Advertisers and their drones

Wildcat File Photo Arizona Daily Wildcat Ezekiel Buchheit

I never claimed that the manager of said store, Shawn, was a backstabbing weasel who would sell his own daughter if he thought she could bring home more than two bits. I never said that the big corporate people who run these stores actually use them to run their underground crack/child pornography ring. And I never attacked the customers saying that they were simply a bunch of mindless whining drones who, if they could just figure out a way, would recycle their own urine if they thought it would save them a buck.

I was simply implying that perhaps the management was not as communicative as they could have been, and that maybe some type of warning of my ill-doings, maybe a talk with the manager, could have steered me in the right direction and we could have avoided the problem in the future.

And past that, it was just supposed to be some light hearted humor. Wow. Was I wrong. I received some vicious letters. I never realized that Trader Joe's had such a loyal band of servants.

Oh well. So did Pol Pot.

Now on to the topic at hand, which is advertising. We all have come to know advertising. We see it every day. The people on the UA Mall attack and hound you. "Buy this credit card," they say, "and we'll give you this Kit Kat bar and a new house. All we ask in return is 7.5 percent returned balance and 12.967 percent interest, your kidneys and first born child."

Advertising is everywhere. Most is bad, some is good.

An example of bad advertising is the Hot Pockets commercial in which a radiantly happy woman turns away from the microwave carrying on her best china 40 of 50 Hot Pockets, looks into the camera, smile on her face, and then says, "Crispycrunchytenderflakycrust!"

I hate this commercial. I hate this woman. I also hate the child, who later in the commercial takes a bite of a Hot Pocket and then, obviously impressed with the taste, says the same thing. I can think of nothing more fulfilling than watching them take a bite of a Hot Pocket, and then, as their vacant smiles take over their face, seeing their heads explode.

An example of good advertising is the clothes I often see women wearing. You know what I'm talking about. The clothes that say "Come Fuck Me." This is good advertising.

It's good advertising because it is honest. These women aren't looking for a long-lasting relationship; they're looking for their kicks. I think other advertisers should use this.

Like this Motrin commercial I keep seeing. I think it's Motrin. Anyway, some old guy walks around talking about how if you quit working after only four hours, you'd be fired. But Motrin works all day long. Or something to that effect. They then claim that Motrin is the most powerful non-prescription drug available, and then in little bitty legalese print, they say "among non-narcotic pain relievers."

This is a great campaign. They should use this as their slogan: "Motrin: when the pain leaves you with only two choices, it's either Motrin or smack."

And Jack-In-The Box, famous for killing a few people. They could use this to their advantage too. Picture it. Jack visits the funerals of the deceased customers. Women are crying, men are trying to be strong.

"Why," they ask. "Why did they eat the food?"

Jack, attempting to console the people hands them a Jack's Spicy Chicken: "Here, try this."

"Wow, it is good," they all agree.

"Yes," says Jack "it brought little Timmy to a better place. The slogan: 'Jack's Spicy Chicken. Good enough to die for.'"

OK, I think I fulfilled my weekly quota of flagrant disregard for the feelings of others. And I would once again like to extend an apology to those of you with close ties to Trader Joe's. I was wrong. They were right.

Maybe one day we can all sit down peacefully, and share stories about our times at Trader Joe's in between sips of our own recycled urine.

Ezekiel Buchheit's guest commentary appears every Friday and he can be reached via e-mail at Ezekiel.Buchheit@wildcat.arizona.edu.