Oct 29, 2005

Premium bullshit upgrade for a small* fee


That is supposed to be a razor? Sweet mother of Talbain, upon initial sighting I nearly mistook it for a tennis shoe.

In this rapidly globalizing world, keeping your grip on things is important. Wearing basketball shoes that lack state-of-the-art neon green patent pending Remarkatread(TM) on each sole places you at risk of accidentally sliding on the court at the wrong time and breaking your femur, not to mention making you miss an easy lay-up and look like a scrub. It's a similar story with men's and women's razors! If you aren't using the latest ergonomically enhanced Extreme Champion Duragrip Pro Hyper Mach 22 men's razor from Gillette with interchangeable premium quality Ultrahold double helix handlebar grips, then you just aren't suave and hip enough to be driving a hot, fast muscle car with blacklights on the bottom that help attract beautiful women like moths to your closely shaven Hollywood face. Remember, if your razor slips in your hand at the wrong time, you could be in serious trouble. In addition, you could seriously injure yourself using an inferior product that doesn't include quadruple moisturizing action strips!

It isn't difficult to find evidence that few people ever truly grow up. As a child, I was always drawn to Frosted Flakes because of the lovely blue colour of the box and Tony the Tiger, not to mention the sweet tasting contents within. Now, I am drawn to (out of curiousity, mainly) men's razors that somewhat resemble miniature construction cranes and guarantee a vibrant fusion of comfort, ergonomy, grip (remember, grip is important!), assurance of masculinity, and sex. Children and adults alike are enticed and influenced by glitzy packaging and flashy marketing which makes a razor no longer just a razor and sweetened corn flakes no longer simply sweetened corn flakes. Reading the description on a mainstream brand of shampoo or conditioner supports this notion. When carefully selected glib terms like "fortify," "enrich," "strengthen," "nourish," and "nurture" are used, a chemical formula supposedly does much more than just cleanse your hair.

It doesn't particularly bother me. I just find it amusing how influenced people are by slick advertising, vibrant colours, and excess features on ordinary products. While heading toward the entire aisle full of toothbrushes in the supermarket, I have it set in my mind that I will walk through and choose the cheapest one I can find, knowing that it will hardly function any worse than the new $8 Crest Complete Total Extreme ConfiDENT Grip Plus. You just can't be too much of a sucker in a capitalist society that thrives on exaggeration and superfluity. Not so much of a sucker that you'll be swindled over a toothbrush.

I have noticed one term, however, that has been used in marketing in inexcusable excess: "premium." Just take a look at some of the products around your home or watch a few television commercials, and see if you can't find at least a few instances of that word. It's everywhere, and it doesn't mean shit. "Premium" is an utterly nugatory word. Seriously, it is an adjective completely devoid of all meaning, slapped onto as many product labels as possible for the purpose of burrowing into the consumer's conscious that said product is actually a step above those products that... well, don't say "premium" on them. "Premium quality." "Premium edition." And the worst: "premium upgrade."

I can excuse it as a descriptor for the highest quality petroleum available at a gas station, but I really don't care to see it on my cranberry juice. Similar to the 'a' word, the preposterous overuse of the term is what truly gauls me about it. They would both otherwise if people didn't abuse them to such ridiculous extremes, both in frequency and incorrectness of use. Whereas the 'a' word can be replaced by any number of splendid adjectives I have previously listed, the 'p' word can be dropped altogether in most cases. Of course, that isn't likely to happen any time soon, because people love to make their products sound more important and supreme than they really are by tossing out meaningless terms like bread crumbs onto the lawn of consumership that unfortunately have become almost universally understood and scooped up by the bird-brained masses.

So, in conclusion, you can take your premium fusion of fortified organic blends and nourish your rectum with them. That is, if you can find any room amongst all the extreme awesomeness that embellishes your enrichment.

I am off to go have an awesomely extreme experience at the premium local valley and reflect on rhetoric and Akuro's German desserts (minus Chiquita premium bananas).

But first, someone please tell why I have been listening to the SIRIUS Kid's Tunes music channel for the past hour. I really need to get a grip.

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