If you’ve spent any time in adtech, you know it’s a parade of egos, bad decisions, and enough drama to rival a Bravo reality show. And as someone who hosted the oparties for Adtech, Omma and my own publications for years, I’ve seen it all.
I’ve watched execs snort their way through networking events, seen deals collapse over fistfights at 3 a.m.
Honestly, I could write a book. I could blackmail half the industry into giving me better holiday gifts. But I don’t.
Not because I’m a saint, (far from it, I've my own stories, my own issues and have to apologize way too often) but because I still believe in playing the long game, and that game is built on ethics—even when you’re surrounded by people who seem to think “integrity” is just a password for their burner phone.
But let’s get into one of
the wildest stories that shaped how I view business, ethics, and why saying “no” is sometimes the smartest move you’ll ever make.
The Setup: When Family Values Came With a Side of Hypocrisy
About 18 years ago, I had a chance to sell one of my ad networks for a few million bucks. The buyer?
Let’s call him Mr. Holy Roller.
He was all in on building a “family-friendly” video content network. Think the digital
equivalent of Sunday school, but somehow even less fun.
This guy lectured me endlessly about the importance of “Christian values” and making sure everything was squeaky clean.
I wasn’t thrilled with the sermonizing, but money talks. My employees were excited about raises, and honestly, I figured if the guy wanted to be Ned Flanders with a checkbook, that was his business.
The Dinner: Steak, Scotch, and a Sermon
To celebrate our almost-deal, Mr. Moral High Ground took us to a steakhouse. He treated me, my team, and some of his cronies to a lavish dinner, complete with fancy bourbon and endless moral grandstanding. Between bites of filet mignon, he kept hammering home how important it was to protect “family values.” It was exhausting, but I nodded along because, again, money.
Then came the after-party invite: a strip club. Yep, the same guy who spent hours
preaching about “clean content” wanted to “keep the celebration going” in a room full of neon lights and lap dances. I should’ve bailed right then, but morbid curiosity won. Everyone else piled into his limo while I followed in my car. Thank G-d for that.
The Strip Club: The Wolf of Wall Street, Ad Exchange Edition
When I arrived, I stepped into a scene that felt like a rejected outtake from The Wolf of Wall Street. The private room was a swirling vortex of debauchery: a table piled high with cocaine so brazenly displayed it could’ve been mistaken for the dessert course.
One of my employees—pants undone, dignity MIA—was fully immersed in a lap dance like this was his personal vacation from professionalism.
Over in the corner, an older investor was receiving “attention” that was extremely personal. Let’s just say, if HR had walked in, they would’ve needed therapy.
And there, at the epicenter of this disaster, was Mr. Family Values himself, grinning like he’d just closed the deal of a lifetime. Except he wasn’t just another guy in the room; he was the ringmaster of this adtech Cirque du Soleil. Coordinating, laughing, indulging—it was clear this
wasn’t his first time at this particular rodeo. He was in his element, like this was the logical extension of his “Christian content network” vision: the moral high ground, now available with table service and powdered refreshments.
I stood there, utterly gobsmacked. This guy—this guy—had spent hours lecturing me about the importance of family values, morality, and keeping content “clean.” And yet, here he was, throwing what could only be described as a
corporate cocaine retreat. The hypocrisy wasn’t just blatant; it was Olympic-level. He had crossed into a territory so divorced from his public persona that it was hard to believe this was the same man who had been wagging his finger at me over steak and bourbon.
And the worst part? He actually thought I’d be impressed. Like I’d look at this catastrophe and think, “Wow, what vision! What leadership! Please, let me hand over my business so I can be a part of this
groundbreaking fusion of hypocrisy and bad decisions.”
Spoiler: I was not impressed. I was horrified. The sheer gall of this man to preach one thing while living the complete opposite was enough to make me want to walk out on the spot.
But the longer I stood there, the more it hit me: this wasn’t an outlier. This was who he really was. The sanctimonious
sermons, the moral posturing—it was all an act, a façade to distract from the mess beneath. And that realization? It made it very, very easy to decide that no amount of money was worth being part of this sideshow.
The Fallout: No Deal, No Regrets
That was my breaking point. No amount of money—no matter how many zeroes were on the check—was worth tying myself to this dumpster fire of a human being. The
next morning, I made the call and walked away from the deal. And let me tell you, turning down a few million dollars is not the kind of decision you make lightly. For a moment, I second-guessed myself. Maybe I was overreacting? Maybe I could just take the money, look the other way, and deal with the fallout later? But then I thought about what that money would cost me: my reputation, my peace of mind, and my ability to sleep at night knowing I’d hitched my wagon to someone who preached one thing
and snorted another.
It wasn’t just that he was that guy—it was the way he lied about not being that guy. The hypocrisy was the dealbreaker. If he had just owned it, admitted he was exactly who he seemed to be, I probably wouldn’t have done business with him. But at least I could’ve respected the honesty. The truth is, I’ve worked with plenty of people in this industry who aren’t exactly saints. That’s the nature of the beast. But everyone has
their line. This is mine. It doesn’t have to be yours, and hey, it might not even be the right one. But it’s what I stick to.
Sometimes, the real cost of cashing a check isn’t the number on it—it’s what you have to sell of yourself to deposit it.
And here’s the kicker: walking away turned out to be the best decision I ever made. Within a year, Mr. Holy
Roller’s empire collapsed like the house of cards it was. He stiffed every business he had promised payouts to, burned every bridge he’d built, and then—because apparently, he thought rebranding could solve everything—tried to pivot to some laughable “Christian ISP” idea. Yes, really. He thought he could sell dial-up salvation to a crowd that wasn’t buying his nonsense anymore.
Spoiler alert: that tanked too.
Turns out you can’t build a sustainable business on cocaine, hypocrisy, and half-baked prayers.
Shocking, I know.
Walking away from that deal wasn’t easy. But it taught me one thing I’ve carried ever since: there’s no amount of money that’s worth sacrificing your principles or tying yourself to someone who will drag you into the quicksand of their own
bad decisions. The deal I passed on? It would’ve buried me right alongside him. Instead, I let the whole thing implode from a safe distance—and watched as every red flag I ignored that night turned into a flaming wreckage.
Why I Didn’t Blackmail Anyone
Here’s the thing: I’ve seen and heard things in this industry that would make your head spin. Over the years, people have handed me arrest records like they’re passing around appetizers at a networking
event.
Could I use this dirt to my advantage?
Absolutely. Blackmail, leaks, quiet whispers to the right people—it’s all on the table if you’re willing to play dirty. I've been a victim of attempted blackmail in this industry more than once, there was an even an entire website made to try to extort money from me personally. I could’ve turned these skeletons into bargaining chips, used them to close deals, attract clients, or even create
stories of gossip. That always gets clicks.
But I don’t.
Not because I’m a pushover, and definitely not because I’ve forgotten.
It’s because that’s not how I operate. I’ve made too many mistakes but that’s not a line I will cross. I’ve hurt my share of people out of misguided justice, a ridiculous sense of entitlement and often just pure
stupidity. But I won’t cross that line. I got to have some line.
Ethics aren’t about what you could do—they’re about what you choose not to do, even when the opportunity is staring you in the face.
Walking away from a situation where I could hold power over someone, even if they deserve it, keeps me grounded in
the principles that have gotten me this far.
It’s not about being a martyr or pretending I’m above it all. I’m not.
It’s about knowing that when you start crossing lines for leverage, it’s a slippery slope to becoming just another player in the endless game of hypocrisy and moral bankruptcy.
The Big Picture: Why Ethics Win
Here’s what I’ve learned: short-term wins built
on lies, hypocrisy, or manipulation always implode. When I’ve lost sight of that I’ve lost much more. It’s often hard to see straight.
They might look shiny for a minute, but eventually, the cracks show like a Vegas sidewalk.
Meanwhile, building a reputation on trust, integrity, and consistency might take longer, but it lasts. I didn’t know this when I
was younger and it has taken years to repair some of that damage. I know someone who doesn’t still to this day talk to me after 30 years even though I’ve reached out over and over again. I’ve never heard anything bad about him, just the opposite, as we share many of the same close friends.
Who exemplifies these ideals in our industry? I'd love to say "all of you," but let’s be honest—some of you are still working on it. And no, don’t look at me. I’ve danced far too close to
the edge to be anyone’s shining example. I’ve made my mistakes—both in and out of this chaotic world we call media, marketing and adtech. No white knight here.
But you know who does live up to that standard? Dave Morgan of Simulmedia. And it’s not just me saying it. Seriously, ask around—it’s everyone. That’s the kind of legacy you hang on the wall, the kind you hope to leave behind. Me? I’ll settle for a half-decent
chapter in the industry’s messiest book.
So, to the Mr. Holy Rollers of the world, take note: no amount of cocaine, strip club theatrics, or performative virtue will hide who you really are.
And for the rest of you out there, remember this—when the limo ride ends, all you’ve got left is your reputation.
Don’t build it on a pile of lies and bad
decisions.
Or, you know… cocaine.
