Men are easy to convince, and this works out for everyone’s standard of living. Women like proof, and for this we all suffer.

I’m referring to commercial America. Take me, for example I’m a guy and I want a truck. People tell me I don’t need one— that I live in an urban area, that I never haul anything bigger than Chinese food— but they don’t get the point. I could care less about fuel efficiency, reliability, safety or resale value. It’s about being Ford Tough. You see, I’m a gun-ownin’, gay-hatin’ Skoal chewer, and I want a vehicle that reflects these values.

The market is in touch with guys like me and our quest for identity. Without bothering us with facts and figures, Ford commercials let us know that if we ever need to drive through a river at high speeds, we’d be best off in a fully-loaded F-150. It’s not like I ever plan to do so, but I’ve got a strong suspicion homosexuals never would (because they’re not brave enough). Sissies don’t go anywhere near boulders, which real men like to drive over. I thank the folks at Ford for marketing products which allow me to communicate, to myself and others, which side of the gender binary I’m on. That’s good commerce.

Oh, and on that truck I want a hemi. I haven’t got the slightest clue what one is, but it seems like every guy who knows how to put a woman in her place has one. Maybe it’s part of the gun rack; maybe it’s a depression in the driver’s seat for big balls. I don’t know. I don’t care what the hell it is, I’ll pay extra.

Image-enhancement is why I drink Smirnoff Ice, too. Beer may be fit for frat boys, and wine good for dinner parties, but I’m a sophisticated drunk. I like “Intelligent Nightlife” and when I go to a posh club I want the lady passers-by to know that I’m there to wax poetic about existentialism. Baby, baby, let’s discuss intertextuality and how it’s so postmodern. Let daddy tell about his favorite boulangerie in Avignon. Hell, even if it’s just guys night out, cracking open an ice-cold Smirnoff can make for a good conversation about the allegory of the caves and how it proves that gays are bad.

There are, however, some people who like “product information.” They’re weird people who sometime grow other humans in their bellies. They are most easily identifiable by their vaginas and about those vaginas they are very particular. It’s true— just watch commercials.

Anybody who has ever sold a maxi pad will tell you that you have to show the consumer a computer-generated image detailing exactly how the blood will be absorbed. And apparently the industry is making some spectacular technological advances. They’ve got three layers now: one is an absorption pad, one is for extra protection and the other is the patented Advanced Super-Absorption Plus. Oh, and somehow “wings” help out the situation. And I thought the toothbrush engineers really had it together.

But, speaking for men, here’s something I want to tell the marketing department at Always: We get the blue water; we know what it stands for. Go ahead, use red water. You not fooling us and you’re obviously not fooling yourselves.

There have been other attempts to push these women’s products, none of which should have gotten past the FCC. How about that lovely couple in the rowboat having a wonderful time at the lake? Then, oh no, trouble—there’s a leak in the boat. They’re gonna die. But not to worry, a heroic tampon comes along to fill the hole saving the two from drowning in a sea of metaphorical vagina blood.

And then there’s that one with the red dot, or period, floating merrily about the screen, pausing occasionally on the end of a sentence. I guess they thought taking abstraction to the linguistic level would fool all mankind (no, not the sexist “mankind,” the kind that means just guys). And is there anything particularly merry about menstruation? Why is the voice-over so goddamn ebullient? If I weren’t such a skeptic, I’d think I got screwed with this whole male deal.

Not that women should be so intent on hiding their biology from men, but there are plenty of ways to create brand loyalty that have nothing to do with bleeding. I’ve thought of some so the industry may take notice.

Patriotism. It’s used it to sell guns and news. Boast that you are “the tampon America trusts.” Have Toby Keith write a song about it. Make the packaging red, white and blue. Make the tampon red, white and blue. Better yet make the tampon just white and blue and let the consumer add the final patriotic touch. No? I think it’d play well in the South.

How about celebrity endorsements? That’s how they sell us our gym shoes and erection pills. I think they could land Julia-Louis Dreyfuss for a gig like that. She’s unemployed and seems fairly hygienic. And don’t you just love her, too. Hell, if she backs Tampax I’ll buy some for my canoe.

I’m not naïve enough to assume that this malpractice is entirely on the shoulders of females. Sure, women don’t necessarily run the companies or write the commercials, but they are the only customers. You got no customers, you got no business. Now, I’m certainly not calling for a boycott, but there are plenty of generic menstrual hygiene product manufacturers that don’t use the airwaves for promotion. Use only non-advertised goods and companies will be forced to change their marketing strategy. So would it be too hard, ladies, to avoid name brands next month? How ‘bout it? We’ll stop burping.