The kind of overcaffeinated 2AM ads your grandfather fell asleep to, but the product is real and the link is in the description. We've come full circle.
I treat a $19 kitchen gadget like it's the Voynich Manuscript. You laugh. You buy it. You thank me later, in the comments, where I never reply.
Short skits where the product is the punchline, the setup, and occasionally the antagonist. Like a Pixar short, but for a stick blender.
Usually one that does something normal in a slightly absurd way. Sometimes the opposite.
I have to actually care. Even if the caring is unreasonable. Especially then.
The lighting is bad and the energy is somehow worse. This is the format.
Cut frames. Add zooms. Yell internally. Decide it's done when the sun comes up.
I will not read the comments. (I will read all of the comments.)
The affiliate dashboard goes up. My family is fed. We never speak of it again.
I came for the joke. I stayed for the spatula. I have purchased four spatulas.
Our CTR went up 340%. We are afraid to ask how.
This is somehow legal. I checked twice.
I'm easy. Send me a product, a deadline, and at least seven exclamation points in the email. I'll send you a video that converts and an invoice that doesn't.
Send The Pitch →Eventually. Once the camera's off and the affiliate link is live, the smart toaster and I make peace.
Yes. The IRS confirmed it last April. They were very polite about it.
You may. I can be reached at the address listed below. So can my dog. He has opinions too.
That's where I come in. If it can be plugged in, eaten, or worn, I can find the joke. Possibly two.
Depends. Does the agreement also contain a joke? I'm flexible. My lawyer is less so.