Why am I here? Why are you here? Why are any of us here? Why is this cat here, sitting on the barstool next to me? Why is there a living goldfish wriggling inside the cat’s mouth? Where did that goldfish even come from, and how did they get that tiny sombrero on its head?
Is it a Mexican fish? Can a fish even have a nationality? Finally, what is the genus of the goldfish?
These are all good questions, and all are unanswerable save one—that one being the ‘Why am I here?’ question. That one can be answered. The rest, I’m afraid, are impossible to answer.
I am here to dispel advertising myths. Or, as the kids say these days, “adver-myths.†There are too many of these adver-myths to count, but if I had to estimate, I’d say there are 2,437.
In a way, I’m exactly like that show Mythbusters, with the one exception that I only bust myths involving the advertising industry and also I don’t have a TV show. Okay, make that two exceptions.
Look, I’m sure you’ve heard all kinds of crazy tales about the advertising industry. I’m not going to waste your time with the more familiar ones. The one about the malfunctioning electric Poodle, for example. Or the malfunctioning Golden Retriever. I’m certainly not rehashing the old malfunctioning Cocker Spaniel legend. They’re silly—these dog adver-myths—and not one of them is true. Except for the electric Rhodesian Ridgeback myth. That one is true, and I’ve got the scars on my shin to prove it.
No, I’m delving into the myths that, while well-known, are least talked about. For instance, some say advertising is the product of capitalism. But actually advertising is not the product of capitalism, but rather communism. Think about it.
Do you believe every copywriter burns the midnight oil trying to write the Great American novel? Well, you wouldn’t be the only one to think that, despite the fact that you’d be wrong, as every writer knows that novel has already been written by the late, great Fyodor Dostoevsky.
The idea that my brother Gary—who also works in advertising—impregnated a client, said he’d pay for the abortion, then changed his mind in the clinic waiting room and begged her to keep the baby is a myth I just made up right now. I don’t have a brother named Gary. I don’t have a brother named Glen or Brian or Dale. In fact, I don’t have a brother at all.
The notion of people in advertising working late hours is decidedly false. Sometimes we leave as early as 2 a.m.
The idea that every project is due yesterday is not only false, but inane. You can’t go back to yesterday because it’s in the past and going back in time is physically impossible until June 17, 2013—the deadline I set for finishing my time machine.
I shouldn’t have mentioned the time machine. Please forget you ever read that. I’m wishing I could go back in time to delete that whole mention of the time machine, but I can’t, because I don’t have a time machine and never will. Because I’m not working on one.
You know what, I should probably go ahead and wrap this up. Sure, there are other myths out there and they shall be busted in due time. You can’t rush mythbusting. Take it from me and, possibly, this cat, who has since swallowed the fish. Maybe the cat knows about bustin’ myths, too. There’s no telling what the cat knows. Because, really, I don’t even like cats.
If you’d like me to bust one of the myths you’ve heard, please write one in the comment box below.