#So he will punch someone on the shoulder with different levels of force to connotate what he's feeling

[i-am-a-lost-mystery]

Incorrect quote #47

Hairo: why is it always violence with you?

Kuboyasu: It’s not violence, it’s communication

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Doodlewash April 2021 prompt 8: Woodpecker

Facts about woodpecker behaviours

They live solitary lives

Highly antisocial species that are aggressive towards their own kind

But some of them still live in groups

Will defend their food stash, drive away others, return frequently

Aggressive behaviours include bill-pointing and jabbing, head shaking, wing flicking, chasing, drumming and vocalisations.

Morse code like territorial drumming

Also, just for clarification 93-10-01 = Tommy 83-11-03 = Hannahxxrose 27-10-01 = Sammygreen 93-08-02 = CupToast/Crumb 12-11-04 = TimeDeo 09-10-01 = Purpled

CW: Child Fighting Ring (nothing gore-y), food (<-- for those that want that warning)

--------------------------

After being kidnapped on his walk from Tubbo and the Sweet Shoppe and Bakery in District 87 to his and Ranboo’s place in District 93, he was taken into the back of a van that already had four children inside.

Before getting into the van, the two men that took him tried to take the cupcakes. Tommy did not take kindly to this. He might have bite one of the guy’s arms and kicked the other in the groin.

That was when the driver came out of the van and held Tommy harshly into his chest. Tommy was shouting about the cupcakes still. He ripped himself out of the man’s arms and stood protectively a few feet away.

“You gonna run kid?”

Tommy mutely shock his head. “That guy has a gun.”

“You bit my arm fucker!”

“You tried to take my cupcake!”

The drive sent him an incredulous look. “We’re trying to take you?”

“Yeah? Well I can control the safety of my fucker cupcakes dick.”

The man with the gun pulled it out.

“Please don’t shoot me over a cupcake.”

“Get in the van kid.”

“Please open the door.”

The driver opened the back door and Tommy steps inside. He notices another four kids on the van floor. Tommy sits down and curls up as the door closes behind him.

The car jerks forward, and Tommy splits his cupcake between the four others. He didn’t think he’d be eating one anytime soon, but he knew he should probably make nice with others.

- - -

They arrived at the cite and the children were taken out of the can and into a room. With Tommy there, the other kids followed this confident ten year old into the den. Tommy was a little sad to see them so trusting, but if he had learned anything from his two years on the streets of District 93, and others, it was to comply with the wronguns.

The men took any belongings the children still had on them and gave them serial numbers. District-Age-Number, Tommy became 93-10-01.

The girl with roses on her shirt became 83-11-03. The boy with a green fringe became 27-10-01. The girl with her cat face fingerless gloves taken away became 93-08-02. And the boy with a knitted Christmas sweater became 12-11-04.

Once they were given bead bracelets with their identification, the five children were taken to what amounted to a boxing ring.

93-08-02 took a step behind Tommy, trying to hide in his shadow.

All five of them were taken into the boxing ring one at a time. They were up against kids their ages from different districts.

93-08-02 was in tatters. It was as if everything was catching up to her and she was not doing well. Tommy didn’t manage to watch 83-11-03, 27-10-01, and 12-11-04 fight while the kidnappers assessed their skill; the criminals weren’t going to make their fighting kids fight someone way above their skill level. Tommy spent that time calming 93-08-02.

Then the men came for Tommy. “93-10-01. It’s your turn.”

Tommy looked around. He couldn’t see 83-11-03, 27-10-01, or 12-11-04. He assumed that they had been taken away. Tommy saw a group of kids his age and older, as well as another group of younger children.

“Think Crumb could go first?”

The man gave him a blank stare.

Tommy grasped her wrist can read her bracelet. “Could 93-08-02 go first? I think she’d like it if someone she knew was in the crowd.”

The man gave him a cold stare.

“Please?”

The man roughly grabbed 93-08-02 by the arm. She shrieked and looked to Tommy with wide eyes.

Tommy reminded himself that it was better for everyone if they complied and didn’t cause trouble. He gave her a tight smile. Another woman pushed Tommy to the edge of the boxing ring.

Tommy tries to keep his face neutral, but can’t stop the winces. He watches 93-08-02 Crumb try to fight. She couldn’t really fight, but didn’t get completely beat up.

The man from earlier then took Crumb away. She screamed and shouted and wanted to stay with someone she had started to trust.

One of the other kids that Crumb fought grabbed her by the shoulders and told her to calm down. Crumb took a deep breath and waved to Tommy goodbye, slightly more content that someone her age was around.

Tommy stepped into the ring. He was forced to fight the kid, he dodged and weaved and escaped the other kid. Tommy was stupidly tall so he had the reach advantage. He managed to kick and punch were it hurt the other kid in order to win.

Tommy was unscathed, and the people kept dumping other kids on him. Tommy kept dodging as the kids dumped got more feral and desperate to win. Then the woman told Tommy to get out of the ring.

The drive from earlier had a cupcake. He held it out and Tommy snatched it. “Follow me.”

Tommy followed the dude to a cell down a hallway. The door was opened and Tommy entered without fuss.

The door closed behind him.

“What was with the cupcake?”

The man walked away.

- - -

Tommy had been there for a week. It was a tough, fucking terrible, week, but a week nonetheless.

He very quickly learnt that these people were using kidnapped children for an illegal fighting ring, where people bet money on who would win. Tommy spent to much time dodging that they started putting him in the ring with three to five other kids.

The kids were only allowed outside of their cells from an hour before their fights to an hour after. Tommy was allowed out of his cell more than others because Crumb refused to fight without him in the roof, and he was on kitchen duty. Tommy would help prepare food for the other prisoners children.

One day one of the ladies in charge of dishing out the food approached him with a tray of food, a key, and a cupcake. “Take this to room 322. Down the hall and to the left. You’ll have to hand feed the person in there.”

Tommy took the cupcake. He was definitely being bribed for something with cupcakes. “Okay.” Tommy took the tray and key, leaving the wrapper on the counter.

He walked down the hall to room 322. He entered the room and saw a blond kid his age chained to the wall will enough slack to move around. There was a cot with a nice pillow and a blanket.

“Hi.”

The kid whipped his head around to the sound. “Food?”

“Yeah.”

The kid gestured to his shackled hands. “Need someone to help me eat.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay. You gonna hurt me?”

“And not eat?” the kid tried to joke.

Tommy sat down near the kid and twirled some spaghetti onto the fork. “I’m Tommy.”

“Purpled.”

Tommy pulled the fork away in surprise. “Purpled? Punz’s brother?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why—“

“That’s why I’m in a separate room.”

“Gotcha gotcha. Better set up than what I’ve got. You even have a blanket!”

“What do you have?”

“A cage and a concrete floor.”

“Ouch.”

“Eh.” Tommy finally gave Purpled a mouthful of food. “I’m sure it’d be worse for you than me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“People know Punz. He’s getting big at the Hero Academy.” Tommy scoffs. “Good on him. But y’know. District 9 kid. District 93 kid. Pretty sure you’ve had a bed for your whole like.”

“93?”

“Yeah? What of it bitch boy. You got kidnapped just the same. And I’m sure you have better security than the nothing I got.”

“I’ve never met someone from below District 34.” He chewed on another bite of food. “Well. Sapnap patrols 43, but he grew up with my brother.”

“Well now you have.”

“Actually. I’ve met Eighty-Seven.”

“Eighty-Seven? You mean, someone from 87?”

“No. That’s what we call him, Eighty-Seven.”

“Why?”

“Well…”

“You guys are dicks.”

“He’s fine with it.”

“Is he?” Tommy gave him another bite. “Does he have a name?”

Purpled tilted his head and chewed thoughtfully. “Eret..?”

Tommy startled slightly. “Ok.” He gave Purpled another bite.

“You know him?”

Tommy thought about the vigilante he’d seen in District 87. Then remembered that Purpled was from District 9 and probably didn’t have good connotations with vigilantes. “Not really.” Tommy went to roll another bite when the stainless steel hit porcelain. “Well. That was nice. We’ll talk next time I get to feed you.”

Purpled sobered and looked at the floor, like he had just remember that he was being kept hostage.

Then there was a knock on the door. Tommy and Purpled both froze. The door opened. “Is 93-10-01 here?”

“Come on big man, use my name.”

Purpled winced at the jovial tone Tommy took to their captors.

Tommy seemed the faultier slightly under the harsher gazes of the men. “Ok. We’re done. Just chatting about how much nicer his room back home is. I’ve never had satin sheets.”

“Out.”

Tommy scurried out of the room. The man followed him all the way to the kitchen where he returned the tray. He was about to dip away back to his cell when he registered the cupcake on the counter. He looked to the man block the door with a questioning look.

The man gestured to the cupcake. He gave Tommy a have smirk when he grabbed the cupcake. “Don’t tell the others about “09-10-01 okay?”

“Okay.” Tommy took a bite of his cupcake. He polished it off and then the man moved from the door. “You have a fight with 12-11-04 this evening.”

Tommy’s stride stuttered. “Got it.”

[dramaplustautology]

Buried Under the Aching Tree Part 2/???

Summary: Ash learns about his friend’s sword, a relic passed through a million hands but never through a family. That and what it’s like to be possessed by a single feeling.

Here’s part 1: LINK

So, this became way longer than two parts and way more complicated. This one’s also way shorter than the last part cause the rise and fall fit more when I cut them up like this. Yeah, it’s going to be all moved to my writing blog too. Probably shouldn’t have left this sitting for...over a year.

Coming back from a rare fifteen minute break, Artix returned to the Amityvale Cemetery, finding it packed to the gills with necromancers.

Their hushed rabble fell silent. The few that didn’t slink behind gravestone to hide merely stared at the paladin they collectively loathed.

Artix did not sense any sort of animosity, however, reading an air of unease that felt more like he had walked in on teenagers gossiping about him.

“Hello there fellas.” Artix greeted, raising a hand. “What are you all up to?”

“Grieving,” One of the more morose figures spoke up, draped over the shoulder of a mourning hooded woman. A requirement to practice the magic of raising the dead was being dramatic after all. “We’re here to mourn our dignity.”

That was sort of cemetery business.

Artix felt like he should say something. Perhaps charge at them like the whole paladin-necromancer dynamic demanded.

It was just that, if the necromancers weren’t pacing aimlessly or crouching, they were laying on the ground, groaning. The misery was so thick, he could stick his tongue out and taste the salt.  

“I’ll be, uh, right back.” Artix nodded, starting to back out of the gate. Maybe giving himself a running start would rouse them?

“No!” A bunch of them screamed, jumping to attention. One of the undead necromancers throat had blown open from the force of his shout. The necromancer who had been dangling from the statue dropped on the ground and wormed, not crawled, his way to grip Artix’ ankle. “You have to stay. Who knows what we might do? J-just stay here!”

Seeing the necromancer up close, Artix’s eyes widened in recognition.

“Oh! I remember you! From the Necropolis.”

Panicking, the necromancer buried his face into the dirt but not because of Artix.

“Hey there!”

Now that was a voice that could get his spirits up. Artix turned, smiling easily at the young up and coming hero.

“Ash, what are you doing so far from Falconreach?” The paladin asked, getting a face full of fluffy blue shiver. Startled, Artix removed the attacker by his scruff, realizing he was dangling Zorbak at arm’s length.  

The fluffy necromancer said nothing. Not even a simple “meh.” Zorbak stared back at Artix, beady black eyes huge and quivering.

“I see that Zorbak was up to no good,” Artix threw out an assumption, if only to break what was beginning to be a very awkward silence. “What happened? I wouldn’t have thought you’d chase Zorbak all the way from Falconreach to here.”

What happened indeed.

There was something weird about this. Maybe it was how Ash had decided to go to Doomwood on his own when he’d usually get help. Or perhaps it had something to do with all the necromancers beginning to panic at the sight of a budding leaf of an adventurer.

Ash sure felt taller too. He hadn’t grown an inch since Artix last saw him but with a shiny silver sword he was tapping on his palm, the kid looked ten feet tall.

And that shiny silver sword was very loud.

“Oh, you know. I had this kind of thought that pumped me up the other day. I should be out there more, doing what all heroes should. Defend the innocent, eventually save a princess, and teach the bad guys a last lesson,” Ash shrugged off the sinister connotation of that last bit. “But boy am I glad to see you! I ran into all these other necromancers along the way and we can’t leave them alone, right? I put down a few but the rest ran away here! Thanks for blocking them off.”

“No problem,” Artix nodded, resting his hands on his hips with Zorbak still held firmly by the fur. He would have mistook Zorbak for an armadillo that lost its armor with how hard he curled himself into a ball. “Here, handle Zorbak for me and I’ll take care of the rest!”

“And I’ll be right behind you when I’m finished.” Ash nodded back.

“What?” Zorbak shouted just before Artix tossed the blue sphere over to Ash.

Swinging his sword so quickly that he splattered Artix’s armor, Ash cleaved the mana potion in half. The perfectly equal sides of the glass flask fell on the soft dirt. Ash gazed glumly at the leaking liquid.

“Did I just get pranked?”

“Well, I don’t feel like laughing.” Artix said, gently tossing Zorbak behind him. He scurried off, joining the other necromancers fled to into the rows of graves. Ash peeked over the paladin’s shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you be going after him?” Ash asked, brow crumpled in genuine surprise. “I thought paladins were supposed to battle the undead.”

“That’s true! I’ve been at it for a while but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep learning. Recently, I learned that instead of bashing whatever’s closest, going by priority might work better.” Artix drew his sword, leveling its point at Ash. The hurt on the his face made the paladin falter.

“But, I’m not doing anything bad!” Ash’s voice was strained, like he didn’t quite believe it himself.

“Not you. That,” Artix gestured to the sword. It looked familiar but the paladin couldn’t focus on why that was right now. “I don’t know if I’ve told you before Ash, but I can sense the presence of the dead. The voices in the skeletons cry out to be freed but that sword, it’s screaming so much, I can barely hear you,” He swallowed. “I bet you can barely hear me.”

“Then, I’ll take them away,” Ash twirled the sword, letting its whistle meld with his, or its, words. “After every single necromancer in these woods are grinded into dust, we’ll move on to the Sandsea.”

Instinctively, Artix knew how to battle every kind of undead and spirit that came his way, even when it was wearing his friend.

Especially when it was wearing his friend.

Being so new at combat, Ash projected his next action clear for Artix to see. Combined with whatever the sword possessing him was doing, one step forward had become one bound that would have crossed twenty feet.

Artix jumped in front of him, clashing swords with Ash and turned that bound into a slide that drew a deep divot in the ground.

He had caught the silver sword under his own swing, meaning to keep it down so he could headbutt Ash into a quick nap. But, the boy pushed against the deadlock with enough strength to force Artix’s ankles against the mound of dirt they had created.

Shifting his footing to keep his balance, Artix had shifted his concentration for half a second and that let Ash spin on his heel. The silver sword escaped from the deadlock, swinging around to slash at Artix’s neck.

Arching his back, Artix felt the sword nick his chin, managing to bat it away with a diagonal slice of his own blade.

That was where all technicality ended.

Ash’s new style was aggressive, slashing and stabbing with no room to cover his openings. It left Artix to throw off the wild attack, unable to strike back with every chance he got potentially being fatal for his friend.

Sidestepping the gravestones, the paladin attempted to disarm Ash, aiming for the hilt and hoping he wouldn’t take off fingers. Normally, Ash could do that to himself easy but this time, it was like his fingers had melded to the steel.

Ignoring the bruising from Artix’s sword bunting his knuckles, Ash had jabbed the silver blade into the leg of a statue.  

“I knew it.” Ash panted, wrenching the sword out of the crumbling stone. Sweat was beading on the back of his neck, unused to moving this much in a fight.

To Artix’s confusion, Ash’s slumped shoulders and ragged breathing ceased. He stood to attention, tapping the silver blade on his palm again. The glint in the steel went from twinkling to thrumming with red energy.

“You’re not who I thought you were either.”

Before Artix could ask what in the world Ash was talking about, the hilt of the sword slammed into his chest. His chestplating crumpled like paper as he and Ash flew over the cemetery, creating a crater in the empty graves.

“But that’s fine,” Ash’s tone lowered to an almost easy going tone as Artix struggled to breath, pinned by the sword. Ash’s smile was deprived of the haunting malice forcing him to do this. “I know you mean well so why not stargaze for a while? I’ll take care of everything.”    

Then, Artix stopped pretending to choke.

He was relieved that there was enough of Ash in there to pull his punches too.

“Same here, buddy!” Artix grinned, closing his gauntlet over the blade.

Panicking, Ash tried to tear the sword out of his grip. Artix’s hand bled but he refused to budge.

“Sure hope the rest can’t hide like you can, but starting today, you won’t be one of them!” Artix grinned at the blade biting into his palm.

A brilliant light spread from Artix’s fingers, cascading over the cursed sword until it was obscured in the blinding gleam. It shone like the sun was rising in Doomwood for the first time in centuries.

“How come you don’t recognize me?” Ash asked.

The light went out, swallowed by the sword and the cemetery was darker than when it had first arrived. Artix gaped at the etchings on the short sword; one he’d handled months ago.

“Typical.” Ash clicked his tongue in a way that was so alien to his personality, it threw Artix for a frozen loop.

“That’s not his fault! A lot of swords come his way!” Ash argued with himself. “Alright then, if you say so.”

“Ash?” Artix coughed, far more alarmed at the one-man conversation than at the blue pool opening under his back.

At the lip of the crater, Zorbak and a couple of the cowering necromancers had gathered to send this problem to someone else.

“Definitely a problem, meh,” Zorbak scratched his ear with his staff. “A different blue mage should be able to take care of this.” His staff and the staves of the other necromancers shone.

“Good luck, Fartix!” A necromancer sent the pair off with a sneer. The graves opened and plunged Artix and Ash into a sea of trees.

Pushing off of Artix, Ash dove into the woods, expertly cutting and batting away the branches with skills that didn’t belong to him. The Paladin went after his possessed friend, following the path that had opened and slowing the fall as much as he could by dragging his blade over the bark of the nearest tree.

Landing, Artix rolled to prevent his kneecaps from shooting out of his legs. He managed to come to a stop on his back on a bed of mushrooms, surviving the fall with what was likely two sprained ankles. An honest miracle.

Standing above him, Nythera quietly hid the basket of reagents she wasn’t supposed to have behind her. Looking between Artix and Ash, who stepped into their clearing completely unharmed, Nythera’s lips twisted into an accusing pout.

“I’m not breaking curfew, you are.”  

[engl2030021]

Competition Among Consumers: Analysis of Michelob ULTRA Beer Advertisement “Robots”

Lydia Buttrick

Feb 16, 2019

Professor Mohrman

English 2030

         Each year, it is estimated that 114 million people are tuned in to watch the Super Bowl as it is widely known to be America’s most viewed television program. While much of the audience is comprised of football fans sport fanatics, a good part of the draw is the commercials, which have become a cultural phenomenon. Advertisements, such as Michelob Ultra Beer’s dubbed “Robots” re enforces a collectively conscious feeling of the inability to ever be fully content unless we “win” as competitors of one and other, feeling inadequate and incomplete until we are at the top. This, and many other commercials also emphasise physical appearance and push the audience to feel that they lack in some way.  

    The ads between plays are known as a signifier of our current societal trends, foreshadowing what the “next best thing is”, and a strong general platform for companies to send direct and indirect messages to a expansive audience. These indirect messages can almost always be linked to an attempt to make the viewer feel empty and incomplete, leading you towards wanting the particular product and the “lifestyle” that is sold with it. Knowing the hefty price tag attached to landing around thirty seconds of advertisement time on air (about 5.25 million), there is a sense of draw for people to see what “made the cut” on the big screen. The pressure for advertisers is to deliver an ad that packs as much heat as it can within the small time frame, so there is a certain expectation that these sought after commercial opportunities will both entertain and move the large percentage of American audience members watching.           As consumers are filled with advertisements, brand logos plastered in almost every part of our day to day life, and product placement, advertisements and commercials have taken on a role of being a medium in which we can push ideas, and create a sense of collective consciousness to maintain a certain level of order within our consumer culture. As we are biologically ingrained with the idea that “the present is lacking in some way”. The theory of Jacques Lacan states that “Desire and lack are a central motivating force in our lives. We all experience something missing from our lives that we seek, most often in the form of pursuing another person whom we desire. We try and fill this lack but it is never really satisfied, even when are basic needs are met.” Thus, modern advertisements seek to target that sense of lack and portray an idea that there will be some sense of comfort and completion by consuming a particular product. As a general theme of all Super Bowl advertisements, this is a general connotative message.     Advertisers use various methods to create a feeling of deficiency within a person. In order to make an impression on its viewer, marketers will try an exemplify a “perfect life” or a “perfect body” to try and sell their product as if it came with or produced the lifestyle they are trying to showcase in their commercial. They will identify common “weak spots” of vulnerability in a person, and imply that they are here to help by contributing the intended product they are selling. To showcase these methods of marketers to reach a level of one’s subconscious, I will analyze an advertisement that works to both play into the “lacking consumer” phenomenon, as well as display many elements we admire and strive to achieve, such as the idea of physical endurance and being fit, maintaining a perfect psychique, all while still keeping an active social life and being able to enjoy societal perceived “deviant” acts like consuming beer.     The commercial aired for the 2019 Super Bowl dubbed “Robots” advertising  Michelob ULTRA (View Ad Here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNfv9wsttKE) begins the scene with two physically fit looking individuals; a man and woman both dressed in a typical runners outfits, seen both running side by side together up a large hill.  The first impression is that these two runners are undertaking the challenging climb with ease, insinuating they are experienced runners. With this, brings the underlying message of importance and admiration in maintaining a thin physical appearance through working out. The shot quickly moves from a whole frame view, to a small frame in which we see only the feet of the runners. Out of nowhere, a robot quickly surpasses them with ease. We first see the robot’s feet scurrying past the two runners, and then we are given a full shot of the it; with bionic looking makeup, all metal, yet possessing a human like stature and features.  The two runners watch as the robot surpasses them, then turn and look at each other with similar grins displaying curiosity and disbelief.

    Connected to that is the message of maintaining physical activity is the message of competition. When both runners see the robot pass them, they are left looking rather disappointed. Because it is able to outdo them with its endurance, the denotative message to the viewer is the defeat within the humans. However, with creating the feeling of competition, advertisers are playing into the competitive nature of our consumer culture by creating the inner desire to always outdo one and other. A part of what pushes us to consume is the feeling that we can be “better” than someone else; what we consume is a reflection upon ourselves, and we are pushed with a feeling from overall advertisement culture that we will “win” the competition by buying said product. This can be one of the largest motivators in what drives people to constantly consume.     The next scene jumps to a golfing range, in which three golfers are positioned next to each other each hitting balls. All three individuals are dressed in standard golf gear- with gloves, athletic skirts on the woman, and proper belts and shoes, implying they are either professional or very good at the sport. Each person in this scene play into the same mold of psychically fit, thin, attractive, and of high psychical endurance and capability. All are hitting golf balls with ease, showing that they are skilled in their craft. Next what takes center frame is the same robot, who is shooting golf balls alongside each of the others. A golfer takes a hit and sends the ball far into the distance, but it doesn’t compare with the robot’s ability. The robot starts hitting balls at inconceivable speed outdoing every seemingly professional golfer there. The scene ends with an up close view on one of the male golfers reaction to the robot’s unbelievable ability, with an expression of both shock, confusion, and jealousy as he watches the swing of the robot send the ball into the air.

    This scene also shares the same message of competition within the humans and the robot. Initially, we as viewers admire the golfers, but our admiration goes away when we see the robot outdo their golfing abilities. Because of their emotional reaction obvious in their facial expressions, they are disappointed in the fact that they are not “the best”. If we lived in a culture where the robot could hit those balls farther than the professional golfers and they would not feel threatened or upset, it would mean we aren't competitive by nature. But, our inner drive is to be at the top, and if the robot is there, then there is a sense of envy towards it.     The next scene skips to a boxing gym, where the same robot takes a punch at the punching bag so hard, it leaves a dent. Another close up is shown of a sweaty woman, who looks like she had also been practicing her boxing on the punching bags, staring up at the robot in disbelief of its strength. Again, this physically fit and professional appearing boxer is outdone by the robot, and feels envious and frustrated.       Going along with the theme of athletics, the next scene takes place in a rather difficult looking spin class where all of the spinning students are riding the bike with exceptional ability. All are dressed in tight, sporting clothes. Every single spinning class attendee fits the general mold for physically attractive. Everyone is thin, fit, and has high endurance abilities. The robot is then shown spinning its legs so fast, the students in the class look up displaying that same look of disbelief.

    Here, the robot outdoes all physical abilities of seemingly talented and/or professional athletes, displaying not only how much value we hold in fitness, but how emotionally we are affected when we are not “the best”. The last and final scene before the commercial’s ending takes place in a bar, located in what looks to be the middle of a city. What is different about this last setting, is the lack of sports, movement, and athletic performance. Here, the robot walks down the street to eventually make its way to the window of the bar. He looks from outside in, staring at a group of people all smiling and conversing with glasses of beer in their hands. All eight people in the frame who are seen inside the bar are by typical standards physically thin, and enjoying the conversation with grins on their face. The robot looks in on the happenings at the bar, but displays a blank face of despair as he watches inside. Words on the screen appear and read “IT’S ONLY WORTH IT,” (skipping to the image of the happy bar goers as they sip their beer) “IF YOU CAN ENJOY IT.” We are then shown the robot again, as it looks down, shifts its shoulders in, and showcases a face of disappointment.

    In this last scene, the robot has gone from being “the best”, and outdoing all of its human counterparts, to feeling inadequate because it cannot partake or compete with something a human can do - which is drink beer. As viewers, we are left with a feeling of pride as we are “winning” in our ability to do something as wonderful as consume Michelob ULTRA, something in which this “winning” robot cannot.  

    The denotative message, or more obvious one in the advertisement is that as a human, you are given the gift of taste. While the robot can outdo one physically, it can’t experience such a joy as sipping tasty alcoholic beverages. Therefore, you must feel lucky to possess this ability, and it is an obligation to take advantage of it by enjoying something as good as Michelob ULTRA beer. The goal is to evoke a feeling as a consumer of superiority, thus contending to the idea that our ego’s are continuously lacking- and as marketers they are complimenting us in attempts to boost the ego. We are so special in our ability to taste, so why would be not exploit this “gift” as humans? Our subconscious is urged to utilize this ability and make use of it the way they are telling us to - by drinking Michelob ULTRA.     There is a much more complex connotative message possessed in this advertisement, however. The entire commercial is centered around the constant competition between humans and robots. As each scene goes on, there is always a losing party (up until the end, it is the humans), who are left disgruntled at the feeling of losing toward this robot. This sense of competition pushed on us in all aspects of society drives us to consume for the sake of feeling like we will “win” in some sense. This can be seen in the consumption of designer clothing, cars, electronics, and more. We as consumers buy into the idea that there is a certain lifestyle attached to what we are buying, and by purchasing something like a Michelob ULTRA Beer we are one step closer toward rising to the top in some way, which is showcased by the humans “winning” the competition to the robot when they are able to drink the Michelob ULTRA beer.

References:

Sturken, Marita, and Lisa Cartwright. Practices of Looking: An Introduction to Visual Culture. New York: Oxford University Press, 2018. Page 287

ULTRA, Michelob. "Robots | Michelob ULTRA Super Bowl 2019." YouTube. January 25, 2019. Accessed February 19, 2019. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nNfv9wsttKE.