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Beer, It's Not What You Think …

Imagine that you are sitting on your front porch on a sunny summer afternoon and you ask for a nice cold beer. Then out of the blue your friend rifles a nice big keg of beer at you, which in turn knocks you backward off of the porch. Here's another image to contemplate. A man tries to force a refrigerator door shut. When he finally thinks he has it shut, the door busts off the hinges and a beer keg rolls out. These two ads for Heineken beer in the new keg cans. These ads end with the catchy phrase the keg can can go where regular kegs cannot.
When youfirst see an ad like this many questions come to mind :first, where are they going with a campaign like this; second, why would Heineken make cans in a shape of a keg, and why would an ad like this entice me to drink Heineken? To most people this add stirs the mind to wonder why Heineken would make keg cans and these amusing commercials to promote them. The commercials carry the humor for the pure fact to catch the attention of the viewer and make them wonder, "What if a beer out of a keg can tastes like beer out of a keg?"
This is one of the fifteen appeals of advertising, the need to satisfy curiosity. Since this is a new type of container for beer its is an unknown commodity to the viewer. Heineken is also an imported beer which is not consumed by most average Americans, which also adds to the curiosity of the ad.
Another of these appeals which the ad goes to is the need for prominence. Since Heineken is an expensive imported beer. The manufacturers of Heineken most likely think an ad which shows people drinking or around Heineken shows that they hold a higher social stature. Companies make you think if you spend the money you will have the fame and fun. Also these commercials have another of the appeals. The need for affiliation. Now this may not jump out in the ad. It just seems as if it is an idea used by the company v…

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Yes, he knows me. Sitting in chair. Calm,detached voice.
It’s a special kind of medicine.I have to take it because there is no other that can stop the pain-all the pain-I mean, in my hands. Raise hands look at them melancholy (sadly).
Poor hands!You’d never believe it, but they were once one my good points, along with my hair and eyes, and I had a fine figure, too.Speaking dreamily
They were musician’s hands.I used to love the piano.I worked hard at my music in the Convent-if you can call it work when you do something you love.Mother Elizabeth and my music teacher both siad I had more talent than any student they remembered.My father paid for special lessons.He spoiled me.He would do anything I asked. He would have sent me to Europe to study after I graduated fromthe Convent.I might have gone-if I hadn’t fallen in love with Mr. Tyrone.Or I might have become a nun.I had two dreams.To be a nun, that was the more beautiful one.To become a concert pianist, that was the other.Pause, look at hands.
I haven’t touched a piano in so many years.I couldn’t play with such crippled fingers, even if I wanted to.For a time after my marriage I tried to keep up my music. But it was hopeless.One-night stands, cheap hotels, dirty trains, leaving children, never having a home. Stare at hands with fascinated disgust.
See, Cathleen, how ugly they are!So maimed and crippled!You would think they’d been through some horrible accident!Give strange laugh.
So they have, come to think of it.Suddenly thrust hands behind me.
I won’t look at them.They’re worse than the foghorn for reminding me-
But even they can’t touch me now.Very confidentaly. Bring hands from behind back stare at them calmy.
They’re far away.I see them, but the pain has gone.
It kills the pain.You go back until at least you are beyond its reach.Only the past when you were happy is real.Drea…