Friday, 26 February 2010

Bill Derrick, Vice President of Client Experience, Daticon EED

Looks like he even combs his eyebrows. You know he's going to leave no stone unturned in his business dealings. He will metaphorically comb every eyebrow to ensure the client experience is as high as possible.



Amazingly accurate and uniform hair, easily the most uniform hair we've ever seen - and we spend a LOT of time looking at men's hair. Hope he tipped the barber.

5 comments:

GigerPunk said...

If Roy Walker wasn't already Irish I'd have said this looks like how I'd expect the Irish version of Roy Walker to look. Or at least, how the man who'd host an Irish TV version of Catchphrase would look.

Shirt looks as crisp as a virgin sheet of A4 fresh from the ream, and nice work co-ordinating the tie with both the shirt AND the background. Possibly a hint of blue thread to the suit too? Which then makes it such a shame to see the button-down collar letting it all down.

Graham Mumford said...

I strongly suspect that hair of having been Photoshop'd on from the catalogue of Ormiston Wire ltd (217 years of supplying 'any kind of wire')
But B+ for effort, the button down knocks off a point.

A said...

Spacing missing after a full stop and nobody noticed?

The CEO said...

I'll take myself out the back and sack myself.

Rock City said...

When Mother Combed My Hair

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When Memory, with gentle hand,
Has led me to that foreign land
Of childhood days, I long to be
Again the boy on bended knee,
With head a-bow, and drowsy smile
Hid in a mother's lap the while,
With tender touch and kindly care,
She bends above and combs my hair.

Ere threats of Time, or ghosts of cares
Had paled it to the hue it wears,
Its tangled threads of amber light
Fell o'er a forehead, fair and white,
That only knew the light caress
Of loving hands, or sudden press
Of kisses that were sifted there
The times when mother combed my hair.

But its last gleams of gold have slipped
Away; and Sorrow's manuscript
Is fashioned of the snowy brow--
So lined and underscored now
That you, to see it, scarce would guess
It e'er had felt the fond caress
Of loving lips, or known the care
Of those dear hands that combed my hair.

. . . . . . . .

I am so tired! Let me be
A moment at my mother's knee;
One moment--that I may forget
The trials waiting for me yet:
One moment free from every pain--
O! Mother! Comb my hair again!
And I will, oh, so humbly bow,
For I've a wife that combs it now.

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