The Atlantic is Sinking

Da-da subscribes to The Atlantic Monthly. He doesn't like to subscribe to anything but cooking magazines, as social commentary publications are usually so late to the table as to be nearly worthless. He subscribed to The Atlantic because the bulk of his frequent flyer miles were being held for ransom, and Da-da had to burn 1200 miles in magazine subscriptions or risk losing them all. Needless to say, Da-da doesn't fly Untied United anymore. Indeed, Da-da rarely looks at The Atlantic -- or any magazine or newspaper or news site -- as Da-da is constantly refereeing micro-bouts and shuttling lawn gorillas and writing about how little time he has (hey). But yesterday, while the boys were drawing pictures of psychoneurasthenic Pokemons, Da-da opened the November issue of The Atlantic. It kinda made Da-da sick:

Pages 1-2: a Boeing ad painting a blissfull 2-page spread of 1%-ers in First Class revelling in their smart international purchases. They're all white, of course, though the woman up front has a scarf over her head, barely suggested a Muslim influence to appear fair and unbiased. Ayuh.
Pages 4-5: a DOW chemical ad showcasing kites and storm clouds. Cheery! Confusing!
Page 6: a Merrill Lynch, "wealth management" ad, aimed at 2%-ers. (2%-ers are the inheritors of the 1%-ers.)
Page 11: a friendly Allstate ad with a hearse, trying to influence Beltway teen driver legislation.
Page 13: gobbledegook IBM ad about how dumb our current clouds are.
Page 15: a First Republic Bank ad showing smiling future inheriting 1%-er wannabes in a swanky kitchen.
Pages 16-17: Hyundai ad trying to make you buy a hybrid, then go have a steak. Good for the environment!
Page 19: a Shell ad highlighting how much we depend on oil companies, prompting us to, "LET'S GO." Yeah. Go.
Page 20: an Apple AppStore ad that tries to appear humanistic by roasting Colin Powell, and touching on the welfare of children and religion, among other windows of whatever -- all on an iPad, o'course, made by corporate slaves. (It's ok, Da-da can say that, as he used to be one.)
Page 25: a Delta ad bragging about their legroom, eclipsed alas by everything else they do.
Page 27: a f*cking Goldman Sachs ad. Unbelievable. And maddening...

NOTE: At this, Da-da closed the magazine and tossed it in the trash.
Then he thought it might be interesting to write about all this,
so he yanked it back from the abyss for 15 minutes.

Page 29: a vaguelly Mayanistic (and busy) Ford ad about, "long-term quality." Ha! Da-da's too many Fords to buy into that one.
Page 31: an amazing Hilton ad with an aging 2%-er/hipster (jeans and boots and swanky leather belt tossed akimbo) eating a cheeseburger and having a beer and watching BOXING on TV and reading a newspaper (really?) -- while soaking in a tub? Manly crossover illustrating that some 2%-ers are so-ooo down-to-earth. Sure.
Page 33: British Airways ad. Da-da likes British Airways.
Page 35: Intel ad blasting meaningless words like, "Next Generation" across from a picture of C3PO and an article about the future of robot speech. Yay, talking robots. Let's shoot for 100% robotic employment.
Page 37: Credit-Suisse ad trying vainly to hitch its dullard star to Alan Gilbert, director of the NY Philharmonic. Was that really necessary, Alan?
Pages 38-39: another Ford ad bragging about a Mustang's 305 horsepower and 31 mpg ratings, then adding how this combo will, "blow people away twice." Um, besides cops everywhere acting as city revenue generators by writing tickets for literally every moving and non-moving violation, most folks should know that, A) You stomp on the gas a lot, you get not only a ticket and higher insurance premiums but also, B) about 5 mpg. Hello?
Page 41: a grumpy 2%-er MSNBC ad that aims to know how to, "turn the economy around," capping it off with Da-da's favorite tagline: "LEAN FORWARD." And barf.
Page 43: Conrad Hotels ad with young 3% hipsters in love, living the good life in China while everyone in the kitchen around them does all the work. The hipster dream.
Page 45: a natural gas ad by... someone... drumming out safety and precision, yes sir.
Page 46: Big Pharma ad. Yeah, you're gonna cure us of something. Keep at it.
Page 49: bland Prudential ad from the early '80s.
Page 51: Hitachi ad unveiling that bright and shining future of Hitachi, cajoling us to, "Inspire the Next." Inspire the next what?
Page 55: requisite Mercedes ad, aimed at 2%-ers whose children will only be safe in a Mercedes.
Page 57: another investment bank.
Page 59: a southern power company that's, "turning ideas into power." What kinda power we talkin' about, master?
Page 61: Siemans ad about an underground substation in Anaheim, CA. If you'd ever been to Anaheim, you'd wanna be underground, too.
Page 65: another investment bank.
Page 67: another chemical firm.
Page 69: same chemical firm.
Page 73: BMW ad paying short shrift to "revolutionaries." Lame.
Page 75: BMW ad again, this time whining about sustainable cities with no cars. Ayuh.
Page 77: University of Phoenix distance learning ad. Da-da won't besmirch those seeking advanced degrees, but the results are kinda pricey.
Page 78: University of Phoenix again.
Page 81: a TOBACCO ad, wow, highlighting "additive free natural tobacco." Riiiiight.
Pagess 83-126: tame and quasi-lame ads, but ok, for the most part, except for the article on how employed women are inheriting the earth and unemployed men are spastic nerfbags unworthy of marriage. Want a Y-chromosome? Go to a sperm bank and roll the dice, babe.
Page 127: an ad for Lockheed Martin. Why?
Page 131: another goddamn ad for Shell.
Pages 132-160: requisite Atlantic ads for cigars and reading glasses and MLA guides, etc.
Inside back cover: ad for Korean Air, yeah right. They get shot down.
Back cover: a moronic De Beers' diamond ad influencing suckers into wasting "two months salary" for a goddamn special polished rock with a goddamn special De Beers' mark. Crapola. Instead, buy moissonite and use the extra $8000 for a trip to Paris. And Italy. And Venice. And Ireland. And Peru. Or better yet, use the money to EMIGRATE to a G7 country with a growing economy. Memories and lifetimes are made outside of De Beers.

And then... The Atlantic's 15 minutes were up. To wrap-up, approx. 90+ ads in the November 2011 Atlantic, or over 50% of the book, was sponsored by felonious investment banks and predatory insurance firms and shameless oil and chemical and tobacco companies, oh and strategically wasteful defense contractors, et al. Sure, The Atlantic isn't as bad as say, POPULAR MECHANICS, which is basically one giant, embarrassing ad for the armed forces and Uncle Adolph's military-industrial complex, but still. Pick up any magazine from any era and look at the ads -- like VOGUE which is ALL ads, talk about moolah -- crack the book, look inside and you'll easily see which side their head's buttered on. Da-da chooses not to support rapacious corporations in any shape or form, or any of their sycophantic minions, even if they are scantily clad.

That said, Da-da knows it's hard to sell ad space in this economy ("We have kids, too, you know," they'll whine), but if you have to pander to the 1%-er vending machines to survive, you might as well close up shop and work at Trader Joes, as you're just propagating the values of a dying world, otherwise. Mercifully, this was Da-da's last issue (and Da-da has a lot of issues); The Atlantic sent 47, "Renew Now For Only $29.99!" cards, but... come on guys, aren't you making enough from those sucky advertisers already?

Da-da used to like The Atlantic. The articles are still first rate, but Da-da just can't stand seeing 1%-er kowtowing become so blatant. Perhaps this is indicative of all ads in magazines, Da-da doesn't subscribe to very many. The good news is that all of those corporations will one day be dust, dead and forgotten.

Ok, now someone's gonna bitch about Da-da being a Republican, or a Liberal, or a Nazi, or somesuch silly obsolete label they don't understand (you know who you are), but hold those black steaming horses, Dracula. Don't forget, Da-da's the founding member of THE SANDWORM PARTY, and the spice MUST FLOW. Oh, and Baron... your 15 minutes are up.

Time to come back down to earth, fat boy. The old days are ending.