Maxed Out 

This space for rent

Page 2 of 3

Given all I have of any real value is the back page of the Pique, that’s what’s for sale. You may have noticed the total lack of advertising, sponsorship or branding on Maxed Out in the past. Silly, silly scruples. Four hundred opportunities lost; almost eight years wasted.

But no more. Starting next week, Maxed Out is open for business. The product placement business, I guess. I’m not really sure how this ought to work. Nothing so vulgar as ads or logos but blatant, if transparent, name dropping.

Not just anything or any name though. That wouldn’t do. Let’s see, what do I need, er, want. I guess a house is out of the question. Think! Let’s be methodical.

Okay, I’m accepting sponsorship offers in the following categories:

• skis and equipment

• technical clothing

• bar tabs

• restaurant tabs

• electronics – plasma TV or better to open

• household furnishings

• automobiles

• general outdoor gear

Yeah, that’s a good start. Of course, it won’t do anything for my overall cash flow. Cash flow? Who am I kidding. More like a trickle, like the cruel reality of trickle-down economics.

So having considered all the ramifications carefully, yes, I will do deals for cash. If you don’t fall into any of the barter categories but you think some deft plugs for your business – or you for that matter – would be just the ticket, we can talk straight cash deals.

How would this work, I hear you asking. Well, for starters, and using the only real skills available to me, I’d carefully weave repeated references to your business into my usual witty epistle. For example:

Sliding into my favourite seat at (your bar name here) I ordered a tall, cold (your beer/spirit name here) and pondered what had been a perfect day hucking cliffs on Whistler Mountain. "Unbelievable," I thought. I never could stick that landing until I got my new (your skis gloriously plugged here)!

Sauntering out to my (your luxury SUV marquee here) I was shocked and dismayed to see (name of politician or prominent person you want to slander here) boinking his/her personal assistant/gay lover in the back seat of a ratty old Chevy whose owner hadn’t had enough sense to lock the doors.

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