Sunday's drive up your blog… with Ramblin' Rooster

The official blog of RoosterEgg.com

Attention Advertisers, Kids Don’t Have Any Money

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I’d like to dedicate this to all the advertisers and marketers out there… this one’s for you. Go @#$% yourselves!

Thanks for ruining me as a child and likewise, turning my child into the most annoying thing on earth. I had to lock the television in the attic just to get a moment of peace. You’re destroying the family unit.

It all started, for me, when I was a wee child. Cartoons made the leap from Saturday only, to after school time slots. They were known as 22 minute toy commercials, segmented by other toy commercials. A brilliant maneuver by the demographic experts, pure genius. Back in those days it was accepted by society to leave your child at home after school while both, (or one) parent worked. Daycare, Dayschmare. After school program? How ’bout a TV? What makes this programming decision so exquisite is that once the child is home alone, completely engrossed, sucked into the abyss of the radiation waves emitting from the picture box, with no distraction, the seed is planted with no chasnce of interference from an authoritative figure. Then, when the parent(s) comes home, the child’s desire for what he/she has watched has already spread throughout their mind. The roots of the weed sunk deep inside their little brain. That’s when it happens, “Dad/Mom, can I have the new, ultra, super, tectonic, gamma, wowzer?”

The parent, usually still wound up for work, still working on the daily “to-do” list, probably needing to ram food down a child’s mouth before whisking them away to some practice or class, can’t even hear the words, only the tone. “Me needy-wanty” comes out of the child’s mouth and the parent(s) only hears a high pitched shrill, capable only by small children and the West Indies, split feathered Wantagoo bird.

Immediately friction is created and tension fills the room. There’s not a parent alive that doesn’t want to give or grant their child’s every wish and desire. Also, there’s not a parent alive that wishes they never had to go buy the new, ultra, super, tectonic, gamma, wowzer or at least not have to hear about it for hours on end.

So that’s why I hate the advertiser and his friend the marketer. They know all to well that a child can’t resist the Hollywood studio quality commercial that shows the awesome toy in an environment that took weeks to build. Of course the “Multi-rocket, mega-boost, stunt cycle” looks awesome in the commercial racing down the Styrofoam city landscape, jumping off the engineered ramp into the professionally painted foam blocks. Sometimes I even want one after watching, but that’s the thing, I’m an adult and I can deal with the fleeting temptation of the impulse buy. A child is lucky to make it through dinner without taking a knife to your wife’s neck demanding that a negotiation be made, “The Flying Dino-copter or mom’s life… It’s your choice dad!”

So thanks advertisers/marketers for not only making me feel like I can never be bald, old, short, fat, poor, pale, weak, or lacking the latest and greatest, now you’ve made my child a zombie of needing an overflowing toy chest.

I hope you like Hell.

Egg On,

Ramblin’ Rooster

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Written by Ramblin' Rooster

October 9, 2008 at 4:15 am

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