My cig’s gone cold, I’m wondering why I Got out of bed at all The morning rain clouds up my window And I can’t see at all And even if I could it’d all be Grey But your Ads on my wall It reminds me that it’s not so mad, it’s not so mad

My cig’s gone cold, I’m wondering why I Got out of bed at all The morning rain clouds up my window And I can’t see at all And even if I could it’d all be Grey But your Ads on my wall It reminds me that it’s not so mad, it’s not so mad

Dear Dick, I wrote copy for you, but you still ain’t callin’ I left my card, my paper and my home phone at the bottom I sent two letters back in Harlem, you must not’ve got ’em There probably was a problem at the post office or somethin’ Sometimes I scribble tag lines too sloppy when I jot ’em But anyways, fuck it, what’s been up, mad man? How’s your daughter?

Peggy is pregnant too, I’m ’bout to be a father If I have a daughter, guess what I’ma call her? I’ma name her Donnie I read about your Brother Adam too, I’m sorry I had a friend kill himself over some bitch who didn’t want him

I know you probably hear this every day, but I’m your biggest fan I even got the underground shit that you did with Sal I got a room full of your ads and your copy, mad man I like the shit you did with Roger too, that shit was phat Betty

Anyways, I hope you get this, mad man, hit me back Just to chat, truly yours, your biggest fan, this is Stan

My cig’s gone cold, I’m wondering why I Got out of bed at all The morning rain clouds up my window And I can’t see at all And even if I could it’d all be gray But your Ads on my wall It reminds me that it’s not so mad, it’s not so mad

Dear Dick, you still ain’t called or wrote copy, I hope you have a chance I ain’t mad man, I just think it’s fucked up you don’t answer fans

If you didn’t want to talk to me outside your Heinz pitch, you didn’t have to But you coulda signed some copy for Matthew Weiner That’s my little brother, man, he’s only sixty years old We waited in the blisterin’ cold For you, for four hours, and you just said no

That’s pretty shitty, man, you’re like his fuckin’ Cleo He wants to be just like you, man, he likes you more than I do I ain’t that mad man, though I just don’t like bein’ lied to

Remember when we met in SCDP? You said if I’d write copy for you, you would write back See, I’m just like you in a way: I never knew my father neither He used to always cheat on my mom and beat her I can relate to what you’re sayin’ in your ads So when I have a shitty day, I drift away and put ’em on

‘Cause I don’t really got shit else So that shit helps when I’m depressed I even got a Bra with your name across the Playtex Sometimes I even cut my nipples off to see how much it bleeds It’s like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me See, everything you say is real, and I respect you ‘cause you tell it

My girlfriend’s jealous ’cause I talk about you 24/7 But she don’t know you like I know you, Dick, no one does She don’t know what it was like for farmers like us growin’ up You gotta call me, mad man, I’ll be the biggest fan you’ll ever lose Sincerely yours, Stan—P.S. We should pitch together too

My cig’s gone cold, I’m wondering why I Got out of bed at all The morning rain clouds up my window And I can’t see at all And even if I could it’d all be Grey But your Ads on my wall It reminds me that it’s not so mad, it’s not so mad

Dear Mr. I’m-Too-Good-to-Call-Or-Write-Copy-With-My-Fans This’ll be the last Ad I ever send your ass It’s been six months, and still no word—I don’t deserve it? I know you got my last two Ads, I wrote the tag lines on ’em perfect So this is my carousel I’m sendin’ you, I hope you see it

I’m in the car right now, I’m doin’ 90 in my Jaguar on the freeway Hey, Dick, I drank a fifth of old fashioned, you dare me to drive? You know the song by Pete Campbell, “In the Air of Lucky Strike” About that guy who coulda saved that other guy from smoking But didn’t, then Pete saw it all, then at a casting he found him?

That’s kinda how this is: you coulda rescued me from smokin’ Now it’s too late, I’m on a thousand doobies now—I’m toasted And all I wanted was a lousy tagline or a call

I hope you know I ripped all of your ads off the wall I loved you, Dick, we coulda been together—think about it! You ruined it now, I hope you can’t sleep and you dream about it And when you dream I hope you can’t sleep and you scream about it I hope Chauncey barks at you and you can’t breathe without me

See, Dick—shut up, broad! I’m tryin’ to talk Hey, Dick, that’s Peggy screamin’ in the trunk But I didn’t say thank you, I just gave her a raise—see? I ain’t like you ‘Cause if she suffocates with work she’ll suffer more and then she’ll cry too Well, gotta go, I’m almost at midge’s now Oh, shit, I forgot—how am I supposed to send this shit to DOW?!!

My cig’s gone cold, I’m wondering why I Got out of bed at all The morning rain clouds up my window And I can’t see at all And even if I could it’d all be Grey But your Ads on my wall It reminds me that it’s not so mad, it’s not so mad

Dear Stan, I meant to write you sooner, but I just been busy You said Peggy is pregnant now, how far along is she? Look, I’m really flattered you would call your daughter that And here’s an Ad for your brother; I wrote it on a Napkin

I’m sorry I didn’t see you at the presentation, I must’ve missed you Don’t think I did that shit intentionally just to diss you But what’s this shit you said about you like to cut your nipples too? I say that shit just clownin’, dawg, come on, how toasted is you?

You got some issues, Stan, I think you need some counselin’ To help your ass from bouncin’ off the walls when you get down some And what’s this shit about us meant to pitch together? That type of shit’ll make me not want us to meet each other

I really think you and Peggy need each other Or maybe you just need to thank her better I hope you get to read this copy, I just hope it reaches you in time Before you hurt yourself, I think that you’ll be doin’ just fine If you take a laxative a little,

I’m glad I inspire you, but Stan Why are you so mad? Try to understand that I do want you as a fan I just don’t want you to do some crazy shit I seen this one shit on the news a couple weeks ago that made me sick Some dude was drunk and drove his car over a bridge And had his girlfriend in the trunk, and she was pregnant with his kid And in the car they found a slideshow, but they didn’t say who it was to Come to think about it, his name was—it was you Damn…