Dead Men Tell No Tales, But They Do Sell Sports Cars and Viagra

Here’s a post that we really like from our manly blogging buddies over @ Cultured Savages

I’ve got a serious bone to pick with the advertising and marketing industry.  Before I get into specifics, let me start by saying that there are very few things that I despise more about our culture than the public’s infatuation with, and susceptibility to the cancerous, demeaning, and dehumanizing invisible hand of advertising. Day in and day out, American’s allow more and more filth, bile, and garbage to be crammed down their throat without even a moment of gagging, spitting, or resisting.  We welcome it, expect it, embrace it, and cherish it.  That is precisely why it’s no surprise that we, the public,  have all become the sedated, bedridden, and brain-dead cattle culture, endlessly consuming what were told to, when were told to do it.

TV: Put your dick in the toaster. Child: Yes master, I’ve heard the black ones are bigger anyway!

We’re all on a big boat headed fucking nowhere.  Most of us stand up on the deck and squabble things to one another, like, “Boy, that ocean air does wonders for my allergies,” and, “Oh Howard, look! A dolphin!  I bet he swam all the way out here to thank us for cutting up our six pack holders last month!”  While the ignorant passengers bask in the sunlight of another day at sea and pour gallons of Bud Light down their throats, just below deck, in the engine room, a tick-like, bloated, sweaty, red faced man wipes the bourbon filled perspiration off of his bald head with a hundred dollar bill, he then throws it in the air and watches his advertising and marketing executives feverishly sprint in their caged hamster wheels.  While these vermin in khakis and oxfords race in pursuit of the almighty dollar, the energy created from the spin of the wheels propels our boat further and faster to the edge of the earth.

However, our plight isn’t hopeless.  There has always been a part of our culture that reminds and compels us to rebel, to think for ourselves, and to question everything around us.  I am, of course, talking about Rock and motherfucking Roll.

Today, it seems as though nothing is sacred, and deemed untouchable by the suit in the engine room.

Have you noticed how fucking great the music in commercials has been as of recent?  If you haven’t, it’s not your fault.  Shit, you’ve been programmed not to notice.

There’s a growing trend in the advertising world these days.  The rats in penny loafers seem to think that any song is fair game, only after the musician has died, of course.  You’ve undoubtedly seen the newest Porsche commercial, you know, the one featuring the tune “Feels so Good” by Junior Kimbrough, or the new Viagra commercial, featuring “Smokestack Lightning” by Howlin Wolf.  If you haven’t, you can view them here and here.

What happened to the days of Brittany Spears and Justin Timberlake cramming Pepsi and other stupid shit down everybody’s throat?  Are those gone?  Did I miss something here?  I guess the only way to end this is with a plea.

Hey advertising and marketing whores, leave my favorite music the fuck alone.  There was nothing wrong with exploiting pop stars who had already been exploited by Disney, and Warner Bros for their entire lives.  The only responsible thing to do (besides suicide) is rehiring 90′s pop stars to push your disgusting products once again.  Who knows, you might even be able to get yourself a discount, semi lubricated handjob in between takes.  After all,  Mrs. Spears isn’t too busy these days, and it must get mighty lonely in the engine room.

via Cultured Cavages

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