That’s the penalty any business would incur for sending this sort of thing through the mail, were I anointed Supreme Dictator For Life.

So I pull our mail out of the box this afternoon and amongst the unrequested catalogs, digital TV offers and announcements for huge sales on all my favorite brands of recreational vehicle is a small, nondescript envelope from Geico. Now, we don’t currently do business with Geico. In fact, we are highly unlikely to ever do business with Geico, mostly because of my previous encounter with their truly annoying advertising practices, but also because, if we really wanted to make a stink about it, I’m sure we could get our current insurance provider to give us a rate comparable to Geico’s. Nobody in this business actually has a serious hand up on anyone else: they all charge you what they think they can get you to pay. If you have a good driving record and you’re seriously clenched about saving a few bucks, you can get just about any company to lower their rate to you by playing one provider off another. I just don’t have the patience or initiative to do so.

Anyhoopty, so this envelope from Geico has a disturbing legend emblazoned on the back:

Now at this point I know, I mean I really truly with all my heart, lungs and other viscera know, that this letter is yet another bullshit advertisement. Much in the same way that water is wet, french fries are tasty and the Reverend Falwell secretly dreams of fellating Fabio, it just is. No doubt about it. Whatsoever.

But now the bastards have my curiosity. What kind pathetic, flaccid attempt to capture my attention—and my business—will the document contain? Will it refer to the dire warning printed on the envelope, ala, “You could be throwing money away every month if you throw away this letter!” Is the advertisement contained within also designed to resemble an official customer communique? By ripping open the envelope, do I sign away my right to not have these turkeys interrupt my dinner with phone solicitations, as apparently was the case with the “complimentary” issues of National Geographic Magazine that arrived unbidden at our door, followed by a phone call asking if we’d like to sign up for twelve, twenty-four or thirty-six more? (And boy howdy, did that piss me off. What an obvious attempt to sandbag the rules of the National Do Not Call Registry. “But we do have a prior relationship with the customer: we sent him free shit he didn’t ask for!” I’m starting to think we need a three-tiered registry: National Do Not Call, National Go Fuck Yourself, and National The Next Thing You’re Getting From Me Is A Letter Bomb.)

So my curiosity got the better of me:

Nothin’ but ads. Of course.

This strikes me as more than merely asinine; it borders on deceptive advertising. Hell, it practically borders on intimidation. How am I supposed to know what dire consequences discarding the document unopened might bring? Maybe they’ll send Rocko and Icepick over to my house to rough me up. Maybe the letter is designed to burst into flame a presecribed period of time after the recipient fails to open it, setting fire to my recycling bin and then my house. Maybe that damned lizard they use in their commercials is really a Komodo Dragon, ten feet long and capable of running at speeds up to 13 miles per hour, lusting for the gamy tang of terrified human flesh.

Were it up to me, I’d force companies that participate in unsolicited advertising via the mail in the exact opposite direction, requiring them to put big labels on the outside of their mail that say things like “WARNING: ABSOLUTELY NOTHING OF CONSEQUENCE INSIDE”, or maybe “INFORMATION YOU DID NOT ACTUALLY ASK FOR CONTAINED HEREIN”. If their product/service is so freaking awesome, why do they feel they must disguise their advertisements as something else?