MEXICO TO MARS

What kind of world is this that can send machines to Mars and does nothing to stop the killing of a human being? Jose Saramago

By Ken Sheetz

Like the trip to Italy that began DreamShield in May of 2010, I was bartering a spiritual workshop, this one in Mexico, for social media services. And like Italy, with that barter there were still expenses for travel. Earning money for a spur of the moment trip during the holidays was tough, especially in a disintegrating economy. But through sheer will power to attend this once in a lifetime class on the one year countdown to the end of the Mayan calendar I got the dough together and was on my way to the ancient ruins of Teotihuacan Mexico.

Photo by Stephen Collector

Soon I was learning Toltec wisdom from a world-renowned master. It was pure joy. My consciousness rapidly expanding. Old patterns being discovered in the ruins of Teo and erased. The goal of the 4 day workshop was to set our group dreaming of a better 2012 was a perfect fit to my DreamShield mission. I felt divine guidance to be in Teo for the one year countdown to the end of the Mayan age.

But, I must admit, I also felt out of my league to be attending such a gathering of eagles as the teacher called us one day in Teotihuacan Mexico when we were atop the Pyramid of the sun. Even though a natural eagle pattern has emerged in my hair as it's whitened since seeing angels in Italy the first time. Yeah, an eagle in my hair and I still have doubts.

It's an odd stage for me. I am no longer a newbie to spirit work and but there's still a lot I do not have a clue about. I feel like a spiritual teenager. Well, a good thing to feel as I turn 60 in the fall of this amazing year of 2012! In any case, I certainly felt honored to be in Teo.

Fellow advanced students, I've learned at these gatherings, are as much a part of the learning as from the master. One classmate, a charming man from Turkey, shared meditation technique for quieting the mind at the pool I had not heard about.

Later, I walked deep into the big garden behind the hotel, which sits itself upon ruins of Teo, that have never been excavated, and gave his technique a whirl. It involves dividing your attention in two, giving half your awareness to a sound and the other to something visual. I

lay on my back on the manicured resort lawn and focused on the clouds and the feel of the grass in my hands. Soon I went deeper than I ever have in meditation. I saw dazzling energy erupt from all the Teotihuacan pyramids at once and was visited by the three angels from Italy that built the DreamShield in May of 2010.

MISSION TO MARS, 12.20.11

I looked up at the three 7 foot tall angels I had first met in Italy. The spiked feathers of their blue wings glittered in the late Mexican afternoon sun.

"The solstice is not until tomorrow. You're a day early." I said as my higher Ohom ET angel self, annoyed my vacation was getting interrupted.

Archangel Michael said, "Element of surprise."

"Yes," I sighed, already far wiser than my Ken-self when I become Ohom.

Michael pulled me to my feet. I looked down from my 7 foot height saw my human Ken-body resting on the lawn in warm Teo sun. "Well, at least my human self is having a rest," I said.

"Let's go!" said Gabrielle, a beautiful female blue angel.

A year ago, I didn't know the names of these angels, let alone that I was part of their clan of galactic enforcers from the Orion star system. Now 18 months later we had been on many missions together, closed the Bermuda Triangle, a failed Martian artificial merkaba experiment that had destroyed Atlantis and the remnants of which cause our wars and divorces, healed the San Andreas fault, melted a portal in space time for the earth to travel to the 5th dimension, unscrambled time with the MERLIN code, cut the tap to Gaia's energy for the world's banks and the Fed and much more recorded in the DreamShield blog.

We rocketed into the sky from the gardens of the hotel. I could see the vast Teotihuacan pyramid complex shrinking beneath us as we broke though the clouds. As we reached the edge of space, without asking, I knew our angelic mission. Rescue the heart of Gia. A heart I knew was no longer on the earth that was quickly shrinking beneath me.

Gaia's heart was being held by hostile Martians on a fortified canyon called Valles Marineris on Mars. The rescue of Gaia's heart would be dangerous, even for us with our Galactic enforcer powers, as this Martian canyon was filled with traps and weapons bent on our destruction. A tough search as the canyon is many times deeper than earth's Grand Canyon and long as the entire US continent.

To be continued...  
Please click here to donate, as we are being called to meditate in scared sites across the world for a gentle 2012 at DreamShield.org.

Thanksgiving Vision

"I may see angels but I am far from being one." - Ken Sheetz

Two weeks ago, on the magical binary date of 11.11.11, I co-hosted a beautiful event about the ascension with a star-studded evening of speculation about ETs role in the Shift I'd been guided to create by a God-like voice 18 months ago in Italy. The masterful ceremonies and workshops had been created to perfection by the amazing multi-talented co-host Laura De León of MyMysticMuse. You see, sadly I was not very "present", to put it mildly, for my own event.

I've been pondering for the entire time since, wishing I could have enjoyed something so beautiful that I'd help create, all stemming from an angelic vision I had in Italy for a gentle 2012. The 11.11.11 event is possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever been a part of bringing into this world. So why had I been so hard on myself and hard for Laura and others on the team to be around me that day and the weeks leading up to the big day? Why was Laura's singing her amazing Babaji song with Philippo Franchini one of the few moments I truly enjoyed on 11.11.11? Exhaustion? No. This was more than simple exhaustion. The excuse I tried to hide behind post 11.11.11.

I took a break from pondering my failure to enjoy 11.11.11 to ponder the parallels of family dynamics in why I'd not enjoyed Thanksgiving this year. I was traveling from my Vegas Thanksgiving, back home the way I'd been doing in these tough times for two years now, by a Greyhound Bus. The Friday 10 AM bus back to LA was 5 minutes late without any Greyhound announcements so I calmly asked one of the bus terminal attendants, "What's the delay?"

The Greyhound attendant smirked at me and said in a thick Asian accent, "Buddy, you better learn something. This is Greyhound! Bus gets here when bus gets here!" 

The people in line laughed at my expecting decent service for what is not that much less than a Southwest Airline fare. A sweet little Black lady, with a white fur hat that made her look like a stylized rabbit out of Alice in Wonderland, turned to me from ahead in line and said, "Public transportation, mister. Gotta expect this kinda thing." 

I reminded her, like it was my duty as a remnant from a long gone, more caring America, "Greyhound's not public except for treating customers like a public toilet." Rather than laughter as I expected, people in line reacted in silence as though I was rocking the boat. "What boat? It's a bus, you bunch of sheep!" I raged inwardly as I dug into my knapsack, grabbed the Thanksgiving leftovers Mom had made for the bus ride back to LA, the land of dreams, and thought back on my Vegas 2011 Thanksgiving, having a picnic in the terminal. 

The trip got off to a rocky start in this very bus station on the way in to Vegas on Wednesday. My stepfather Nick, a fiery tempered Sicilian who holds grudges like a character who stepped right out of Mario Puzo novel (first suspect, please, if I am ever murdered) kept me waiting at the Greyhound terminal for half an hour. A half an hour where I'd learn the Greyhound terminal front door is a den of prostitution. Unable to see through the dark tinted terminal front doors I was forced to stand with my backpack full of Mac gear, stranded, like a Thanksgiving turkey ready to be plucked by pimps and thugs who kept giving me the hairy eyeball. 

Finally, after what seemed hours, Nick and my Mom's car arrived. I quickly tossed my bags and myself into the backseat. No apologies for running late from Nick, of course. The crabby 83 year-old-man sat stoic and uncaring at the wheel. -- Not unexpected. Nick's not spoken to me much in three years since I read him the riot act over his outlandish claim I was trying to kill my mother by adjusting the condo temp by one degree downwards. Most I'd hear from Nick on the entire visit was his yelling at my 82-year-old mother to "Shut the hell up!" when she screamed after he almost rear-ended a car. A retired as a prison guard, Nick's belligerent treatment of my Mom like a prisoner he was keeping in check gave me heartburn and I had a coughing fit. 

Mom asked if I was sick and I told her, "Nick yelling at you is the only thing making me sick. Well, that and being let stranded for half an hour as I watched other arriving passengers all picked up within the first five minutes." Getting pissed at me snapped Nick out of his tirade at Mom and back to silence. Old training as kid from how I'd take the heat for Mom to save her from my real dad, who passed early this year. Now, I managed a tense front seat to backseat chat where I filled Mom in on a few things in my life. We've never talked about the angels and ETs working for the cause of the Shift I see in meditations. And didn't now. I guess I'd think she'd feel I've gone off my rocker. Why worry her? She has no concept of what a blog is or how to work a computer and has seen nothing of my writing. 

Soon we arrived at the small one bedroom condo Mom has carved into a pretty home. She said to me timidly, not her style, "Hungry, Ken? We already ate, not knowing when you'd really get here on the bus." 

I played along, even though it was only 5:30 PM, and ate alone at the kitchen counter while Mom filled in my brother Fred, who had manned the condo during my pickup from Greyhound. Which was odd. Fred usually came to greet me. "Ken's goin' to Mexico for a film shoot next month, Fred," Mom chirped. 

Fred puffed on cigarette and grunted, "Beats gardening I bet, eh, Ken?" Fred knew from our weekly phone talks we both enjoy that I'd made a deal for social media barter where I was living at a gorgeous resort called BushWillows north of LA. But the wonderful owners instead wanted gardening help which they needed more. Now here was my brother, making fun of my doing manual labor to keep a roof over my head in the worst recession ever. 

How it stung me to the soul. What happened to my sweet "over the phone" brother I wondered looking at the grouchy Fred? Had four days with Nick poisoned his aura I wondered? 

Mom sensed the tension with Fred and chimed in, "I bet you're learning lotsa gardening stuff. Right, Ken?" "Yep." I answered meaning it, biting into Mom's steak that was like rubber. "After Mexico Ken's filming in Hawaii first two months of the year, Fred."

I could see Fred was puzzled so much good fortune had popped up since we spoke only a few days earlier. Now that the 11.11.11 event of 15 hours days of work for 3 solid months without pay was over and I could refocus my energy. I was beginning to feel some of the old fire that had made me a millionaire in the past. Fred didn't like me much when I was millionaire who's most famous project was building Oprah's Harpo Studios. He seemed shocked I might not be doing gardening much longer to pay a room while I co-created 11.11.11. 

"Lousy economy might finally be lifting." I muttered into my meal. Soon as I finished my solo dinner and complimented Mom, despite how god awful the steak was, Nick put on his coat. Mom and Fred quickly followed his lead. "I just got here. Where's everyone going?" I groused. 

"Casino, " Fred grinned as I steamed, "Relax. Mom and Nick did the same thing to me when I got here: Quick meal then off to the slots!"

So without even a chance to rest or a catch-up on life, besides the brief car talk with Mom from the backseat, I was soon in Nick's car again and heading for the Orleans, a locals casino my mother and Nick frequent often for the loose Keno slots. Nick complained to my Mom as he cruised the Orleans multi-leveled lot for a parking spot, "Handicapped spots all gone getting here so late."

I let the dig pass, as I let so much pass with Nick. For a comedy writer when I am not helping angels manifest a gentle 2012, this man is a gold mine for material. We parked not very far from the door despite my "late" arrival. I climbed from the backseat of the car, dreading the casino, already sorry I'd come. I limped for the casino, having slightly pulled both hamstrings hauling wheelbarrows full of compost early in the week at the gardens.

Sure enough, soon I found myself in the smokey noisy as hell confines of the Orleans casino, surrounded by drunken gamblers and haggard locals. Fred plopped himself on a Keno machine beside Mom and lit up. Mom's 82 but going strong and she was ready for action, silent Nick her bodyguard. It was almost as though I ceased to exist. I tried to make conversation, but the casino noise that keeps people hypnotized with noisy beeps and bloops and smoke won.

So I excused myself and limped my way to my old Vegas escape pod, the movies. We all agreed, Nick in silence of course, to meet back at the Keno spot midnight when the gambling ordeal had hopefully reached an end. I say "hopefully" because there have been nights when Mom or Fred or Nick get on a winning streak where they all stay out to 3 or 4 AM and I'd end up taking a taxi back to condo myself I saw two movies back to back to kill time and lose myself.

ARTHUR'S CHRISTMAS, an instant classic 4 stars out of 5 and HAPPY FEET TWO, a doh doh bird of a penguin flick, 1 star. But I fell asleep so don't take my word on the penguins if you enjoy hearing Robin Williams do a bad Spanish accent.

Midnight, when I got back to the Keno machines Mom and Fred were fighting about, of all things, meatballs sandwiches. I was relieved. The meatball fight meant they'd lost at Keno and so we'd be going home at a decent hour. Fred was craving a Subway meatball treat and would not be swayed. Mom who had won a little that week offered him $5 from her pot. Fred sniped, "I have a paying job," he said looking at me who has not had a paying job since college but who usually does very well despite that fact in normal economy, "I pay for my own meatballs. And when I win I buy for everybody."

On the way to the car, while Fred got his beloved meatball sandwich, Mom worried to me, "Fred's been in a bad mood all week." I took a look a Nick and thought, "Who wouldn't be with that sourpuss around?" feeling compassion for my beloved brother and more for Mom who was living with this grumpy diabetic every day.

But then, surprisingly, my heart began to open for my fellow grouch Nick. At Souldrama in Italy I learned it's what bothers you most in others that you are bothered most about in yourself. I saw the grouch I was around the loving dream team that had come together from 11.11.11. And here was Nick, in the bosom of a family that loved him, driving wedges between us all and himself. I saw the little boy Nick was who lived as an orphan on the streets of Milwaukee. No one to love him. And then I saw myself as an abused child who never knew what a happy family life was, wrecking the happiness all around me because I did not know how to handle joy on 11.11.11. And I finally forgave Nick for his junk and me for mine.

I was so deep in thought about my brother grouch Nick that barely remember getting back to Nick and Mom's condo after the casino. Fred ate his meatballs making a big deal of it to tease Mom, Nick pulled out the sleeper sofa. Mom and I made up my bed which I quickly collapsed into. Despite the rough first day in Vegas I was still looking forward to tomorrow. I'd come to Vegas almost every year for 25 years for mom's Thanksgiving cooking. She makes a great bird. Mom announced to Fred and me as the lights went out, "Night, boys. I'll getting up to start the turkey cooking at 8AM."

The night passed with fits of sleep as Fred snored loud enough to wake me. As I tried about 3 Am to get back to sleep I had a vision that was fresh and pure as I saw all the many sacred sites I'd mediated at since 10/10/10 ignite with bright white sparks across the globe, Vegas included where I saw the Luxor casino erupt, spewing energy to the DreamShield surrounding the planet. I saw it matched by energy flares from the real pyramids. The dazzling clean and pure vision surprised me to full consciousness. "Why was a grump like me allowed to see such angelic glory?" I thought weeping into my pillow.

I'd thought, or perhaps even hoped, that since DreamShield's missions were on prime binary dates, that somehow after 11.11.11 my vision powers might end and life could return to normal. Whatever normal is in these crazy times with innocent people getting beaten down in the Occupy movements. I'd not talk about the visions with anyone next morning on Thanksgiving.

At 8AM as promised, Mom emerged from her bedroom, trusty flashlight in hand because the drapes were all closed. I peeked open an eye to watch her tip toe past as she swung the bright LED flashlight when suddenly she tumbled to the floor! I bolted from the sleeper sofa and helped her up. Mom pointed the flashlight down at a cushion. "Twisted my back. How the hell did that get down there in my way?" We both looked over at snoring Fred, who must have peed ten times during the night and knocked over the cushion at some point. Mom softly giggled and squeezed my hand saying, "Go back to sleep, Ken. I'm OK, "and she, putting the cushion out the way, went about starting the bird cooking.

Thanksgiving was here at last. The trusty old folding card table of 25 years of Vegas Thanksgivings came out as the Packer's trounced Detroit on the old tube style TV. Soon the moment I'd suffered an 8 hour Greyhound trip and put up with the casino was here. The bird was perfection. Mom's stuffing was great. All was heaven at last except for one thing that was missing: Mom. She was still in the kitchen cleaning up and missing the whole meal.

Then Fred did something that rattled my ego. As Nick came to the table Fred slid the chair for him. He even adjusted Nick's gravy bowl to give more table space for Nick. And all my spirituality from the night before vanished. I was angry at Fred's deference to this guy who made my visits to my mother such a hell. Then Nick and Fred just dug in and started chowing down without waiting for Mom.

"Mom, I came all the way here to see you and have turkey," I shouted to mom cleaning up the kitchen like a mad woman. "Yeah, come and eat, Mom, " Fred chimed in, mouth full of turkey. One possible answer to this mystery would come this morning as Deb, the BushWillows owner where I am staying observed about Mom's odd behavior in her crisp South African accent as I dumped off a fresh load of compost, "Might be your Mum was cleaning up so could get out of the house right after the turkey and resume gambling."

Had my mother's passion for gambling, some would say addiction, now eclipsed her time for dinner? Who knows? When she finally sat down when were all nearly done with her feast I tried to grab a picture of her only to be shouted at, "Don't take my picture with my mouth full!"

My brother chimed in, "He did the same shit to me."

I spun to Fred, camera in hand, "Shit? You call me taking your picture shit?!"

Mom sighed, "Boys, it's Thanksgiving. No fighting."

But I was furious and had to leave the table. I'd wanted to share my adventures surviving in Hollywood over the past year, my adventures in social media, my spirit project. And here I was fighting at the dinner table with my 58-year-old brother like we were kids as Nick shot my Mother a, "See?" look of satisfaction.

Later, I apologized to Fred and hugged him about the shoulders. He shared he'd been not having a good time this trip. Mom and he had been fighting the whole time for reasons he really could not put into words.

Soon as the second NFL game ended it was off to the Orleans casino again and the family disconnect. I saw two more movies, HUGO, one star for having a boring plot and bad child acting, and THE MUPPETS, of which I give zero stars and could barely keep my turkey down through.

Friday morning the alarm had been set for 8AM to get me to the station by 10AM but once Nick started to dress he could not slow down and I found myself on the way to the horrible station far too early. Mom tired to sit in the back seat with me but Nick would have none of that. He barked at my mother like she was a convict to be disciplined, "Get in front with me so you don't have to jump out at the bus station!"

I patted Mom on the shoulder from the backseat as Nick sped for the station and she held my hand. Arriving 15 feet from the curb Nick parked in the middle of traffic. I came to the window and kissed Mom good-bye. She grabbed my hand as Nick raced the car off, until Mom's soft fingers pulled away from mine.

As I finally shuffled my way onto the hour late bus I was an hour early for the Asian Greyhound attendant kidded to the ticket taker. "Don't let this guy. Troublemaker. Probably drunk."

I agreed, drunk on family rage and rage with myself for not ascending as Laura De Leon had so brilliantly realized was the mission of 11.11.11. No ascension for me, I was still in my ego and not in my heart. But as I have written to Laura, when she sang like an angel in 11.11.11, something did shift in me. A small spark deep in my heart. The fact I can even write so clearly of my painful thanksgiving and feel compassion for Mom, for Fred, for me, even for Nick and his little inner boy from the Great Depression, gives me hope Laura's spark is growing and that I am ascending and so is the world.

Long as the visions keep coming I promise do my humble best continue to report the angels work to you. If you like my reporting please visit here to donate to my Spirit Reporter project to help me help with the work of manifesting a gentle 2012. Thanks, Ken Sheetz.

Social Media as a Social Experiment

Ken Sheetz

I am a Hollywood filmmaker on social media hiatus. When the recession hit and film money went scarce I started BuzzBroz - The Art of Social Media services.  So named as I thought my real-life brother Fred would come to work with me in LA and leave his factory job in Wisconsin.  Fred was not up for transplanting himself, but the name stuck.

Unlike my past incarnations in business as an interior corporate architect turned real estate developer, this time around I did not want to focus on large corporate work.  I'd done that gig, as a driven man doing a billion in biz, creating the headquarters for Target Stores, Allied Mills, Chase Bank Chicago (Then Manny Hanny), huge law firms like Bell Boyd & LLoyd and the topper, Oprah's Harpo Studios.

Working at a smaller relaxed more human scale however proved challenging.  Convincing people of the value of social media's power wasn't the only hard part.  People are flat out tight on cash with the banks sitting on all we taxpayers gave them to horde.  Don't get me started on politics!  I love poking fun at politicians on my hit Kids Talk Politics channel, cruising for 2 million views by year end.

But I prevailed in the "jobless recovery" (talk about political BS) by cutting my lifestyle to Spartan.  I traded in my luxury wheels for a bike, and lost 30 pounds in the bargain.  I gave up my apartment, after finding a home for my little chihuahua, and began bartering for rooms in return for social media. And the social experiment of barter for social media was born.

The barter experiment has proven a huge challenge at times. Not everyone gets the value of clicks for a room.  At times I've worked so hard earning the roof over my head I don't create the time to earn money for basics like food and medicine.

That's my fault not the barter system.  I love happy clients, but I need to worry about a happy Ken going forward.  I've started a new YouTube channel today called The Zen of Ken.  I hope you'll check it out.  I can vlog there more freely than on my Imagitv, DiscoverMe, BuzzBroz, KidsTalk Politics, and DreamShield2012 channels with over 3 million views in combination.

Happily, I've settled into my best barter for living space yet at BushWillows. It's an amazing place I have here with a private balcony overlooking the Shadow Hills, north of LA.  Here's a comedic video I shot on the amazing property.

Deluxe!  Yes, the experiment is working.  After 11.11.11 I will begin traveling to other countries in this fashion staying at resorts, joined by my DreamShield partner, a master of scared ceremony, Laura De Leon.
To give you an overview of how this social media work all took an amazing turn for the spiritual I'd not foreseen, my first featured video on The Zen of Ken is from a speech I gave last year.  The 10.10.10 DreamShield event that grew out of a vision while on social media assignment I had in Italy of angels, very special ET angels, who set me on a mission of fostering social media to help reduce 2012 fears spawned by mainstream media.

I don't know where this life changing vision came from or the dozens of others visiosn I've had since and which I blog about at DreamShield on WordPress.  Could it be angels or my Overactive imagination (name of my film company), UFOs, cell phones scrambling our brains or simply too much coffee causing the visions?

Who cares?  I've learned over the last year it doesn't really matter.  People are comforted by the vision I had in Italy of a gentle 2012 and want to play with us, meditate with us on a better tomorrow.  This world needs to change, and social media, and how it connects us as a world, is, more than ever, a part of that change.

Namaste

New Sheetz Documentary Announced

Morgan Spurlock led the way as the subject of his own documentary on the fast food world with SUPER SIZE me.  Now, as one of the leaders of 2012 experience called DreamShield, I am about to travel to Chicago to raise money for a doc.

What makes this doc, working title GATEWAY TO 2012, for the planetary meditations we doing leading to 2012, not the end of the world according to the angelic voices whispering in my ear, is I will be sharing amazing visions I am having in these powerful meditations and exporing where they might be coming from and what the heck they might mean to me personally, those I love and the world.

Update: It's late 2014 as I write this and I've been away from this blog for 2 years working on an incredible project for Dr. Patrick Flanagan called the NEO Neurophone.  More to follow.

MJ and KW

Am I the Michael Jordan of real estate?  I ruled the city of Chicago with over 1 billion worth of real estate deals back in the early 90's.

After a bad recession I got fed up and tried my hand at my high school dream career, filmmaking.

But like Jordan, without much in the way of funding to compete with the bigs I'm only an OK player in film, like MJ was an OK baseball player.  Jordan would return to basketball and former greatness with another championship.  Perhaps after 2012 I'll do the same and try my hand at real estate again.

BTW, sure glad I missed this past real estate cycle.

Hollywood Can Wait

Next month it will be eight years that I've been in Hollywood.
But Hollywood's on the back burner while I devote time to DreamShield which I began blogging about here but that's grown into a global phenomenon with a website and blog of its own.

Where all this growing to according to the messages I am getting from my "higher self" is to help the many light workers, busy over all the planet, do the work of raising human consciousness to be able to do the job of nurturing and protecting our world.

The mission: by 12/12/12 is to have 1 billion people meditating together for 10 seconds.

Follow what I am up to on the new blog DreamShieldorg.wordpress.com.

The Real Thing

7 Years ago when I first came to Hollywood, stars a twinkle in my blue eyes, I brought my hot off the press screenplay with me, THE REAL THING.  An action-packed dark comedy about a Coca-Cola addict.

Hero of the tale is Reverend Fear.  He's the smarmy head a drug rehab clinic. He looks down on the junkies he treats. One day Coca-Cola is discontinued and Reverend Fear then learns what it feels like not to be able to get his fix. There's a fizzy mix up as the preacher tries to buy Coca-Cola on the black market... but ends up instead with a huge shipment of, you guessed it, coke. 


Logorama from Marc Altshuler - Human Music on Vimeo.

Surprise! No Hollywood studio bit.  One lower level exec worried Coke would sue.  Doh!  Someone can be addicted to this blog if it's good enough.

What's your take?  Could Coke sue for making a fictional tale involving their product, which is perhaps in fact addictive for the sugar/corn syrup and caffeine?  Any experts out there with some free legal advice for a free can of Coke? And if Coke did sue, wouldn't that be awesome publicity?

That's why when I saw this video that lambastes every corp in America I really got a thrill.  These are the kind of ballsy in-your-face producers I need to get the script for THE REAL THING to.  Oh, and yeah, this short won the Oscar and opened Sundance.

Sip on that Coca-Cola.