Banner Ad Films.

Encouraged by his revolutionary advertising ideas, Thomas approached renowned filmmaker and advertising guru Harold P. Smitherington to discuss how such ideas might be modeled. However, Harold laughed with one of those dreadful laughs that start well before the mouth even has time to open, consequently spraying the immediate vicinity with a fine mist of spit. As this left Thomas rather unimpressed (although not nearly as unimpressed as Harold), he left to find encouragement elsewhere. However, everyone he approached had a similar reaction with similar degrees of spit. One encounter was a particularly revolting incident during lunch, leaving Thomas not only drenched but also wearing bits of half-chewed salad—which was made far worse by the fact that Thomas does not care for salad.

Eventually, Thomas had to concede that his radical advertising ideas were "so radical as to be shit" (as one executive put it). The only way he might use them to their full potential would be to approach someone with far less opinion or expertise in the matter.

So, he contacted Evelyn Hutswothy, an attractive twenty-year-old waitress in Soho who was studying part-time at the New Institute of Film-Making in the recently refurbished Old Institute of Film-Making building of the same name. "He seemed a bit strange, certainly," she admits in a police interview. "He'd come into the cafe thirty times in one day and stare at me in a manner most disconcerting. In the end, my father, who runs the place, called the police, who then forcibly removed him from the premises. But twenty-four hours later, Thomas returned and did the same. Although this time he did order a coffee. Well, he had to. It was either order something or be cautioned again. My father's a great salesman like that."

Thomas actually ordered thirty-seven coffees and then was awake for six straight days. During this time, he wrote a business proposal as to why Evelyn ought to collaborate with him. "It was certainly one of my better bits of writing," Thomas admitted during the same interview. "I used a spell-checker and everything. I think I learned more during those six days than in the prior six years. Certainly, I learned that I should never drink coffee."

Whatever Thomas had come up with did the trick: Evelyn was hooked and agreed to be involved. She incorporated his ideas into her graduate film project: "Why Shit's The New Black" and won the New Institute of Film-Making's highest award, "The New Institute of Film-Making Award." She was also presented with a check for three thousand dollars, which Thomas promptly invested for her. "It was only fair," said Thomas. "After all, it was my idea that had her win in the first place." However, Evelyn seems rather less convinced. "He was adamant the prize money was his," she said, "and because he's very strange, I decided it was best not to argue. Honestly, I can't work out whether he's a blithering idiot or an unreported genius. I certainly find him compelling, but at the same time repulsive.

Regardless, his ideas have shaped my interpretation of advertising in a highly innovative manner, apparently, and both this—and the award—have since landed me a position in an exclusive advertising agency that has me earning more than I could ever imagine possible. So for that at least, I am grateful—although can I say for the record that I do hate him."

Although details of the proposal remain withheld by the courts, Evelyn did reveal some reasons as to why she agreed to such collaboration. "His writing was ghastly," she said. "I mean really dreadful. It suggested he was a writer—which he clearly wasn't—and that he wanted to turn contemporary advertising on its head by creating a series of short films suggesting his books were ghastly and shouldn't be read. They were more like public health warnings, actually. Nevertheless, the notion left me laughing so hard that I was sick all over his proposal. On reflection, I think what had me agreeing were three things: firstly, his shit writing would be well reflected in promoting the fact, secondly, I dig the idea of being an advertising revolutionary, and thirdly, I felt sorry for him. He'd been awake for six days, you see. And he included a sick note to prove it."

This is true. A sick note was provided.

"Oh, the sick note was genuine," Thomas insists. "I'd been in intensive care for two of the days because it turns out that I'm allergic to coffee."

Anyway, Self-Derogatory Advertising is here to stay. Although it won't be doing anyone any good—least of all Thomas—and examples can be found through the Velvet Paw of Asquith Site and on certain obscure German pornographic ones.