This Superbowl Sunday, as you’re huddling into your inflatable beer chairs with your Tostitos NachoMan helmet strapped firmly to your attentive brain cans, know this:
You are about to spend five to six hours watching an event in which you will see approximately twelve minutes of actual sport.
The rest of the time you will be a semi-conscious participant in the real event of the day. For, this day, America’s largest and most prestigious corporate advertisers will line up and attempt to sell you useless shit that you don’t need in a mind-bogglingly extravagant cavalcade of shilling.
And this year, in the midst of what may be a historic economic depression, will there be a hint of desperation in the voices of the cartoon spokespeople and B-grade commercial actors? Will we find out what happens when a company spends $17 million on the premise that Beyonce’s strategically-placed-shaking-derriere will salvage Q2 sales forecasts? It’s all part of the fun of the Advertising Superbowl.
Cue Avatar of Reason, Bill Hicks:
