I know I promised a discussion of marketing and the death of quality, but instead I give you:
My family and a few friends and I were part of some detective team trying to hunt down some demon-worshippers. The demon-worshippers were basically annoying teen satanists, but unfortunately, like Saddam Hussein, they were working on weapons of mass destruction and were apparently plotting some type of Aum cult-type apocalyptic attack.
Sure enough, we caught up with them as they were in the last stages of figuring out the incantations and bizarreness that would fuse technology and magic and produce a nuclear disaster. Just as we were about to arrest them, one of them yelled “I’ve got it! The last element has to be the opposite of fresh air!” This turned out to be Guinness! And they all opened bottles of Guinness which immediately sprayed deadly radioactive goop all over everyone.
Thus we were all doomed, and apparently this also somehow produced a giant radioactive cloud of fuck you that would soon kill lots of people.
However, two days later there was nothing in the paper about it. We decided that we were just supposed to die on our own and keep the other stuff a secret from everyone, which was disappointing but we all agreed that it was just sort of typical of this kind of government work. I rode my bike home.