What A Waste.

h\t Nicole Yershon.

There's a campaign running in people's feeds on LinkedIn for Coca-Cola. I doubt it's real in any real way. Rather, it's a contrivance spread and spread and spread by a variety of red hagiographers, bent on pretending there's life and substance left within Oafilvy, after they fired everyone with life and substance and replaced them with either an AI bot or an $800,000 per annum figurehead.

The work, to my eyes, about 3000-percent too inscrutable to be comprehended my anyone with a mere three-digit IQ. Frankly, I don't even get it. I can't get from a twisted logo to recycling but maybe that's just me. Further, I can't believe the Coca-Cola company is truly spending massive amounts of money on outdoor which, according to my LI feed, anyway, they're pretending is just this side of ubiquitous.

But my real disgust at this work isn't that I don't understand it. It's that it's a lie. 

78 million metric tons of waste translates into roughly 172 billion pounds of garbage.
Roughly the weight of 500 Empire State Buildings.

Coke turns out literally thousands or tens of thousands of plastic bottles literally every minute. The most-optimistic estimates of plastic recycling says no more than one in three bottles are actually recycled. In other words, about 30-percent of plastic bottles don't wind up in our oceans, landfills or bloodstreams.

Actually, the work, I believe, is a lie or, better, is two-counts of lying.

First is the lie that the ad is a real ad. That it actually ran in a real way. Not just one billboard then galloping around the world via the closed community of a social network, then Cannes, etc.
(When the ad industry was important, it wasn't about awards, it was about measurable gains, aka sales.)

Second, the message itself is a lie. Coke ain't recycling plastic. In part because plastic can't be recycled. Plastic is a bit like nuclear waste. Its side-effects last lifetimes, or hundreds of lifetimes. 

Most distressing about all this, at least to my old-person's way of thinking, is that brands and their agencies are lying, and there's no independent press to point out the lies. The "media" can't. Because they want Coke's ad dollars.

What's more, normal people, i.e. anyone but me, no longer question the bushwa put out by giant companies. We look at crap like the lying Coke ads above, and we say, "wow! That's Cannes worthy."

No one even realizes that the financial holding company that owns the Cannes Awards (the for-profit Cannes Awards) is also a major investor in many of the holding companies that spend millions supporting the Cannes Awards.

Now, that's recycling. A dollar spent on an award show goes to the people who own you, and they give you a 19-cent trophy in return, then let you claim the awards as part of your new business spiel.

It's pay to play.

Or better, lie to die.

Lancing.

As more and more people in the ad industry are no longer in the ad industry, as in matter of fact, now that the ad industry is no longer in the ad industry, I get a lot of calls from friends and associates for advice on how to make it on your own.

As GeorgeCo., LLC, a Delaware Company storms into its fifth year as both an LLC and a Delaware Company, word has gotten around that mine is a going concern. There's no real vig in me telling the world how green is my valley or how filthy my lucre, but I will repeat something an old baseball manager said to many years ago when I was in the prime of sinewy youth.

"When you're up to your neck in shit and someone starts throwing baseballs at you, what do you do, duck?"

I spent a lifetime unraveling the wisdom of various Hegels and Heideggers of the Horsehide. What I got from the example above is simple, "believe in yourself and get out. There's no good coming to where you are. Remember, shit, necks and baseballs. As the old joke goes, it's time to leave show business."

Just now an old friend, an accomplished and teetering-on-brilliant strategist sent me a note. She's Oxforded and Cambridged and no more socially-awkward than the usual products of that augustosity. For the sake of anonymity and as an homage to Franz Kafka, I'll call her K.

K wrote, "Hi George! How are you? Wondered if you have time for a chat some time please? I'm thinking about freelancing and would love to learn from your guidance and wisdom! Thank you so much!"

Like I said, I get a lot of notes like these. So I thought about writing one of my quasi-famous Ad Aged lists, like "Ten Things to Think About When You Go Out on Your Own."

But then I realized, I don't have ten things to tell anyone. I have one thing. And that one thing revolves around one word: "Freelancing."

First, expunge, abnegate, eradicate, eliminate, destroy, dismantle, liquidate, never-again-utter the word Free. Even if you're somehow forced at a ballpark to join in during the National Anthem, substitute the word "fee" for free. You are now and forever more a citizen of the land of the fee. 

Got that? Ok. Now to part two of the word, half of which must not be said.

Lancing.

I want you to picture a medieval knight. A guy with a deadly lance.

His lance is his life. His living. His profession. It's how he earns his ducats and gains his self-respect.

What is your lance?

What is your life?

Mine is my pen. My pen is attached to my arm. My arm is linked to my brain. And my heart. A brain and heart that for forty years have solved the toughest, most intractable problems presented to the eighteen or so agencies who employed me at one time or another. 

My lance is my life. My experience. My skill. My craft. My insights. My wit. My synapses. My connections. My listening. My world-view. My studying. My listening. My reading. My thinking. My sweating. My midnight-oil-burning.

That is my lance.

I am not a "- - - - lancer."

I am a "lancer."

My lance is my weapon. My brain. My unique selling proposition. My lance is one-hundred things I can do that no one else in the world of advertising can do. Because my lance is the sole extension of my me-ness. 

If you want my lance, this is really simple, if you want my one-of-a-kind lance, my Harry-Winston not Zale's-lance, you're going to have to pay me for it.

I spent most of my life with my lance in a holding company clamp. That clamp kept me from realizing how special my lance is. After five years helping clients from start-up to Fortune 50 solve problems giant holding-company agencies couldn't solve--because they shed their experience, brainpower and skill, I know how special my lance is. And if you know, and you do, else why'd you call me, it's time to pony up.

One last thing.

I'm sure there are those who will remark about the phallic connotations surrounding the waxing of my lance. This ain't about phallic. I'm taking half of a word we use to denigrate our worth, "- - - - lance." I'm eliminating the bad part and valuing the good part.

If you want to laugh salaciously like a schoolboy re the word lance, fine. You're missing the point in all this. I don't care if you do.

I'm lancing all the way to the bank.

 

Immoderate Friday.

A couple weeks ago I met some advertising friends for dinner at the Old Town, an ancient, beery-bar down on 18th Street between Broadway and Park Avenue South. As the city has changed, the neighborhood has changed and the world has changed, the Old Town hasn't. Except for their prices, the place has the same dust, the same stained menus and the same sepia photos on the walls that they had when I first went there back in 1988.

                                

I'm sure "weathered" would not have been my adjective of choice.

What's more, the Old Town is said to have--and this is a source of some local pride--the "oldest urinals in New York." (And I might add, the best tasting urinal mints.)

The people I met at the Old Town were two creatives--work partners and young people--they're younger than my daughters. They used to work for me when I was at Ogilvy. Since then, they've traveled to half-a-dozen agencies, always searching for a place to do good work, a place where they feel supported, ok-- loved.

Such a place is getting harder and harder to come by. Just hours ago, as it happens, I had a Zoom call with a young copywriter--a friend of my younger daughter's from their tweenage years. She's at the hottest of hot shops now. Still, she's feeling disconsolate--she's unhappy there and doesn't know where to go.

Some of this general and intergenerational malaise ain't that different, I think from how the Old Town itself might feel, if an old-timey bar had feelings with too much anthropomorphism. The Old Town might feel like I feel, an anachronistic piece of hard-wood furniture in a press-board world. Flesh and blood in a world with silicon standards.

I had a professor in college who taught me a lot in one sentence. I had another one who did the same trick when I was in graduate school. I bumped into a third just a couple months ago when I read Emily Wilson's new translation of "The Iliad."

In college, my teacher said, "you can understand Shakespeare by understanding one word: Order. When the order of the universe is upset, the rivers flow blood. When foul is fair and fair is foul, shit happens. Heads roll."

In grad school, my teacher said, "all of Western Civilization can be summed up with one line (below) from the African Queen."

Wilson, in her brilliant preface to the Iliad, never uses the word "immoderate" to describe Achilles, but immoderate is what he is. As Wilson says below, Achilles' reaction to Agamemnon, or later to the killing of Patroclus is without moderation.

Somehow, I look at these three examples and words:  1) order; 2) natural and 3) immoderate and feel they work well to capture my feeling about life today and the ad industry today.

As long as there have been bipeds on the planet, we've always  communicated the same way. 

• We've worked to get attention.
• We've told what we want.
• We've found a way to persuade. 

And we've regarded this evolutionary tendency as natural. It's how pre-language babies communicate. It's how friends and lovers communicate. It used to be how advertising worked.

It used to be natural. The order of things. 

But now we have machines who know how to do it, we're told, better than we do. We have machines who have been granted the license and authority to upset the order of the universe, to attempt to rise above the natural. This isn't just using AI. This is choosing the love of mammon more than the love of humankind.

And I feel immoderate about that.

Do you?

Can you watch this and not think that it was written for what used to be the ad industry?

Remember.

Remember how Google+ was going to change everything?

Remember how Second Life was going to change everything?

Remember how 5G was going to change everything?

Self-driving cars?

3D printing?

Cryptocurrency?

The Metaverse?

Web 3.0?

Twelve things I've forgotten?

And A.I.?

In advertising, remember how integration was going to change everything?

The new CCO?

That account win?

Being bought by WPP?

The new caterer in the cafeteria?

Or interactive marketing and conversations about brands?

Or the "glowy" highlight on the "Learn More" button?

Or the starburst?

Or our biggest sale of the season?

Remember all the things that were going to change everything? Most of which we hardly even remember anymore?

Like Vietnam? The Holocaust? Hiroshima? Jim Crow? "Separate but Equal?" Bombing Black churches?

Remember all the things that were going to change everything?

Over the last few weeks, my wife and I have been drip-dosing ourselves with Sergey Bondarchuk's seven-hour epic from 1965, "War and Peace." It might be the most amazing motion picture ever filmed. It, literally, had a cast of millions. Its battle of Borodino is the largest battle scene ever filmed, making "Saving Private Ryan" look like an episode of "Gilligan's Island."

With every scene, I mutter to myself, "Oh, the death of the aristocracy, this will change everything." Or "Oh, the Russian Winter, this will change everything." Or, "Oh, Napoleon's a scoundrel and his men know it, this will change everything." 

But nothing, really, in the 200 and 12 years since has changed all that. The West is still fighting the Russians. The aristocracy is still decadent and still coming out on top. And people are still, blindly, following tinpot despots.

Disruption comes and goes.

Vast changes come and go.

Even all four horse-people of the apocalypse come and go. And today, roughly 97.9-percent of people think an apocalypse is a type of circus act.

More and more.

I'm with Faulkner. 

He said in "Requiem for a Nun," "The past is never dead. It's not even past."

This is the latest mumbo-jumbo some holding company that fired $300 million of people is investing $300 million in. Is there a sentence below you believe? Is there a sentence below that doesn't hurt your soul? This one gets me: "basic creative tasks like writing headlines." 

Anyone who thinks writing headlines is a basic task has never written a headline. Certainly not one that stood out amid the ten-thousand that we see everyday. Creating scripts, and synthetic voices? 

They'll probably create scripts and synthetic voices about authenticity.

Really? Clients want to work with companies that do this? It reminds me of the old joke, "sincerity is everything. Once you can fake that, you've got it made."

When A.I. and sentient machines have taken over all of earth, someone, someday, some still small voice will still put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard and scribble out something a machine can't.

A joke. Some hope. A tear. A tiny bit of fight.

Those are the things that change everything.

Adam Had 'Em.

You wouldn't think about it if you were normal, but 350 years or so ago, pins, for clothing, for wigs, for god knows what, were a big deal. 

Pin manufacturing in the 17th Century (I say this with some exaggeration) was like chip manufacturing today.

In fact, by the 1660s, it was multinational.

Most of it was taking place in northern France. But brass wire was brought in from Holland, supplied by Dutch middlemen who marked it all up.

Adam Smith, in the most famous economics book of all time, "The Wealth of Nations," published in 1776, used pin manufacturing to illustrate the division of labor.

"One man draws out the wire, another straightens it, a third cuts it, a fourth points it, a fifth grinds it at the top for receiving the head; to make the head requires two or three distinct operations … and the important business of making a pin is, in this manner, divided into about eighteen distinct operations, which, in some manufactories, are all performed by distinct hands."

Some of those distinct hands were attached to women--about half the workforce. You could pay those feminine hands less.

Still can.

As much as I have a Master's degree in English Literature, I've  become a fairly well-read amateur historian and equally well-read amateur economist for a good amount of time. Accordingly, when I look at the take-over of the advertising industry by giant capital, I look for precedents and economic motivations. 

Because the ad industry, like so many industries before it has quickly been transformed from a craft industry--products made by a few skilled hands--to a mass production industry, products the result of dozens of small operations carried out by unskilled labor.

The later, the unskilled labor operation, is cheaper, because unskilled is cheaper than skilled. Today, anyone can make an ad, and usually does. While actually, no one does. Because an ad itself isn't conceived any more, it's broken down, as above re. pins, into dozens of small operations, which different hands behind each of those operations. You don't have to understand advertising anymore to make an ad. That's no longer part of your job. You need only do your small bit. Then the ad moves to the next work station.

To be vulgar about it, making an ad today is a bit like the industrialized killings done in Germany during the Hitler years.

Killing was assembly-lined. There were no triggers to pull. Dozens of people did a small, innocuous task along the way. Everyone of those people along the way had plausible-deniability of responsibility. How else does a nation of 70,000,000 murder 7,000,000 and not go mad?

The ad industry ain't that different.

Except it has already gone mad.

No one's actually responsible for the 49.7-percent of all commercials that end in people dancing. Or the 53.4-percent of all commercials that repeat "triple-play bundle" twelve times in thirty seconds. Or the tsunami of balloons in every automotive dealer ad. "Spring into savings, muthafukkah."

No one's actually responsible for the CEO of the Holding Company making roughly 300 times the wage of the median salary he pays. No one's actually responsible for the billions in bot-driven ad fraud. No one's actually responsible for the ageism, where just nine-percent of WPP is over 50, as opposed to 33-percent of the population. No one's actually responsible for WPP, in just seven years shedding 45-percent of its workers and going from 200,000 employees to 105,000 employees. 

Nope.

Everybody sits at their workstation, canceling noise, canceling heads and turning their designated screw one-quarter turn tighter. 

We'll never know who it was who finally turned off the oxygen completely.

 

Ad Absurdam.

In logic, reductio ad absurdum (Latin for "reduction to absurdity"), also known as argumentum ad absurdum (Latin for "argument to absurdity") or apagogical arguments, is the form of argument that attempts to establish a claim by showing that the opposite scenario would lead to absurdity or contradiction.

--

A friend from the business, a he/she, his/hers, they for purposes of anonymity and I we're talking just a couple days ago. 

They were telling me, though there was only one of they, they were telling me that a holding company agency they're working with has sent a list to a group of creatives offering the services of a large number of creative teams because another part of the agency is pitching a lot (to try to make up for gigantic business losses) and still another part has a lot of people they'll have to let go because there isn't enough to do.

So like lobsters at one of those old-timey restaurants where you pick the crustacean out of a tank that you want to bibbify, this particular agency is allowing creative people to pick creative people to help them pitch. Management has merely sent a list of names and titles. No portfolios. No 360-degree reviews. Nothing but a name.

It's an example, maybe reductio ad absurdam of one of GeorgeCo's quasi-famous differentiators. "I don't believe availability is a capability." 

I mean just because you have a person doesn't mean the person has the skill. The Holding Company commoditization of our business has done to a creative field what assembly lines did to manufacturing. They've broken down tasks into such small parts that ostensibly anyone can do them. It's an overall attempt to turn skilled labor--which is expensive--into unskilled labor which is cheap. So anyone can do anything at anytime because all creatives are interchangeable. 

I suppose I remarked to they that it's striking that we grew up in a business with traffic as a function, but there was really no one in what's now called "resource allocation," but what could be more accurately called (at least on the Titanic) "deckchair repositioning."

I continued, as I so often do, "it's like they have more taxi-dispatchers than they have cabs. Or a military with more logistics people than soldiers. It's like watching road-crews on the highway. Two people working, twelve people with clipboards." 

It got me thinking about "just-in-time-management" which started as logistical sleight-of-hand that helped reduce warehousing costs, is now being applied to what's euphemistically called "talent management." That is moving people around and around as balm against actually having people who can do the job and manage a piece of business.

That sent me spiraling. 

I imagined this dialogue from the not-so-distant-future of agency life.

CREATIVE ONE: I have a pitch next Thursday and need some mid-weight teams with financial services experience.

RESOURCE ALLOCATION: I can give you Margaret and Sam for three hours on Friday, between ten PM and one AM.

CREATIVE TWO: Daphne and Ezekiel just had an assignment killed. They'll have 45-minutes free on Wednesday.

RESOURCE ALLOCATION TO CREATIVE ONE: I can give you Daphne and Ezekiel for ten minutes starting eight minutes ago.

CREATIVE ONE: Do they have financial experience?

RESOURCE ALLOCATION TO CREATIVE ONE: They do know what money is. They've used cash in the past. Though they prefer indebtedness.

CREATIVE THREE: My hair's on fire! I have concepts due tomorrow on a $30 million pitch for low-flavor orange juice.

RESOURCE ALLOCATION TO CREATIVE THREE: I can give you Daphne and Ezekiel starting last Tuesday until yesterday.

CREATIVE THREE: That won't help. I need someone now. 

RESOURCE ALLOCATION TO CREATIVE THREE: Jill and Karen are free starting October, I can get you them for 15 minutes every other day for three months, though Karen is taking November off to have a baby.

CREATIVE FOUR: Sold! I can use the 15 minutes. And I'm fine with Karen WFM.

RESOURCE ALLOCATION TO CREATIVE FOUR: WFM? What's that mean?

CREATIVE FOUR: Working from maternity. Where have you been?

RESOURCE ALLOCATION TO CREATIVE FOUR: The only thing is neither Jill nor Karen are writers and they've never done anything but banner ads. And they speak only Mandarin.

CREATIVE FOUR: Who cares. Can Karen work while 85-percent effaced? I mean, can she work between contractions?

RESOURCE ALLOCATION TO CREATIVE FOUR: That might be tough. I can get you Pablo and Simon. Though they work out of Sydney and are 12-hours ahead of us.

CREATIVE FIVE: I can only use teams 11-hours ahead.

RESOURCE ALLOCATION TO CREATIVE FIVE: I've got an interaction designer in Guam.

CREATIVE FIVE: Sold.

This is life in the agency business today. There's more time and money spent trying to find people to work on business than there is dedicated to having people who actually know your business. There are more people who are dispatchers than doers.

My clients I've spoken to, as friends, roll their eyes when talking about their agencies. They know what's going on. The over-staffing of texters, and the understaffing of thinkers. The lack of knowledge in what Peter Drucker called "knowledge workers." The too-rare experience of having experienced people on their business. The 100 complicators for every dozen simplifiers. 

The business today reminds most people of that old Woody Allen joke. "The food is terrible and such small portions." 

Only it's "the creative is bad but at least no one will see it."

Unless you choose to work with an agency like GeorgeCo., LLC, a Delaware Company. The right people. Dedicated.

An Open Letter to Every Automaker.

I love cars.

I used to love car advertising. Especially, work done at Carl Ally for Volvo, Fiat and Saab. At Scali McCabe Sloves for Volvo. Of course, VW at DDB. And especially at Ammirati & Puris for BMW. Oh, and Porsche, at various times at Chiat\Day or Fallon.

As much as there's an emotional side to buying a car, there's a rational side, too. These agencies knew both sides. How to speak to both. How to limbic and to logic.

But logic and rational has all but disappeared from advertising today. For a number of reasons.

One. We've had about thirty years of planner bullshit proclaiming decisions are emotionally-based rather than rationally-based. OK. I guess I'm an anomaly. If I'm going to spend hundreds on something, someone ought to give me some sort of permission to believe. 

I also happen to believe that a number of factual points together can build to an emotional connection. Here's a random VW ad. Read the copy. Maybe you'll get my point.

Two. We've had about thirty millennia of bullshit that people don't read. So we read that so often, we stopped writing. 

No one took the time to do any discovery or any verification, as I did for the past few moments. They just repeated "no one reads," because advertising is easier and cheaper to produce when it's dumber and commoditized.

Let's ignore the data below because, "no one reads."

$80 Billion in sales and over half-a-billion print books sold--yet "nobody reads."

Three. And most egregious. Agencies today have staffing protocols that make it impossible for people to learn about the products and services they're paid to advertising. Staffing in an agency today is "just-in-time." They've eliminated costly inventories of knowledge and expertise. When "availability is a capability," copy becomes generic.

Since the advent of practical electric vehicles from about ten years ago, automakers have been banging their drum on their own electrification forays.

In the eyes of automakers and their agencies, they only have to say "The new ____________. It's driving electrified."

That's Shakespearean in a way. The Bard wrote, "A rose is a rose is a rose." Madison Avenue writes, "an electric is an electric is an electric."

We've forgotten completely that our job is to differentiate. 

And to differentiate requires the time, intellect, empathy and skill to find out details and make them interesting and important to people. That's the thing about point One above. Emotions aren't ownable. Facts can be.

Like I said, I like cars. 

And the Wall Street Journal does a good job covering the multi-billion (or trillion) automobile industry. They just ran this article "The EV Battery of Your Dreams Is Coming." 

There's a lot of tech in the article. About solid metal materials. About silicon, not graphite. About layers of batteries and anodes. About the expansion and contraction of batteries. Finally, even, about the very shape of batteries and a particular configuration's ability to increase range and decrease charging time and cost.

In short: All batteries are not the same. And in the coming years it won't be electrification that's the point, it will be the type of electrification. 

Actually, this short paragraph from the Journal, is exactly the kind of writing the ad industry no longer thinks is needed. Because even as though the average cost of a new car is around $47,000 and the average household income is around $80,000, car buying, like everything else, is based on emotions, right?

"...But BMW recently announced that it will begin selling the first vehicle using the company’s new platform for EVs, which it calls “Neue Klasse,” in 2025. These vehicles will have a new kind of battery which will hold more than 20% more energy than the previous type, and charging speed and range will also improve by up to 30%..."

What Madison Avenue will do with information like this will be interesting to see. Will they make it important and thereby sell more? Or will they just repeat 'no one reads' and not do anything with it?

GeorgeCo., LLC, a Delaware Company has over its five years of life differentiated dozens of products. From a tech company that protects the food supply from pathogens by detecting disease up to 500 times faster than previous protocols, to a pizza company that makes healthier snacks through alternative grains.

My offer to the automakers in the coming battery wars is simple. If you want someone who can drive sales for you by making the shape of a battery interesting, important and "I've got to have that," I'm your protoplasm.

This blog is actually a good example of my skill. I have the same letters and keyboard as everyone else. Yet I've written nearly 2,000,000 words here and get about 350,000 readers a month. 

That's fantastic for a blog. It wouldn't be bad for an automaker.

Friday Fun-Time.

There was a time when agencies and even some creative people bought books.

I mean real, actual books. Things you could stub your toe on. Not just ones and zeroes.

I still do.

At the bottom of it all, I'm afraid like most decent creative people, of having an assignment, project, pitch or major undertaking and coming up like an empty fishhook, having caught nothing.

Not even a skein of ratty seaweed or a Coney Island whitefish.

If you'd like to come up to my office in Connecticut, you're welcome, assuming you don't stay too long and you have good manners and don't dirty the guest towels.

You can visit my books.

My office is also my library. Most important my restorative niche. Where, like Wordsworth, I go when the "World is to much with us."  Which is practically always.

My "surround-sound" bookshelves are still only half occupied, I haven't fully transported my things from my city apartment. But in Connecticut, I still have a thousand good books. Many of them picture books. 

I like picture books. Particularly those published by Taschen, like the one I took pages from below. I spend a lot on books. But if I get one smile per book, or one idea per one-hundred books, they've more than paid for themselves.

We live in a world of "in-flight announcements." Where you're ordered about with little kindness often at the top of some petty bureaucrat's voice. Books give me something more.

Joy.

I know I am lugubrious by nature. And in my posts I can lay on the sturm und drang in such a way as to make Richard Wagner's Götterdämmerung look like "Sugar, Sugar" by the Archies. 

Consider today's post an apologia. 

I don't mean to be a dour son a bitch. I was born this way. And I'm doing pretty good for a poor boy who had thirty stitches in his his face by the time he was four. 

Self-portrait in pixels.

And btw, don't be a stranger. Tell me in the comments which album cover below is your favorite. You can be deep-dish about it and analyze it like a graphic designer, or you can just say, "I like the colors." Both are good.

For me, it's "Anatomy of a Murder." The design is Saul Bass, the music is Ellington. And the Otto Preminger movie has Lee Remick in tight pants. As they say, PC or not, hubba hubba.

BTW, if you give a damn, you can buy the book below for $18.34 plus $3.99 for shipping if you click here. By my calculations, that's half of a week's worth of Starbucks, half your weekly subway fare and probably less than five-percent of your monthly cable bill.

Boo shop be bop.