adjourn to the crapper and unsuccessfully try to force something out, usually quite vocally.
One thing did impress me. I distinctly recall, despite the massive amounts of recreational neurostimulants we ingested, how masterfully Fisher facilitated our little brainstorming session. I could see how he had risen to where he was in the firm. I mean, there were only the three of us, and we were totally wasted, and yet somehow Fisher kept his eye on the objective and managed to get us to contribute. Even me, or actually, especially me. Stan, despite his peerless knowledge of the esoteric technologies that drove everything webby, did not exactly have a depth of creative new ideas of his own, at least beyond new ways to write code and integrate systems.
I, on the other hand, and to the surprise of all of us, soon proved to be a gold mine of bright ideas, despite my initial it’s-all-been-done, you-can’t-get-there-from-here negativism. It’s not really surprising. I was, after all, the only staff copywriter in the Interactive Division of Warren & McCaul, and lived, ate, and breathed the web, soaking up as much as I could (mainly to make up for my lack of formal technical training.) Although things are a little hazy, since it was Day Two of non-stop substance abuse when it happened, I’m pretty sure I came up with at least the germ of the final idea.
But don’t think for a moment I’m trying to steal credit from Fisher (even if I wanted to take on that much bad karma). I’ll admit right here and now the man is a genius—just a seriously twisted one. I may have pointed the way to the Promised Land, but it was Fisher who actually led us there. Even if he did do it from the toilet.
We all knew it would be time to head back to Manhattan soon, and I think this created a sense of urgency among us, especially Fisher. We had by this time agreed on all the characteristics our new web site needed to have in order to lure people in and keep them coming back, having mashed together all the best ideas that were already out there. Stan had even started to sketch out wireframe diagrams of how everything would work, especially the slick behind-the-scenes software that would secretly track users and record every aspect of their preferences and activities. But although we had a good handle on what the web site did, we were still searching for what it was.
I get pretty mouthy when I’m high, and I clearly recall my words were flowing. Fisher was back on the can, although he had left the door open so he could hear what we were saying, and by now we were used to his grunts and groans.
“It has to be a place where people come voluntarily to get something that’s missing in their everyday lives,” I babbled, “a sense of something bigger than themselves, something ... ” I swear I was on the verge of saying “spiritual” when Fisher screamed, “I’ve got it,” and we distinctly heard the tiny plop of something finally dropping into the toilet bowl. (Maybe, having worked so hard to get it out, Fisher was reluctant to flush away his handiwork, or more likely it was because he was in such a hurry to get back out and tell us his idea, but when I went in there later to pee, I spotted that tiny, pathetic little peanut of shit floating around and I laughed out loud.)
“I’ve got it, I’ve really got it,” Fisher was yelling when he burst out, and there was this wild-eyed look of utter joy on his face. “It should be a new religion!”
I remember Stan’s eyebrows clamped down in concentration like he was doing advanced calculus in his head, but I immediately lapsed into my cynical know-it-all persona.
“Come off it ... there’s already a thousand different church web sites out there,” I protested, “and not one of them is in the same league as, say, a Facebook.”
“That’s because they’re bricks-and-mortar religions with a supplementary web presence,” Fisher insisted. “What we have to do is come up with a religion specifically for the internet.” He obviously read our skepticism and reflexively launched into his adman’s pitch. “Look, everything you hear about these days is how people are becoming disconnected from one another. Hell, that’s exactly why these social networking sites have become so damned popular. Well, think about it. Nothing’s eroded more in our modern technological society than the role of traditional religion. But the fundamental mystery of all mysteries, the purpose of our existence and what happens after we die, hasn’t changed. I mean, isn’t that why religion started in the first place?”
“More like to give an elite priesthood a hold on the masses,” I said, but the look on Fisher’s face spoke volumes.
“Works for me,” he whispered.
Stan still didn’t get it. “But if religions that have been around for thousands of years can’t do it anymore, how can we?” he asked.
“Well, except for radical Islam,” I said. “It’s spreading like wildfire.”
“Spreading into the socio-economic vacuum of the world’s oppressed and disenfranchised,” Fisher agreed. “Which just proves my point.” He turned to Stan. “But to answer your question, our particular religion will succeed because we’ll design it from scratch, and tailor it specifically for the web. Take it from me, Stan, I can sell stuff to people who don’t even want it. Well, here we have billions of aching souls who are screaming out for something to fill their inner voids. I say we give it to them.”
“Religion isn’t a soft drink or a pair of jeans,” I countered, my most recent hit off the bong making me feel smug about my special insight into the universe. I was pleased to see Fisher suddenly clamp his mouth down on the next glib argument that was just about to springboard off his tongue, in order to ponder my statement more fully.
To my chagrin, he smiled after a few seconds and replied, “You’re wrong. Marketing is marketing. Period. People don’t pay a couple hundred dollars for a pair of jeans because of the quality of the stitching done in a Vietnamese sweatshop—they’re buying the designer label. And a soft drink doesn’t make it big because of the flavor of the sugar-laced artificial crap they stick in the can, it’s about brand ... it’s about image.”
“That’s right,” said Stan. “They buy stuff because it’s cool, especially the kids.” He seemed to realize exactly what he had just said and that made him frown. “Whoa. Weren’t you saying that teens are the key target market if we’re going to make it big on the web? How the hell do we make religion cool to teenagers?”
But Fisher instantly had the answer. “By making it uncool to their parents ... by making it seditious and shocking.”
I was still skeptical. “I don’t know. I can see how something might spread virally among the kids once it gets rolling, and then among the wannabe-young-again adults if it gets big enough, but we still have to have some kind of hook or angle to get it off the ground in the first place. Sure, we can build a slick web site, and offer a personalized experience, and provide chat rooms where people can meet and message each other. But if the kids come and all they see is a bunch of weird-ass religious mumbo jumbo, what’s going to make them want to stick around?”
“That’s where we come in, boys. We just have to apply the basic principles of advertising. First of all, we have to attract attention. Maybe seed some media articles, and round up a few celebrity endorsements. Geez, just look what Madonna has done for the Cabbalists. Rule two is to stimulate interest. Maybe we create something that’s like a big online multiplayer game, but instead of some shoot-’em-up fantasy world where people waste one another, we’ll have it as a spiritual place where people save one another.”
“Sure, and instead of points you win karma to be redeemed in the next lifetime,” I cut in. Once again, I was trying to be sarcastic but, God forgive me, apparently I was being brilliant.
Fisher beamed. “That’s fantastic. It’s what’ll keep people coming back again and again. And we can have characters in the game who are online counselors, either human or computer-generated, to offer advice and guidance to troubled teens.” He turned to Stan. “Wasn’t that you who was telling me about all the artificial intelligence software they’re building into games today?”
Stan nodded. “In fact, I’ve got some old classmates who were bragging to me online just the other day about some of the cool AI shit they’re developing.