So, last night while watching television I saw one of those Lunesta commercials that seem to be played every 10 minutes or so lately. You know, the ones for sleeping pills, where we see images of all these folks, laying in bed, eyes open but otherwise not terribly agitated. And then this enormous, green, glowing moth comes sailing into their bedrooms, alights on the shoulder or head, and they immediately fall asleep.
Umm. Creepy. Sometimes, you've got to wonder whether ad executives really think these things through.
I mean, let's take this ad campaign and its imagery on its own terms -- i.e., they're not selling pills, they're selling soft-focus soothing visits from some sort of enormous insect -- and consider this from a Darwinian perspective: Any gigantic moth that has, through the evolutionary process, developed the ability to plunge an adult human being into a deep slumber surely has done so to advance its ability to survive. I mean, in purely physical terms, clearly these moths would have some sort of nasty proboscis that they plunge into the target, and with which they inject some sort of powerful hypnotic venom that immediately renders the recipient comatose.
But why? What purpose does this incredible narcotic cocktail serve?
Well, if I've sussed out anything about the insect view of the world, it's that they don't seem to have much of an altruistic streak, nor any particular sense of interspecies generosity. Giant green moths are not flitting about, helping people to fall asleep, for the fun of it.
So given these points, consider what must necessarily happen in the scenes that immediately follow those placid little slumber fantasies: Egg implantation, or feeding. Perhaps both.
Now if that doesn't keep you up nights, I don't know what will.
Now Playing: Fiona Apple, "Extraordinary Machine"