David Kolbusz Helps Reboot a Social Network

In the world of advertising there are always bottom-drawer scripts and ideas that have, so far and for various reasons, remained unmade. There are also those scripts that started with great potential, but ended up as damp squibs. Then there are those that could not – indeed, should not – ever be made.

In his ongoing series, David Kolbusz, CCO of Droga5 London, plays devil’s advocate with the imaginary scripts that taste forgot.

Client: YourPlace / Title: Reboot 2017

We open on an ageing white man with boyish good looks, sitting in a distressed cognac leather recliner.

MAN: Hello. You probably don’t know me but I’m the founder of YourPlace. I created the original template for what you now know as a “social network”. But when you make that much money and attain that much success in such a short space of time, every achievement afterwards feels like an endless, spiralling psilocybin comedown. Suddenly you find yourself looking for new ways to get a charge. Life experience becomes your new high and each new thrill needs to beat the last.

As the camera pulls wider we see that he’s in his den receiving a blood transfusion from a baby panda strapped to a gurney next to him.

MAN: So I sold my controlling share in YourPlace in 2009 for a cool US$500 million and never looked back.

He gets up and unhooks the IV from his arm. He walks over to a touchscreen computer and logs on to the internet, pulling up the YourPlace homepage.

MAN: Which begs the question: why am I wasting my time filming this commercial when I could be hang-gliding in the Pyrenees or performing consequence-free sex acts on mail order Japanese Real Dolls? Because I’ve got some news that might surprise you as much as it did me. YourPlace is still a thing!

Without paying any attention, he drags his fingers across the keyboard and lazily hits a random selection of buttons, which pulls up the page of a young, unsigned rock group.

MAN: Did you know that you can now follow bands on YourPlace? Neither did I! Apparently it’s turned into a social networking site for musicians. So instead of focusing on actual song craft, unknown artists can squander their lives by connecting with other equally irrelevant members of their social strata, dreaming of a day when someone actually gives a damn about a single note they play.

Now standing, he pulls down a world map and holds a pointer up to a small archipelago in the western Pacific Ocean.

MAN: Here’s something else that’s interesting. I’m worth more than all of Micronesia. Their GDP last year was US$310 million.

He keeps walking and the soft furnishings in the den-like space give way to metal doors and a wall-mounted numerical keypad, suggestive of a heavily secured area. He punches in a code and a panel slides open, revealing a safe room. Inside, he picks up a Kevlar vest and slides it on his chest.

MAN: I know what you’re probably thinking. “That’s all well and good. But with YourPlace’s 2016 security breach – where all usernames and passwords for the site were exposed to the general public – why would I ever trust this social networking site again?” The answer is simple. No one cares what you do on YourPlace. It’s a lawless frontier. And that spells freedom. It’s like the dark web – but for online pariahs.

The man now moves from the security-heavy surrounds of his basement fortress and up a flight of stairs to a modern-style kitchen. He picks up an orange from the marble island in the centre, peels back the rind and casually tosses a piece of fruit into his mouth as he keeps speaking.

MAN: Look – I get it. This whole operation is a bit of a brokedown palace. A car in need of a new engine and a lick of paint. But here’s the thing. It’s still around. Which is more than can be said for Bebo. Or Friendster.

The juice leaks down his chin but he doesn’t bother to wipe it off. He just keeps going.

MAN: Basically, I’m here asking for you to give YourPlace a second chance because once upon a time I poured my heart and soul into its creation. It’s not like I need the money.

He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a square made from the finest Indian silk. He wipes his face and tosses the offending article in the trash bin.

MAN: Hey – you want to know what I did last week? I went up to an elderly migrant worker selling oranges by the side of the road and offered him US$500 to beat the shit out of him. I didn’t even particularly want to. I just have unresolved daddy issues and needed to know what it felt like to have that much power over a man who was old enough to be my father.

He exits through the kitchen door, which opens into a large field situated on one of the islands of Micronesia. He picks up a spring-loaded crossbow and signals to a man in a tower to lift the door on a cage full of people. They start running and screaming, their faces stricken with fear. Lighting the tip of an arrow, he turns to camera.