Fast Food Marketing Campaigns

After reading, "You Want Sausage? You got Sausage. At McDonald's, we serve you the kind of sausage we like to eat..." I did a little research and found McDonald's marketing themes have nothing at all to do with sex in any way. Some examples:

We Do it All for You

You, You're The One

Nobody Can Do It Like McDonald's Can

McDonald's and You

What You Want is What You Get

We Love to See You Smile

There's a little McDonald's in Everyone (Canada Only)

Twoallbeefpattiesspecialsaucelettucecheesepicklesonionsonasesameseedbun

Sexual euphemism or reference to hanging drywall?

First time on the job?
Batteries running low after drilling long hours?
Tired of boring holes? Boring holes got you tired?
A tool in hand is worth two in the bush?
Encountering difficulties nailing a stud?
Nail-gun shooting blanks?
Tool not performing as expected?
Simply not up to the job?
Trouble screwing straight with a crooked drill bit?

Reader's Digest lets me down. Best of America issue is a tease.

The July issue of Reader's Digest is the Best of America issue.  A sparkler and Kelly Clarkson are on the cover.  This is reason enough to buy a copy (media consultants are confident that southern pyromaniacs is the demographic that'll save print journalism).  But turn past the ads for pasta sauce and antidepressants, and you'll find some hard hitting reporting by a journalist who's heard of the Pulitzer Prize.

"50 Secrets Your Dentist Won't Tell You."  After reading a sensational title like that, I knew that those wryly DDS ("Drilling in the Dark Specialist") and DMD ("Drilling, More Drilling") must be up to no good.  But it's actually Reader's Digest that's up to no good. 

I was expecting the list of 50 secrets that Dr. S--- won't tell me to include revelations like "I'm having an affair with my secretary" and "I sold your wisdom teeth on ebay."  Instead, the so-called secrets were all perfectly nice quotations from good folks lamenting high insurance rates, giving free advice, or telling us that (unlike early childhood education) flossing actually matters. All great stuff.

So shame on you, Readers Digest!  Tell those fat cats in the ivory tower of the Digest's underground lair that their titles are misleading.  Pragmatic dental advice and habits are neither sensational nor American.  

 

Addendum.

Before publishing this post, I finished an article that redeems the Best of America issue: Quick Study: Pirates! Boy did it take me back to my little league days! Nana would often make an apple pie for us kids.  Mom brought us lemonade (...the family recipe was the best!)  And grandpa was a pirate.  

Drilling in the Dark?

It seems to me that my fellow contributers are missing the mark on these first few posts, with all due respect to them, . . . of course. However, when I think drilling in the dark, I think backwoods mining practices of a bygone era (1970s or so, maybe?) or uncomfortable sexual liasons easily forgotten the next day. Perhaps I am posting to the wrong blog, but since everyone else has ignored the mining practices and obvious sexual euphemisms thereof, I too will post on whatever I feel like:



There have been a lot of posts in the early years of the blogosphere concerning grammatical correctness and how everyone should stop bastardizing the English language. After all, it is clear that Frankenstein's monster (er, English) was born way far out of wedlock, not even near wedlock. Anglophones and Anglographs cannot help but marvel at hodgepodge of transparent cognates stretched over the rigid forms of grammatical rules with sinewy figures of speech connecting the allowing it to move back and forth. Sure there's old English to hearken back to, like a kind grandparent who is willing to shelter, feed and scold the unruly runaway teenager of a language English has turned out to be; however, that's not much of a moral highground from which to maintain the language's purity.

I myself am all for experimental diction as long as the user understands that what they are doing is not necessarily kosher. Bottom line everyone should learn all of the rules at some point, because professional human beings should communicate professionally. I'm all for proper nouning things, then gerundizing those bad boys . . . "How did your Googling go?" or "This floor needs a good Swiffering." or "Can you start Magic Erasering that scuff on the wall?" (Evidently the proper noun gerundization process works best with cleaning products, or maybe I just need constant reminders to clean?!)

As far as I'm concerned, the only people that this usage really hurts are trademark holders and my mother, whose moral sensitivities are predicated more on the Blue Book of Grammar than the Five Books of Moses. However this is a story for a different blog with fewer sexual undertones . . .

F*ing around

Drilling In The Dark: why can't people stop fucking around?

Leens:

Bio explanation: it's written into our genetic code, the fucking around gene is right next to the guilty pleasure allele and just below the eating when your not hungry base pairs.

Economics explanation: Fucking around is impossible to eliminate because of supply and demand, and since econ is an imperfect pseudo science based entirely on the conjecture of a few really really bored philosophy majors who like math .. I offer no further explanation.

History explanation: Based on evidence found in ruins in Rome, fucking around has been a part of modern society from the early days and his so ensconced itself in our collective consciousness that for centuries we have been repeating the pattern of pretending to work while secretly reading Go Fug Yourself.com without any societal repercussions. This pattern will surely repeat itself for years to come much like the rise and fall of empires and the inevitability of Lady Gaga's pantlessness.

How Best To Talk To Strippers

The average lap dance lasts two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. In that time, conversations between lap dance beneficiaries (“Patrons”) and his (or her) benefactors (“Strippers”) tightly toe the superficial line. The exchange may go something like this:

…...(Sexy Dancing)…...

Stripper: “You make me so hot…I’ve never felt like this about anyone…(interspersed with heavy petting)…(interspersed with heavy breathing)…Ooooooh, Aaaaaahh, Oooooyyyy….Would you like another dance?”

Patron: “You’re so hot…Yeah, do that…come on baby don’t stop…(interspersed with heavy breathing)…(interspersed with a valiant, yet ultimately unsuccessful, effort to refrain from getting a boner/female boner)... I would/would not like another dance….”              

Once this highly unfulfilling pseudo-ballet ends, Stripper and Patron head to the bar to continue their conversation. What do they talk about? What should they talk about? Why do they talk about the things they talk about? Deriving precise answers to these questions requires a thorough understanding of Euclidian physics and, more precisely, something called  “space-time.” Unfortunately, only one person on this planet possesses a thorough understanding of both these subjects, and he certainly has better things to do than ponder Patron-Stripper dialogues (or does he?).

For now, suffice it to say that Patron-Stripper conversations are functions of Patrons’ “identity.” My research indicates that Patrons fall into four general categories:

(1)  Sappy romantics: (Age): 21-29 (Special Ability): Discussing Strippers’ hopes, dreams, and aspirations, believing that sentimentality will help them secure a date.

(2)  Not-so Casanovas: (Age): 25-57 (Special Ability): Smooth talking their way out of $500 more than what they originally intended to spend.

(3)  False Messiahs: (Age): 35-48 (Special Ability): Leading Strippers out of Sodom to Gomorra, completely bypassing the Promised Land.

(4)  Professionals: (Age): Only experience matters (Special Ability): Keepin’ it real.

These categories are by no means exhaustive. Nevertheless, they provide a solid foundation for deciphering how best to talk to Strippers. Take, for example, the “Sappy Romantics.” While they create opportunities for Strippers to momentarily “escape” their current predicaments by imagining what their lives could be, dwelling too long on unreachable hopes and aspirations will undoubtedly depress Strippers, causing them to dance a lot less sexy for the rest of us. Like all the professional sports franchises that play in Madison Square Garden, Strippers who give less than maximum effort play golf in the off-season.

The “Not-so Casanovas” do not fare much better. Although they spend their money freely, they do not spend it wisely. For example, spending your stimulus check on three extra lap dances (or an $800 happy ending, Really Hustler Club, Really?) will not help resurrect the American economy. The last time I checked, pasties, Astroglide, and shame do not comprise a large portion of American GDP. However, increasing spending on stripper poles may help our nation’s steel industry. Alas.

Ah! My favorite category: the “False Messiahs.” Having never read the Talmud, the New Testament, or even the Reverend Dr. Sir His Majesty Creflo Dollar’s award-winning book, “8 Steps to Create the Life You Want: The Anatomy of a Successful Life,” which coincidently spent a whopping twenty-six weeks atop the New York City Subway’s “Perhaps Glance At of 2006,” the “False Messiahs” vow to “save” the “fallen.” Fortunately, Strippers possess a remarkable ability to smell bullshit. Perhaps this is a consequence of eating it all the time (proverbially, I hope). Thus, “False Messiahs” rarely (if ever) succeed, leaving Strippers to find more suitable prey.

Finally, there are the “Professionals.” These are the strip club veterans, the nothing-but-business, No-nonsense, don’t give me the old song and dance, Cats. The “Professionals” have two purposes: to drink and look at Strippers; they have no other agenda. This attitude helps relieve stress, preserve families, saves the whales, and is currently devising a workable one-and-a-half-state solution to the Middle East crisis. However, this attitude also dehumanizes Strippers. It transforms them into commodities…(pause for self-reflection). Fortunately, if you own stock in Rick's Cabaret International, Inc. (RICK-Nasdaq, $6.86 per share) you don’t lose sleep over such things (unless of course Rick’s releases less than stellar quarterly earnings resulting from decreased Stripper output).

Ultimately, it may not matter how you talk to Strippers. Just make sure to tip wisely and not fall in love.