Sauron's new plan for world domination.

Television advertising has reached a new low. At least the ads for products to add some lead to the old pencil are entertaining.

No, what I’m referring to is anything regarding feminine hygene. I really don’t want to hear about how well “Product A” fits in your cunt, or how the wings/tabs/what have you staunch the flow so you don’t look like someone hit you in the groin with an axe. As far as that goes, I don’t trust anything that can bleed for three days and not die.

I long for the days when such things were advertised with such slogans as “You can even go horseback riding.” Not, “You can bleed like a stuck fucking pig and no one will know.” Which is basically what they are trying to convey.

Print Advertising is no fucking better. What do I need with a piece of paper that gets me 10% off of martinizing. Especially one I can’t even use to wipe my ass. I don’t know who Martin is and I find it arrogant of him to think that whatever Izing he may do to me is likely to be a pleasant enough experience that I should feel it necessary to render payment for his efforts.

I’m quite sure Dan knows Martin, but I can’t readily subject myself to the torture that is talking to Dan to find out who Martin is or where I can find him so I can kick him in the nuts for constantly filling my mailbox with his inane propaganda.

Now I know what you’re thinking, but putting a sign that says “No Flyers Please” on your mailbox does nothing to stem the tide of deforestation to produce this tripe. Not even a sign that says “GET FUCKED!” will work.

Oh that the Ents such as Treebeard were here to lay waste to the Isengard that is the Advertising industry. I feel the resources, time and manpower would be better served in such pursuits as finding a cure for cancer, ending world hunger or brewing better beer.

To the best of my recollection the only piece of advertising that has crossed my path that I didn’t object to was the Victoria’s Secret catalog that I received at a former residence of mine. Come to think of it that was the only reason I actually checked the mailbox regularly. Aah, the visions of the former tenant wearing something from page 23, now that's one for the spank bank.

Note: To all of you sick fucks out there, no I am not Tapper nor do I subscribe to his tastes in “women”. I like them curvy, not something that Greenpeace is liable to try and roll back into the water if she’s lying on the beach.