The soul is not a billboard...

I walked down the dark Venitian alleyway sporting my sleek new Nano iPod. The music was good. Really good. I began to stride in step with the beat. The night was taking a new form. Rhythms attached themselves to the darkness. I began to swagger. I began to swiggle. I began to strut. By gods, I was practically dancing when all of a sudden, I was reminded of those unbearably annoying and shopworn Apple ads for the iPod. People dancing in silhouette against brightly colored backgrounds. You know what I mean...

Advertisers should never appropriate our private moments.

They may think they're being relatable or winning us over because they "get us"... The accolades from other mad men may roll in and the fat salaries may appear justified...

But you know and I know, it's beyond invasive, it's a rusty nail hammered into the center of a muscle cluster. Suffice to say, my private moment of motion was raped in an alley by the ghost of an insipid ad campaign. I was so derailed, I almost threw that shiny new iPod into a dirty yard full of barking boxer dogs. But I wouldn't let them get the better of me and this very nice little piece of technology. No...

Sarah points out that some people probably need the vibrant example of Apple's jolly dip-shit ads to act as a sort of proxy for the joy they will never experience in their own miserable lives (Probably because they're working so hard to get a job at Apple.) Contemplate that doomloop, will you?

I'm not embarrassed to tell you that I was dancing in the streets. I'm enraged to report that this primal human experience was made rotten by Apple's wormy marketers. Advertising may be the lesser of many evils in our world, but let's, for a moment, not use that fact to justify or even excuse the greedy commoditization of our private lives.