Mr. Frank,

The Marlboro Man is Satan. Politix is just bad. But obvious critique would harbor notions of strident journalists launching ridicule at the very same people who support their fat-induced subversiveness. There they sit, innocently in Section Three, trying to sell a dying (literally) market. Meanwhile, back in Section One, you relentlessly tug at the limp cord of their life support [“Selling Power,” November 17]. Foul.

Look, everyone knows cigarette companies’ guerrilla marketing exists to feed advertising whores. Let this topic die like the people buying into the ads. Any new insight you could’ve possibly come up with is as obsolete as your obtuse segue into Nike. Let’s just say you could’ve researched a little more. The thinking that goes on up in the Portland warehouse that is Nike’s ad agency is frighteningly superior to most of the advertising world’s banality.

And why so readily talk down to your readers as if we are the gullible pig heads believing we should Just Do It and so forth? Write about the texture of Formica or O.J. or perhaps evaluate the ways Emmanuel Lewis has jump-started his career or something as equally more important.

Advertising has become entertainment. It’s either good or bad. And like your unashamedly lifeless column, there’s no sign of it going away anytime soon. You’re angry. You’re upset. You need Excedrin.

Edward Hillary