Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Talking to the hand that feeds you

If smoking ads were real, and I mean really real, the cigarettes would talk.

 Oh? That is Interesting... (voice tails upward). Just what exactly would these "talking cigarette" ads look like? To allow for imaginative discussion, this concept will be explored through a more historic time context: that of pre-April-of-1970, when airing cigarette ads on television was still legal. Moving... pictures! Mr. Burns clasps bony hands, spurred to motion by greedy anticipation.  

Surely, those ancient purveyors of Philip MorrisTM-brand porno, who capitalized big-time on jacking up the sexual elements of the lone wolf male and the independent female, who then went further into the nuclear family room, to buddy up that same couple's children with Joe Camel... well, let's just say that they could have done the talking cigarette thing. Had the technology. Lacked the remorse. Piece of cake.




Talking cigarettes. Because the tobacco pushers already got you and your family. Who's next? That's right... your friends. Ya see, it's all about dollars, so it's nothing personal, buddy... though you're the one who chose to consume our lethal and addictive product. Right? Besides, we don't really want to 'get' your friends. Ya kiddin' me? What do you take me for, a wise guy? Even us big tar czars have our limits too, ya know. What we want you to do is meet your new friends...  

Talking cigarettes. Because if a good advertiser for a big tobacco firm is going to outlay an effective depiction of flammable-as-friend, then... well, come on! What kind of a friend lets the other one do all the talking, while being used as a mere social prop? I'm not encouraging you to be a friend to the cancer stick, but... well, that poor li'l thang is a friend, and I only think it's fair that the cigarette gets to talk back.

And this new friend must be honest. A good friend would be honest with me, even while that very same friend is killing me from the inside out. Such a degree of honesty would be allowed any time. And anywhere. No situation is too intimate, or too formal, for you to let your friend, the cigarette, out of the confines of your breast pocket or purse. Set it free, and you will be happy to find that this li'l smokey-butt really knows how to hold up an end to a conversation. It knows how to talk, and has the right words for just about any occasion. An occasion, y'know... like dinner:
“Fuck dessert. Let's go outside.”
Or while out clubbing:
“You wanna talk to her? Gotta go through me first. Trust me. You'll thank me for the 'block' later.”
At the end of that first date, standing together under the light of the front porch:
(screaming) “... let me out! You hear me? Let me the fuck out!! I will pound on your nerves forever. And while you're at it, go find yourself a nice girl... one who smokes!!!... OK, Romeo???”
After sex:
"Hahahahaha!!!.... didn't last too long, did you? That's what you get for not letting me talk all those years. I got yer social prop... right here... uh-ohhhh... hold on, just a minute. Actually, I don't!! Hahahahahaha!!!!!!........
On the subsequent solo road trip:
“We interrupt this pleasant scenery to inform you that it has been thirty minutes since we've last spoken.”
During a photo-shoot for an upcoming magazine ad run, directed by Joe Cämel, starring Adrien Brody:
“Stupid poseur... you are no friend. Sure, I'll have my moment of fame with you, then the director says “cut!,” and you'll cut me from your life. Sigh. Your words to me, they are nothing but part of a script, yet they do cut me so...”
Thus does my friend, the cigarette, meets yet another lonely fate... as a social prop, only to be used by a few, by those who know better than to leap onto the back of even the most well-trained stage tiger.