Rather than the usual techniques of employing malnourished morons to walk up and down a catwalk, Zoltar decided to take the front line to fashion week. Having secured the allegiance of an unsuspecting host, Zoltar declared the mother of all Fashion Week knees-ups to be held at Sketch. Following in a historic tradition of French collaboration, Courvoisier completed the axis of Evel Knievel.
This truly multimedia event has often been compared to the pincer movement, artfully deployed by Field Marshal Rommel in North Africa. Our field agents, the models, were hand picked from a pool that ranged from aging punk rockers, supermodels, criminal masterminds, degenerate artists, bohemian gentry to compulsive gamblers, midget prostitutes and undercover taxidermists.
The mission guidelines were simple: look sharp and get drunk. Meanwhile our field agents previewed our expansion into the fashion accessory/submachine gun market with a collection of suave side arms. These stylish individuals featured in the film that exploded onto 360-degree screens with military precision on the hour. Also featured in this film was the combustible blend of graphics gracing the clothing deployed by our field agents. Stills from the film were then collaged with this same Molotov cocktail of eye-candy onto large canvases placed between gold weaponry. The effect was incendiary and climaxed with a faux police raid arresting the Zoltar High Command in a barrage of bottles and tear gas. As the guests filtered out stunned and bewildered, police evidence bags were planted on them thereby implementing them as accomplices.
This was not last time that media manipulation and complete contempt for the fashion industry was expressed through unorthodox publicity stunts. During the first London Fashion Week an unsuspecting public were confused, abused and generally had the Michael extracted by the sadistic cackle of Zoltar in the form of a terrorist ice cream van. Masked insurgents then baffled fashion editors by handing out sex toys and Osama Bin Barbies.
Always keen to act aggressively to current events, the next campaign responded to magician David Blaine’s (on his little crap crane) “above the below” moronic illusion. In the spirit of tubbing, the jolly jester donned a Blaine mask while he gorged himself in all vices in a manner fitting of a bloated Roman emperor. After this mountain of extra greasy fried chicken, cheep beer and expensive pornography had been exhausted by our enthusiastic Blaine impersonator, the next logical step was to employ the talents of a Brazilian lap dancer to step into David’s mask and clown sized brogues. This winning formula of exotic dancer, taxidermy and Victorian prosthesis was used in trade shows to great effect, especially in Berlin accompanied by a Wagnerian chorus of “Morgen”.
