Mindless Occupations - Volume 1. No. 1....... Marketing

The almost edible I Like The View - may I recommend her entertaining web log for some musical and often existential escapism - chose to enlighten me with details of this simply marvellous contraption and I would like to share it with you.

It may, at first, appear like the poorest of schoolboy humour to titter behind ones hand at such an invention when bladder weakness is an all too common complaint in late middle age and pregnancy tends to render all valves "down there" untrustworthy.
No, it is neither the contraption itself nor its purpose which I find amusing - it is thoughts of that meeting of marketing executives at which the name of the product was decided - consider their brief.

Bearing in mind the ultimate goal of these morons is supposedly to maximise sales, what in God's name made them think that women would be enticed by the thought that one day they could be in Boots and when they finally got to the front of the queue for the till and handed over this product the burk behind it could stand up and yell across the store: "Madge! Madge!!! How much are the Shewees??!! This lady here wants one. Yes, the lady in the brown coat and the scarf. Yes her. Yes, the one running towards the door now"?
God knows what names they dismissed on the grounds of taste and decency before coming up with this gem? "The Misspiss"? "The Caughtshortport"? Why didn't they go the whole hog and call it "The 'So You Wet Yourself In Public, Do You?' 9000 ZXL"?

I have come into increasingly close contact of late with marketing types in my new and expanded profession and the "Let's run this baby up the flagpole and see who salutes it?" approach to decision making never fails to loosen my sphincter.
So, after mulling over the "discipline" which also brought us "Let's put it on the 4.30pm to Westchester and see where it gets off?" and "If we put it out on the backstep, do you think the cat will lick it up?", let's all send marketing and marketeers to Grantham, shall we?

P.S. Do you notice that "they", like their advertising counterparts, are almost all called or call themselves "executives"? "They", and the equally moronic people who appoint them, think the title makes them sound important and professional and that will be enough (and it is) to take their minds off their sad, pathetic, meaningless existences which they spend buying hair gel and cheap cologne and flogging stuff in one way or another while wearing sunglasses and driving endlessly round ring-roads in Ford Escorts in which their nasty, cheap, shiny suit jackets are hung up on those little hooks behind the drivers' seats. In fact, an executive is, ostensibly, just somone who carries out orders. The Waffen SS was very keen on executives.