PRESENTING: THE HUMAN SANDWICH BOARD

Looking to pick up a little extra cash? Feel like your life won’t be complete unless you have the Microsoft X-Box video game system? Well, video-game manufacturer Acclaim UK has got a deal for you. All you have to give up is your identity for one year.

Seems that Acclaim UK wants to do something new and different to promote its upcoming X-Box title "Turok: Evolution." "Turok" is the latest in a series of heart-warming adventures about a Native American warrior who for some reason gets transported to an alternate universe to fight talking dinosaurs, using such traditional Indian weapons as the War Club, the Bow, the Spiked Mine, and the ever-popular flechette-firing Mini-Gun. (Hey, I didn’t say it made sense. We’re talking video games here, not Dostoevsky.)

In order to promote the new game, Acclaim is searching for five "adventurous" individuals who are willing to legally change their names to "Turok" for an entire year. The idea is that the lucky ones picked will serve as "walking billboards" for the game, explaining to people why their credit cards, driver’s licenses, and other identifying paperwork bear the name of a time-traveling, heavily armed Indian. "They'll be walking, talking, living, breathing advertisements," enthuses Acclaim spokesman Andrew Bloch. "They'll tell their mates down at the pub their name is Turok." And, hopefully, those same mates won’t be backing away slowly with glazed panicky smiles on their faces.

So what’s the payoff? 500 English pounds, which currently comes out to about 785 bucks in real money. Plus, of course, you get an X-Box with every Turok game made so far. (Previous titles include "Turok: Dinosaur Hunter," "Turok 2: Seeds of Evil", "Turok Saves Christmas" and "Dear God, Not Turok Again." If that’s not enough incentive to make you want to change your name, Acclaim promises "participants will experience the kudos of being pioneers - one of just a few taking a brave step beyond the leading edge of marketing practice." Not to mention taking a step right off the leading edge of sanity.

The whole idea comes from one Dr. Simeon Cantrell, who runs something called the Extreme Marketing Initiative. He’s also somehow associated with something called the Institute of Science in Marketing, as well as the Marketing Science center. As you might have guessed, the good Doctor is in marketing. His theory, according to his Website, is that "the ultimate evolution of referral marketing is to re-brand individuals…the more personalized the message source, the greater the endorsement and the less effort is needed to attain the required mass." Which begs the question: mass of what? I think we all know the answer to that one.

Now, I briefly considered applying to be Turok. I’ve seen the box cover for the game, and hey, Turok’s a good-looking galoot. Manly, brawny. Sort of like your Humble Columnist looks if he’s properly back- lit. And if whoever’s doing the looking has downed a handful of animal tranquilizers.

But I’ve got to tell you, 700 or so bucks, a video game system, and a handful of games isn’t enough to get me to change my identity. For that, I’m going to want some real money, the kind of moolah you can only get from the big corporations. I decided to make a few calls.

"Ford Motor Company", a pleasant-sounding lady answered when I dialed their number in Michigan.

"Hi," I said. "I’d like to talk to somebody about paying me to change my name to Ford."

"Excuse me?" she said.

"For marketing purposes. I want to change my name to Ford. People will ask me about it. I’ll tell them. You’ll sell more cars. Everybody wins."

"We already have a Mr. Ford here. He runs the company."

"Not Mr. Ford. No first name, no last name. Just Ford. It’ll be like Madonna…Hello? Hello?" I decided to try another company.

"Amtrak," a harried-sounding young man answered.

"Hi, I’m willing to change my name to Amtrak to help you boost ticket sales," I said.

"You think changing your name to Amtrak will make more people want to ride our trains?" he said.

"Well, not really," I admitted. "Basically, I’m hoping if that’s my name, the government will just send me a lot of money if I go broke."

He hung up.

I sighed. This was going to be harder than I thought. I dialed again.

"Nike," a man said.

"I’d like to change my name to Nike to help with your marketing," I said. "I’m willing to become a walking billboard for…"

"What kind of shoes are you wearing?" the man interrupted.

"Ahhh...Nikes."

"You got any shirts in the closet with the swoosh on them?"

"Three or four, yeah."

"Warm-up jackets? Windbreakers? Shorts?"

"Yeah."

"So, why would we need you to change your name? You’re already a walking advertisement for us."

"Ummm..yeah. I see your point. Sorry to bother you."

Well, it still seems like a viable plan. So don’t be surprised if next week, this column bears a new by-line. I’m still waiting to hear back from Yahoo!

Dusty Rhoades lives in Carthage, practices law in Aberdeen, and is trying to visualize how "Pontiac GrandAm" would look on a business card.

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COPYRIGHT 2002 BY JERRY D. RHOADES, JR.