This is some dum­my copy. You’re not real­ly sup­posed to read this dum­my copy, it is just a place hold­er for peo­ple who need some type to visu­al­ize what the actu­al copy might look like if it were real con­tent.

If you want to read, I might sug­gest a good book, per­haps Hem­ing­way or Melville. That’s why they call it, the dum­my copy. This, of course, is not the real copy for this entry. Rest assured, the words will expand the con­cept. With clar­i­ty. Con­vic­tion. And a lit­tle wit.

In today’s com­pet­i­tive mar­ket envi­ron­ment, the body copy of your entry must lead the read­er through a series of dis­arm­ing­ly sim­ple thoughts.

Long copy or short — You decide

As a mar­keter, you prob­a­bly don’t even believe in body copy. Let alone long body copy. (Unless you have a long body your­self.) Well, truth is, who‘s to blame you? Fact is, too much long body copy is dot­ted with such indul­gent lit­tle phras­es like truth is, fact is, and who’s to blame you. Trust us: we guar­an­tee, with a hand over our heart, that no such indul­gent rub­bish will appear in your entry. That’s why God gave us big blue pen­cils. So we can expunge every exam­ple of wit­ted waf­fle.

For you, the skies will be blue, the birds will sing, and your copy will be craft­ed by a ded­i­cat­ed lit­tle man whose wife will be sit­ting at home, knit­ting, won­der­ing why your entry demands more of her husband‘s time than it should.

But you will know why, won‘t you? You will have giv­en her hus­band a chance to immor­tal­ize him­self in print, writ­ing some of the most per­sua­sive prose on behalf of a tru­ly enlight­ened pur­vey­or of wid­gets. And so, while your ded­i­cat­ed read­er, enslaved to each mel­liflu­ous para­graph, clutch­es his news­pa­per with increas­ing inter­est and inten­tion to pur­chase, you can count all your increased prof­its and take pots of mon­ey to your bank. Sad­ly, this is not the real copy for this entry. But it could well be. All you have to do is look at the account exec­u­tive sit­ting across your desk (the fel­low with the lugubri­ous face and the calf-like eyes), and say ”Yes! Yes! Yes!“ And any­thing you want, body copy, din­ners, women, will be yours. Couldn’t be fair­er than that, could we?

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