Promotion · 3 July 2001
I hate the ad game. I hate the ad people. I hate the ad idea, the ad theory, the ad practice. I hate the smug fucks in ad goatees fellating each other at ad events every ad cycle, staying up late gathering receipts for ad booze, waking up with ad hangovers, running on ad fumes late through ad nights gathering whatever today’s proto-ad teenager has against yesterday’s ads.
I hate the ad lust of the kneeling, submissive ad academia, the ad intellect of ad anthropology, the ad ubiquity that makes ostensibly well-intentioned ad critics be gormless, laughable ad boobs. I hate the liquid, inescapable rain of admen’s ambitions. I hate the constant we know you know, you know we know you know, we know you know we know you now, and here’s an ad.
I hate Jared; I want him to die of diabetes. I hate Joe Canada, I hate Jack and his e-coli crisis management. I hate every lifestyle VW has ever tweaked. I hate that horrid ad kid who wishes the post-concert ad train would go on to ad forever. I hate copywriters who make it through the ad day without committing ad suicide.
Just had to get that out.
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