The Mad Men are Making Me Mad: A Letter to Advertisers

By Kelly Grace Thomas

 

Dear Advertisers,

You silent killers of capitalist crusade

Are you happy with all the insecure soldiers you’ve made?

Girls march to that size zero finish line

Dancing with your cancer

In this confident decline

Men collect technology and beer can bikini model dreams

Chasing the tail of some ideal, that was built upon your schemes

 

Advertiser I thought you wouldn’t get to me

I put up such a fight,

But after too much Chardonnay  

You slogans spent the night,

your commercials were contagious

they whispered in my ear

the promises of your outrageous

everything I wanted to hear.

Your Don Draper Charm,

 has drive me insane

drunk on your shallow

infomercial reign. 

The promises of your product to produce,

But somehow happiness lead to credit debit debauchery,

You see  I’ll believe anything a

As long as you know how to sell it to me.

 

We are the Target and Mark of this rolling Tide,

that washes our soul through the waves of this Old Navy ship

guided by a Sea Breeze of a pseudo Snuggle

steering our soul Kraft a drift.

Hoping to feel Total Complete on the Whole Foods belief,

praying that last Excedrine

will dispense some relief.

Buyer’s remorse of a kiss not beginning with Kay,

but if we buy enough, we just might be happy one day.

The Barbie promise were we make a Pac Man,

to honor our Call Of Duty

 to become a Cover Girl

American Idolbeauty .

The Lays that lie in your Krispy Kreme Dream of Tic Tac HBO,

don’t ignore the Resident Evil in this under toe.

I am Kool to the Aide that somewhere in this Milk Way galaxy,

One day we’ll smell the Starbucks and wake up to this fallacy.

It is possible that these discounted dreams of Social Living,

that this band brand wagon Groupon

has somehow managed to get it all wrong.

We’ve eaten the Blackberry of Victoria’s Secret,

down the Subway streets of this Nickelodeon night

The Dior and Gucci promise of a Forever 21,

souls sold to the Best Buy in this lethal Amazon.

A Burger makes you King,

a flurry the queen of diary,

don’t follow the Rocky Road that’s been paved by

Ben and Jerry.

The voices of Verizon are filling the Gap in this obese Cheesecake Factory,

Where we are force fed a  Build-a-Dream, forbidden Apple, 7-11  reality

How much poison must you push before we drown in this Lands End of Jet Blue

For my Entertainment Weekly

of this Converse MTV,

wants to break down the Monopoly

 of you and your

J.Crew.

So don’t touch the Red Box,

or look for rescue in Life Saver Gummies

Advertisers, I am no longer your crash test dummy.

Competing in this Olympic game of basement bargain bribes,

I will no longer follow the chant of Materialistic tribes.

Chanting

Pay

Pay

pay

to the mouth,

to the arms

of the teeth

dressed with an American Express cloak

and  Captial One wreath

Dear Advertisers, Today I throw back at you all the lies you fed

I throw a fit of honesty to color your black clouds red,

For no matter how many TVs I turn off,

or magazine pages I need to flip-

my soul, my wallet, my self-esteem are no longer your network bargaining chip.

So the next time you tell little a girl how to be pretty,

think first of what your implying  

She was born beautiful and amazing,

So don’t fucking tell her to keep trying.

Still I refuse to label myself victim that means you have the power

Don’t think I can’t see your enemy forces moving m closer with every hour 

Advertisers, this means war.

I refuse to let you wash another mind.

Today I fight

 for the right to be,

the right to individuality,

free thinking and the liberation of mankind.

I will load my gun with literature,

point arrows of philosophy

With each weapon of education I fire

begging us to ourselves free.

Free from this brand-marked hell.  

Free from the addictions to all the promises you sell.

So the next time you want to persuade me with all the products I should buy

You can save mad men, I don’t pay for lies.

 

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