The 4.7th Level of Hell

So in between watching a balloon closely at home, to make sure it doesn't kill again; and trying to convince my Professor that not a lot of people actually freaked about "The War of the Worlds" broadcast back in 1938 (Note: don't trust Wikipedia on this one); I was at work, doing my normal answering of the phones and calming rabid users who didn't know the difference between a task bar and the start menu. I was, for some reason, was reading the lyrics of the musically diverse, highly listenable, and almost unlawfully long "Octavarium" by Dream Theater.

While mentally placing the lyrics with the music I saw an ad on the right of the screen that was...interesting. You've probably seen or heard of it. It was that "Mom losses 47 pounds with one easy step!" ad. Colors may vary.

If you are like me, then this advertisement concerns you a little. What was the one step? Don't eat? Surely not, because then the 23-year-old model of a girl who could not have possibly ever had a child would look like a Stephen King novel.



There are other ads in this range. Dentists, malevolent fiends that they are, are keeping trade secrets from you that could keep your teeth strong and white. Perhaps it is eating jello? Perhaps it is swallowing a pill that looks like Styrofoam? Perhaps it is smiling at the camera, which never picks up anything but the mouth even though the eyes yearn to be captured. Somehow this magic discovery has also been made by a mom! Are we ignoring our country's greatest minds because they have to care for children?

Once even I saw a plucky hamster waving its chubby cheeks my way from a box that said "Obamas (sic) want you to return to college." Many facts were listed, all of which I ignored because I was already a step over college...at University. What I missed was the connection between the hamster and the Obamas, and especially the plural. Were the Obama daughters pinning for my increased scholarship? And did they own a hamster?



Finally, I was presented with a bi-colored shape, so triangular it boggled the mind. That was the purpose, apparently, because I was prompted to divine the number of triangles inside the triangle. I counted a staggering number. There were three options, one of which was the one I had discovered. It took all of my will not to click, proving my superiority over the alleged 90% who got it wrong. 90% of what, though? Grandmothers who send funny cat pictures to their friends via email? Harvard mathematicians? Dove hens?

Here's my favorite:

"Get a free Subway Sandwich f0r 0ne day 0nly!" "If you love Olive Garden, you have to look at this!" "Get a $500 gift card for Best Buy!"

Empty promises. This is an epidemic. This has sprung from the new facebook fan page option that requires you to be a fan before you can see the page. So, somebody came up with the idea that they could, in a word, 'cahoodle' people into signing up, chasing the thought of that much Best Buy. The page that asks you to become a fan has only three things (plus all the other Facebook tops and bottoms): A flashy HEY! HEY YOU! BEST BUY! OLIVE GARDEN! QUIZNOS! PIZZA HUT!, a button to become a fan of the current object, and a small, blue list of comments. ...Who must be zombies, neither living nor dead. Consumerism grips them and they cannot escape it. These identical comments, always things like "My tummy is full!" or "Tasty!" line it. Your tummy is full of lies! These comments are the exact same on every. single. page. There are also a grand 937 "likes" on these...comments? I don't know what they are liking, said Yoda. These things, these...people...are not real. They are a scam.

I tried to comment add my comment to this number, as there is an appropriate spot for adding one. I typed, and hit enter. It was a question posed to the world if I would lose my sanity or free will if I became a fan of this Subway sandwich. Instead of immediately adding my question to the responses, however, I became informed that my comment was "under consideration" and "will be posted soon."

What they did of course was take my comment into the back room and shoot it.

There are also those "you can't use this cool feature on Facebook until you invite all of your friends first."
"All of them?"
"All of them. If you don't, watch your step."

So perhaps you wish to know.

But you won't know that imperative step to losing weight; what secret chemical will heal your stained teeth; how much those Obama tykes are offering you to go back to school; or how many people can't figure out how many triangles there are; until you click. Your mouse hovers and a rare spasm of nerve punches your finger down, sending you hurtling through the tunnels, bouncing off other ads and picking up a slew of viruses - most of which pretend to be virus scanners - to find yourself in a dark place.

The air is thick with the shake and flash of banners offering you cars for being the 999,999th visitor, screams of trolls from every corner surround you and push you until your back is against a tiled smiley-face wall. For a moment you hear embedded midi above the tumult and dream of a place that could be yours. YourPlace. A flurry of messages appear before you all promising riches, greatness. You count eight as they cut you off from escape of this smothering hell. You long to connect to your loved ones as these false admirers drain your lifeblood. The cries of innocent victims fall deaf to the ears of the madmen behind these schemes.

It is too late. You yearn to be free.

Trapped inside this Octavarium.