There was a time not so long ago (okay it was actually 15 years ago) when I had sworn off television entirely.  While I was raking in preposterous sums of money on Young Life staff, I went without TV for nearly 4 years, seeking much grander forms of entertainment such as eating regularly.  Since being married, Amy and I have gone back and forth with the TV question and have recently come around to wanting TV again. We don’t watch a ton.. mainly, we reserve our consumption to shows like LOST, The Daily Show/Colbert Report, So You Think You Can Dance, a few cooking shows and, of course, Nancy Grace.. er.. um..

With the many services available to us, we climbed back on the horse we’d ridden most recently by returning to the service I will henceforth refer to as the “Beamed From Space” television service.  Because we had previously had the “Beamed From Space” (BFS) television service which mean a much speedier return to the land of the over-advertised.  But the ease of returning to BFS meant another engagement with the world of Customer Service

And if you’ve followed this blog for any length of time, you know what that means… that’s right. Another installment of “Adventures in Customer Service.”

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Beamed From Space Television Services Customer Support Representative: Thank you for choosing “Beamed From Space.”  Because you are returning to our service we are offering a special package.

Me: Interesting. Tell me about that.

BFSTSCSR: We’re offering, on top of the channels listed in your third rate, low-level, not-as-good package these other channels that are for people more serious about television.

Me: Um.. Well, I don’t really watch much more than a few things..

BFSTSCSR: You’re totally gonna want these ones.

Me: What are they?

BFSTSCSR: The “Movies For Romantics” channel, the “Movies For People Who Like Violence” channel, and 75 channels of Department Store Music: all beamed directly from space.

Me: Alright, whatever.

BFSTSCSR: and should you, in 2 months, 3 weeks 1 day, 14 hrs, 17 min and 4 seconds, forget to call to cancel these channels, you will be charged $19.99 per minute until you do. So let’s finish the rest of the…

Me: (cutting her off) wait.. What was that about canceling those channels?

BFSTSCSR: which part?

Me: The part where you are being conniving and sneaky.. That part.

BFSTSCSR: All you have to do is call the 800 number at that precise time, from a rotary phone while facing Mecca, ask for Larry and use the code word I gave you earlier in this conversation to cancel those channels.

Me: You gave me no code word.

BFSTSCSR: Well, sir. It wouldn’t be much of a code word if it were obvious.

Me: I’m not so sure I want to do this anymore.

BFSTSCSR: You’ve already been registered sir. Our agents are currently on their way to your home to install the Space Beam Receiving and Translation Equipment.  You do NOT want to anger our agents.

Me: I don’t want to anger anyone but I’m also not going to use your service. Please go ahead and cancel my account.

BFSTSCSR: As you wish, sir. Just be aware that this will result in a rather significant early cancellation fee and may be a risk to the lives of any pets you keep outside at night.

Me: WHA? I just called you 10 minutes ago.  I don’t even have service yet. How can there be a cancellation fee?

BFSTSCSR: I assure you, sir, that the signal is currently being beamed directly from space to your home.  If you are having difficulty receiving the signal, there must be some kind of equipment malfunction on your end. I will send a team of Space Beam Receiving and Translation Equipment Repair Specialists/Assassins to your location.

(KNOCK KNOCK)

BFSTSCSR: That would most likely be them…

Me: Amy, do NOT answer the door!!

A few years ago I was invited to lead music at a conference in Santa Cruz, CA. I learned a bit about about the group and what kind of music they were used to so that I could prepare a song-list they’d find familiar and singable. Upon arrival, I noticed the poster advertising both the speaker and myself. The poster read “The Reverend Speaker VonSpeakenstein (not his real name) will be delivering the Word and Justin McRoberts will bring the worship.”

Read the entire post at Soul-Audio.

I’m learning about the art of advertising. After my original post on the topic, my ears and eyes have been more keenly tuned to this creative ‘form of expression.’  For example, this gem…

Because if she is the Certified Solar Installer (CSI..?.. really?) then the chances of a few guys discovering a new and urgent interest in solar energy have greatly improved.  And that’s advertising…  because we all know she isn’t a Certified Solar Installer; she’s far to busy searching for you on Facebook to do anything else.

And so my mind takes in this fine example of advertising and begins to process through ways I can and should take advantage of my new knowledge:  How can I draw people to my work using images that have no logical relationship to that work or to me?

And then it hit me:

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I think I’m catching on.

In all honesty, I used to get all bummed out at the ads I ran into as a navigated the deep, dark interwebular waters.  But I see now that my frustration only blinded me to the poetic and at times brilliant insanity of the advertising world.  Below is only a sampling of the ads that are apparently targeted at me according to my age, tastes and eye-color.

Now, I’m a sports fan for certain which is why this bit of wisdom/advertising showed up on my facebook page:

and really.. who doesn’t agree? It’s never about coming back from 20 points down in the fourth quarter that inspires fans.. it’s the inflatable tunnel.. every. single. time.

Even now, as I think of my favorite sports team, I can only picture them emerging from an inflatable tunnel.. it is the image burned into my memory.

I remember sitting in my office during a particularly chilly winter evening and thinking to myself.. “Self, don’t you just wish you had something soft, luxurious and unique to wear around your neck right now?”

And as we all know, everyone looks good in Alpaca..  EVERYONE.

Need more convicing of this?  Just look deep into my eyes.. and repeat after me “Meka Leka Hi, MekALPACA Ho”

This is one of my favorite recurring ads; the “Who Searched For You” ads.  On my page, these ads normally feature some attractive young woman who, I am rather certain, has not searched for me. Something like this:

Even though, if anyone is searching your name on the internet, the chances are this guy probably did. Either that or it was your parents who are still wondering why you haven’t friended them yet.

I’ve also been challenged regarding my IQ quite often.  Early on, the ads were rather basic, though apparently not designed by folks who scored very high on the test themselves, as evidenced by this ad FAIL:

I may not be smarter than the average Broncos fan.. then again.. I’m smart enought to know what “average” means.

So, after it was clear that I would not be lured in by the crazy math of the IQ testers, they must have decided to see if they could frighten me into taking their quiz by posting these:

Forget the IQ question,.. how about a question of taste: “WHAT THE CRAP?”

I am that guy who, in the middle of a conversation, will pause to correct your grammar.  This is counteracted by the fact that anytime I tweet something grammatically incorrect or misspelled, I get called on it.. nonetheless, this nugget caught my eye and I now bring to you…

.. and also, lest it go uncelebrated, Fewer English.

Targeted ads are one thing, but ad placement is another.  There’s nothing quite as good as seeing an ad placed in just the right location.. somewhere in context.. somewhere on a page where it is relevant to the rest of that page’s content.. and so.. I leave you with this:

I am hoping that you’ve seen them; These ads floating around  touting huge financial gain from “doing nothing.”  Most of the time the ads come equipped with pics of random dude (face obscured for some reason) in the proximity of a Ferrari or a Benz.  The suddenly-wealthy person who posted the ad does so with an interesting mix of enthusiasm for sharing this wonderful new product and a disdain for people… always a great combo for sales.

Now, while these “get rich quick “ads are nowhere near as prevalent on Facebook as they were previously, this sexy beast to the left showed up on my page recently and reminded me of just why, with the help of a friend, I put together my own scam..er.. scheme.

Interestingly, when I submitted the fake ad to Facebook .. I was denied on grounds that… “(Facebook) does not accept advertising referencing, facilitating or promoting…scams, pyramid schemes,…or ‘get rich quick’ and other money making opportunities that offer compensation for little or no investment…”

*blinks* ..aaaalright… well, then…

Now, if you’ve seen one of the actual ad pages (having been awake at 3am and decided to see what would happen if you did click on the ad, you’ll probably enjoy our spoof a touch more.  Nonetheless, even the scam-uninitiated will find some enjoyment in my version.  Here’s the link: http://www.justinmcroberts.com/money/

Last time we saw our hero, there was cat crap strewn about his life by the devious (though apparently not fiber deficient) “BK” or “Big Kitty.”  BK had redirected his fecal assault towards the doorway of the bathroom Our Hero and His Roommate used upstairs… Interestingly, this bathroom was located in the landlord’s living room; essentially meaning that the Dastardly Villain was so committed to Our Hero’s devastation that he was now devastating living room rug.  Our Hero had taken the high road to this point, but would he keep his cool?  Let’s find out…

Stavros (my roommate) and I eventually stopped picking up the poop from the living room carpet.  We figured the rent we paid might cover things like this.  Apparently not.  Over the course of a few months and the normal process of petrification, the doodie became something more like furniture.. some of it useful for things like doorstops or magazine racks.   All this to say, we learned to live with things the way they were for a while.  Eventually we both moved on from there and have since married incredible women… I thought the cat battle was over… I thought that I had moved on…

.. I could not have been more wrong.

In 2001 I purchased and moved into my first home; a 2 bedroom condominium.  Our condo shares walls on either side and shares a drive with 5 other units.  My wife and I were so excited to be homeowners that we were blind to the trap we had fallen prey to; all five of our neighbors… owned at least one cat.. we were surrounded…

And then, one random day, it happened… poop on the doorstep. Felinus Fecalus.  There was no warning.  It just started happening; as if cats from the old neighborhood had networked with BK and cats from the new neighborhood and passed along the standing directive: if it belongs to McRoberts, poop on it.

A few years into our stay in enemy territory, I returned from a bike ride to find that I’d not only left the front door unlocked, I’d left it open. Fool of a Took.  I grabbed a bat from the garage and slowly headed downstairs with it raised above my head, expecting to come across some prowler or hopped-up crackhead going through my fridge in search of leftover Chinese.  As I headed through the doorway, I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye ducking down the hall towards the bedroom.  I shot like lightening (except nowhere near as fast) down the hall in pursuit, bravely asking God to ensure that the guy wasn’t very big, only to find , sitting on my bed…

..Two..
..Fluffy..
..Cats..

I froze. They froze. I screamed in rage and full horror.  They hissed in response.  I cursed them with the ancient cries of Mothra and Godzilla as I chased them out of the room, back up the hallway and out the front door.  While in pursuit, I all but forgot that I was holding the bat.  Of course, this detail was not lost on my neighbor, who had come outside to see what on earth all the commotion was and saw me chase her two cats out of my doorway holding a bat and hurling curses in Swiss/Tahitian…

What does one say at that point?  All I can tell you is what I said; which was “They were on my bed.. I,.. I don’t know what they were doing.. I wasn’t going to hurt them.”  She said nothing in return.

Fast forward to roughly one month later when that same neighbor showed up at my doorstep in tears.

“Are you alright?” I asked. She didn’t answer the question.
She starred back at me and asked “Do you have a shovel?”
“Wow,” I thought to myself, “she must have really loved that shovel she lost.”
“I think we’ve got a small gardening spade,” I told her “will that work?”
“No,..  it wont.  I need to bury my cat… Someone ran her over.”

Once again… what does one say at that point?  If I come right out and say “I did not kill your cat” it is bound to come off as incriminating.  Equally incriminating would be “Wow, who would do that?” or “I’m sure whoever killed her didn’t intent to” or “Well, it’s about time.”

Dear reader. Hear me and hear me clearly: I did not, nor would I have run over and killed her cat.  I promise.. You must believe me… I do not hate people who have cats.  I hate their cats.  (This is what is called a “moral workaround.”)  On the other hand, I strive to love my neighbor as myself but believe that part of doing so is helping them see that they would be far better off without the cat.