Atomic Nerds

Last night, LabRat and myself parked before the idiot box, wanting to cockpunch the cuntpickle that invented daylight savings relaxing, the most puzzling of things appeared before us, an advertisement.

I know, I know. Ads on television? Next you’ll tell me that there are naughty pictures on the internet. What a world.

Anyway, this was yet another spot for some big money house or other. TDMorganBarneyPrudiTrade or some such. Who can tell ‘em apart? They droned on about dreams and goals, pointing out that careful management and sound advice, good research and top notch customer service, blah blah blah. What struck me was the part about “We’ll help you meet your goals.” Why did this strike me? Because aside from some truly hardcore hippies and communists (who don’t count as people anyway- they just put “Groovy, Comrade” on their census forms), at the root of things, everybody’s financial goal is “To have more money than god and do whatever the hell I want.”

Obviously this goal is more achievable for some than others, but once you strip away all the pretty little social lies like “get a vacation home,” or “retire early,” or “obtain enough firepower to make the ATF seriously nervous,” that’s pretty much what it boils down to. All those lovely little dreams take assloads of cash, now how am I gonna get some?

And that’s the problem with these ads. Having identified my goals as “be rich enough to buy all of congress,” let’s not beat around the bush, hmm? Where’s the ad for the investment company for me?

Start with a shot of a beautiful sunset on the beach. A lovely beverage sits on a table next to a lounge chair.

Voiceover: “What is best in life?”

The shot pans out, and we see an inconvenience of BATFE agents in chains being whipped in the surf.

Voiceover: “To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of their women.”

The shot switches to the floor of the stock exchange. One broker waves furiously to make a buy, acquires a surprised expression, and cautiously lowers his paddle. The camera pans to show another broker wearing a StingrayTrade jacket holding a knife against his ribs, and successfully making the buy.

“At StingrayTrade, we know what your goals are already, and we’re ready to help you achieve them. If kicking our own grandmother in the teeth will get you a half percent portfolio gain, we’ll be putting our boots on. Why? Because we get a cut, and we have the same goals as you do.”

A new image appears, in the boardroom. Members of StingrayTrade are on one side of the table, engaging in heated negotiations with the opposing board. Suddenly, IRS agents rush the room, dogpile the other company, and haul them out under armed guard, while a StingrayTrade negotiator smiles and hangs up a cell phone. The newspapers in the next shot exalt the suddenly improved fortunes of StingrayTrade at the expense of Crappy Co.

“We’re not going to waste time holding your hand. Holding your hand takes resources we could be using to make you, and by extension us, money. Wealth is not a finite pool, so for all of our benefits, we’ll get as much of it as we can, by any means necessary.”

The final scene turns to a fortress on a volcanic island, with a giant laser rising out of the crater.

“Any. Means.”

Keep the fees competitive and I’ll sign up in a heartbeat.

Posted japery, media slaves |