE need? The answer is an unequivocal “yes” people. YES.

This scene reminds me of a story. When I was just a little runt (when peeing in the snow was a favorite pastime), I’d often gather with my friends at our local sledding hill for a day of fun (D&D knows what I’m talking about). We’d start in the morning and finish when our moon boots froze over. On one particular outing, I was feeling rather confident in my ability to control the sleek dog sled. Rather than lie in the standard tummy position, I chose to be a hotdogger (much like little Mrs. Sunshine in the pink headband) and ride in the hang-five position. Considering this was pre-snowboarding, I thought the idea was quite innovative. I was wrong.

Look, not a year goes by and I hear about some kid, on some hill … well, it’s enough to make me sick. Moral of the story? Ride low and go slow. Yes — I know, I know. “Well, Doyle and Devoe are standing up on their sleds, why can’t I?” While that might be true, they’re professionals. There should have been a disclaimer. Shame on them.

D&D, I know exactly where I’m heading. I’m throwing on my long-johns, hopping on the toboggan and meeting you guys in the chalet. I’ve stuffed a little something gold in my snow pants that I’m just dying to show you.

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Punch Drunk

Do you know what’s better than being witness to a man and his loving wife reviewing some documents of extreme importance? Nothing. Absolutely NOTHING. The fact that we are able to witness this moment of marital bliss in a print ad is simply breathtaking.

Wait, there’s so much more. The gifts. They just keep on coming.

Punch. Not Steve. Not John, or Albert, or Farnsworth. Punch. I think Rod Stewart said it best, “Some guys have all the luck”. And just what do you do when you’re blessed with parents who have such incredible taste in names? You honor them by purchasing a personalized phone number. 416.PUNCH.ME. Don’t mind if I do. Where does the line begin my friend? I hate you for being perfect Punch.

And, because perfection just isn’t good enough for these two, Punch, and the lovely Missis, decided to rub a little salt in the wound by displaying what appears to be two Emmy’s. The son’s of bitches.

Well, I hate to do it, but I must. I’m FedExing a platinum nomination for the two of you to review and sign. Yet another trophy to add to your collection. Yippee.

Let’s all thank Jason Allen for sending us this little reminder of just how much the rest of us suck.

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Money(less) Shot

Before Evaporation

After Evaporation

Oh no Wats! Dude. What happened? It’s just that I thought the three of you looked soooo happy together. I guess, as they say, all good things must come to an end. But, I hate to see it end like this.

I must say though, I do like your style. Someone crosses you and … POOF. They’re gone. Almost as if you’ve evaporated them into thin air. Just in case that’s not what happened, I do have one other theory. It’s possible that you traveled back in time and changed the course of history, thus eliminating the physical presence of the missing girl in this photo. It’s almost like it never happened. You know … like Marty’s family photo in Back to the Future.

Anyway, it’s all just speculation at this point. Only the three of you know what truly happened. Regardless, you’re still the man, “Class” is your middle name and you still retain the rights to the silver nomination. Life is good my friend. And remember, if you need a shoulder to cry on (because it looks like part of your shoulder was taken out by a pissed-off left breast), I’m here for you dog.

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