Last night I had a crazy snippet of a dream that was in the format of an ad for a new bank checking program. In this "commercial," the room was all black except for a spotlight on the main character who was a middle-aged woman opening up her bank checking statement. Once she opened it, the document spoke in a friendly, but pleading voice, "Please deposit money in me now," and gave a very sad face.
Words appeared that read -- Checking Personified.
Then a deep commercially man's voice overlaid the scene saying, "Some banks offer personalized checking, we offer personified checking."
And then I woke up, giggling.
I don't know where this dream came from. . . I worry about what my brain is up to when I am not watching it.
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A man in the back yard passes a football through a tire, a symbol of his newfound medically created virility, while Lee Iacoca smiles down upon him from the upstairs window, a crew of Keebler elves working on the clay model of the new cracker shaped Chrysler luxury model sing merrily behind him, as downstairs in the living room, the old lady from the Bounty commercials (the quicker picker upper) looks seriously into the camera:
"Could you reveal a little more, dear?"
I love your commercial montage. (Would you call that a montage?)
I wish they had spell check for comments. Random, yes, but one can wish.
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