Hey, folks? Thirsty? Allow me to crack you a can of cold Dead Pop Icon!
In a move that I think would have the departed principals of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce rolling over the empty bottles of Jameson strewn about their graves, the estate of Michael Jackson and juvy diabetes enabler Pepsi announced an unholy union wherein the beverage manufacturer will mark the 25th anniversary of the Bad album by emblazoning the KoP’s likeness on cans of their shitty soda.
“Cause then he gets all like CRANE MOVE(!) and you don’t know where it’s coming from ’cause you’re down on a mat with a bloody nose and he’s fixing Daniel-san’s leg and Ali is all hot and you know they totally do it at the end!”
And if you were thinking to yourself that all this campaign would need to truly honor this great artist was a creepy-sad TV commercial and a chance to download remixes that ruin some of his greatest songs, well then you are in luck. Those are on the way, too! (We’re almost done with ALL remixes, right? Do maybe five good ones exist out of a kajillion attempts? How’s about we go back to the novel idea of writing good music that stands alone and isn’t felt up by some *artist* with ProTools?)
Before we continue here, let’s just tackle the rather large elephant
man’s bones in the room: the last time Michael and Pepsi got together, it ended with the conflagration of Jackson’s cranium—the subsequent recovery from which is rumored to have started the painkiller addiction that would ultimately end his life. Now, I have made very, very poor relationship choices in the past, both personally and professionally. I will also cop to making the same bad decision multiple times even though I should have learned my lesson the first go ’round. (my Misadventures of Very Little Dinner But Very Much Bourbon spring to mind.) I gotta think though that, when presented with a chance to do business with someone I’ve worked with in the past where the end result was a key player’s head catching on fire and their dissolve into a pill addiction that would play a large part in their premature death, I’m going to have the good sense to pass.
As tasteful a reenactment I could find that took up very little to no bandwidth.
None of this, however, seems to be a concern to PepsiCo. or Jackson’s estate. And since that’s the case, then why limit themselves to Pepsi the beverage? The company owns many well-known brands like Quaker Oats, Tropicana and Frito-Lay. He may be the King of
Soda Pop, but surely the two parties could abuse his image and sell:
Munchos! Like Pringles except more diarrhea-inducing!
MUNCHOS! Michael’s no longer around, but Munchos are! And if you knew that they were then you are filthy, stinking liar, because we all thought these things were done and gone a long time ago.
The image of the bull, but lack of an actual Matador on the package confuses me. Am I the Matador? Am I eating Matador?
MATADOR BEEF JERKY – I for one know that, when I think of Michael Jackson, I think burly, red-blooded American male with a taste for pepper-cured cow innards. And I bet the marketing geniuses do, too!
SPITZ SUNFLOWER SEEDS – Hmm…I’m sure there’s a sophomoric joke here somewhere that, if crafted well, wouldn’t get me fired from MamaPop, but I can’t find it. I’m more concerned that the name of this edible product all but encourages you to not keep it in your mouth.
I don’t want to get all morbid and serious, especially on a well-deserved, hard-earned Friday, but, let’s face it—we is all gonna die. Are we entrusting the right people to handle our affairs once we’ve passed on? Are your neighbors going to see your warm, smiling face on the tube of vaginal itch cream because your kids are money grubbing dicks? How does a deceased Jacko shilling for Pepsi strike you? And, while I have your attention, do you have any Kentucky Derby picks you’d like to share? Cheers, y’all.