Somewhere between your iPod and your neighbor’s TiVo lies advertising’s graveyard. Consumers fed up with Corporate America’s end-around attempt to deliver commercials over the Internet are fighting back with spam filters and pop-up blockers. Companies blessed with familiar brands (Nike, Mercedes) are thus left to crudely plaster their logos around like spray-can wielding taggers. A more sophisticated, if insidious, approach is the use of product placement. Because we tune out during intermission, companies have begun advertising within the narrative, like when Carrie Bradshaw fell in love with Manolo Blahnik or when Reese’s Pieces lured E.T. out of the woods. The first of its kind, the “E.T.” deal offered a new way of marketing; the film’s unprecedented success pushed sales of the Hershey’s candy up 64%. The scheme was originally pitched to Mars, Inc. (M&Ms), but management, crippled by the acumen customarily displayed by studio executives, saw no potential in a movie about an alien.

It looked, momentarily, like the folks over at Wendy’s turned the “placement” concept on its head when they garnished a bowl of chili with a human finger. Facing a lawsuit from customer Anna Ayala, the hamburger chain offered a $100,000 reward to the digit’s biological owner. Unfortunately for McDonald’s, the whole thing turned out to be a ruse and Ayala, no stranger to the spurious lawsuit, was arrested on charges of larceny. Still, even this bastion is under attack by a commercial-weary public. Movie Mask and ClearPlay, two software rivals, enable you to edit films without physically altering DVDs. Ostensibly designed to sensor sex and violence, these systems let you skip over any elements you deem problematic. Trying to keep your chubby youngster off junk food? Just zap out those salacious close-ups of Pepperidge Farm cookies or Lay’s potato chips lurking in “The Pacifier.”

Superior Court Judge Rodney Melville has had his fill, too. His honor will not let prosecution witness Kassim Abdool mention the “Vaseline incident” during the Michael Jackson trial. Disappointed prosecutor Tom Sneddon had filed a motion claiming that when Abdool returned to M.J.’s bedroom with a bucket of lube, the singer “appeared sweaty, aroused, and Abdool observed Jackson to have an erection under his pajama bottoms. There was a young boy, who he believed was Jordan Chandler [the 1993-94 accuser] in the bedroom with Mr. Jackson.” Melville remained unbowed though he did, after cautioning against identifying brands of bath products, allow another ex-Neverland employee to testify that Jackson blew the same boy in a shower stall. As for Abdool’s version of events, defense lawyers question the veracity of his excluded testimony, while others cynically theorize that the petroleum jelly producer was simply trying to get a leg up on the competition.

Whether they used Astroglide, K-Y Jelly or Big Jim’s Skid n’ Slide, the President and Crown Prince Abdullah did little to dispel rumors that, for generations, the Bushes have been in bed with the Saudis. When W. begged his Highness to lower oil prices, the hand was tipped as to who’s face would be in the pillow. No matter, Bush took it like a man and, unashamed in the aftermath of such diplomatic intimacy, held Abdullah’s hand in public.

Everyone, regardless of his or her particular sexual proclivity, is affected by the weather. No one, perhaps, more so than Sen. Rick Santorum (R-PA). The senator was paid nearly $4,000 by executives at AccuWeather to introduce legislation banning the National Weather Service from posting climatological information on the Internet. You know, stuff that has no place in the public domain like tornado and hurricane warnings. Don’t get me wrong, Santorum doesn’t want to abolish the NWS altogether; under his proposal the agency would still receive taxpayer funding but would be unable to publish any data or forecasts. That would leave those of us who are packing for a trip or dressing the kids for school to pay again, this time to commercial outfits like AccuWeather and the Weather Channel. What’s next for Senator Rick, taking contributions from FedEx and UPS as a quid pro quo for keeping the post office from delivering mail? I guess nothing is beyond the imagination for a man who brought a dead fetus home to his 6-, 4-, and 1-year-old so the children could “absorb and understand that they had a brother.” Would that Santorum’s offspring could absorb and understand that dad is one sick fuck, better suited to the Norristown State Mental Hospital than the U.S. Senate.