TRUE FACT: No matter how mundane, or even disagreeable, the product or idea in question is, even the most stalwart can be persuaded with logic swathed in a slammin' rhythm. Everything is better when it comes with a rap song.

Bill Gates knew this years ago. As he sat atop his desk in 1985, looking all young and saucy with his tousled hair and his glasses off, perhaps he dreamed of a different career path, penning seductive slow jams to woo the ladies. Perhaps, though he dreamed, he knew that his lot in life had no room for side projects. Instead, he sought to release his clandestine desires through other outlets; time, however, had other ideas --curdling his grooves with the bitter sarcasm and irony of love lost, until they became something like the 1990 MS-DOS-hawking gem I came across yesterday:



Perhaps the heart of this story falls along the divide that exists in subsequent geeks everywhere -- MCs Lars and Frontalot (and dare I say Kanye West?) and the like to the left; Insouciant Hoarders of Elite Indie Minutiae to the desk of an oddly Michael Cera-esque Steve Jobs on the right. If anything, it would help to explain the Microsoft-sponsored rhymes that followed for years to come. (Don't copy that floppy, anyone?)

Normally, I wouldn't have even brought this up as news -- it's just science. But it seems to be making news all on its own nonetheless. That the heart of a geek burns funky fresh is as true now as it's ever been, marked most pointedly at the moment by a certain current cheeseburger ad featuring a Jamie Kennedy-meets-Beastie Boys power duo spitting double entendre rhymes in order to build a mental link between toasted rye bread and a bite of especially spicy (if not quite Rubenesque) ass. One might argue that there's nothing particularly geeky about cheeseburgers per se, but the commercial itself is nothing less: true to the form of its MS-DOS predecessor, it is set in a classroom, only this time wacky professors and doo-wop dancers are traded in for higher learning of Van Halen proportions. And by proportions, I mean 36-24-36. And therein lies the problem.

See, it seems that some people don't know how or when to pick their battles. Eager to squelch the carnal, carnivorous desires of lonely teenage boys everywhere, hordes of angry good samaritans are inciting a national outcry to pull the ad.

Welp. We must really be doing great if this is the most offensive thing we have to worry about, am I right?

My little sister, who has more common sense and a better sense of humor than a good deal of adults, knows all the words to that damn commercial. She will shout the whole thing at random, and a couple days ago she called me up just to ask if, in anatomy class, I got a "butt-minus." Even though the correct answer is dial tone, it doesn't make it any less hilarious. Of course, we seem to be in the minority here, and it wouldn't be a true trivial outrage if our own little city didn't weigh in heavily, making the whole thing that much more especially fascinating to me. I can't help but wonder if so much of the hostility is rooted in the bitter rivalry that comes with being the birthplace of regional favorite Jack in the Box, who started selling flat-bunned sourdough burgers years ago, but deep down I know it's just the kind of knee-jerk "outrage!" reaction that makes San Diego the greatest voice of the nation.

I thought I heard more sirens than usual last night -- the waaahmbulances must be running full-tilt. Personally, I think someone's just bitter that it's not Diamond Dave doing the ogling. Not that I blame them, because who can argue with that guy? But naturally, the only positive or even neutral -- "Why do people take trivial things like commercials so seriously?" -- feedback comes from denizens of the nefarious "downtown" area, a bacterial hotbed full of dastardly young liberals getting their Lulz by blighting the cozy little city's good name with their irreverent defiance. (Which I guess is why I moved there.)

So here's the thing: who gives a shit about Carl's Jr patty melts? (Or Hardee's patty melts, to all you Easterner heathens.) No one, it's just a damn sandwich. At least, it was until you thousands of losers started complaining about it. Now, like a gangster rapper talking shit with a gun cocked, it's a sandwich with publicity. It's a brilliant advertising technique, plain and simple, and all dates back to the original true fact: even the most boring item can generate interest the minute it busts a move. Case closed.


_DictionaryGirl_, as a matter of consequence, frequently busts a move. Despite this, she subscribes to the Elite Hoarders of the Mac Order. She is an enigma.