I am obsessed with subliminal advertising. I am paranoid about the underhanded techniques marketers will use to convince me to buy things I didn’t know I wanted. Televised ads can assault the senses with music, lusty whispers, and flashing imagery but print ads only have a few seconds to drive that impulse deep into the brain before you turn the page. They will try anything.
I have read every book I could find on the subject, including some by a man who actually went crazy trying to pick out all the secret messages in advertisements. When he started seeing orgies in the patterns on Ritz crackers, he was largely discredited as a kook, but fuck that. Those crackers are X rated and I’ll testify to that. I can’t see one without soaking my underwear with lust. This shit is real.
Forewarned is forearmed, so when I walked past a phone booth with a Tanqueray ad on the side, my first thought was, “They still make phone booths? Even those ‘End is Nigh’ guys in Times Square have cell phones.” And my second thought was, “Alfred Hitchcock is sad because he can not maintain an erection.” And then I wondered why I was thinking that. Turned out, THEY WERE FUCKING WITH MY HEAD.
Behold, the ad:
There is a theory that ads for some products, such as cigarettes and alcohol, exploit the idea that their consumers are motivated by a subliminal death wish. They want to drink and smoke themselves to death. I don’t know if that is true - the last time I was drunk, I felt phenomenal, though I did wish to die the following day. Maybe things take longer with me.
But that would explain why Alfred Hitchcock is so morose:
As Shakespeare, a certified expert in erectile dysfunction, observed, alcohol enhances the desire but removes the ability, which explains this subliminal semi. It’s the best your sorry drunken ass can do.
And of course, when you’re done soaking your liver in intoxicants, you’re going to cheat death by driving home to your shitty life where your wife (or Janice from the Muppets) is going to bitch in your face because you’ve spent all the baby’s money at the pub again.
It all seems obvious now, doesn’t it? It’s hard to unsee this shit once you’ve seen it. Last subliminal image:
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to eat some Ritz crackers in the bathroom. It’s my private time. Please report any additional lewd images you see in this “innocent” gin and tonic (the Big Boss drink of choice for those in the know). You have learned subliminal advertising. Go in peace.