Praises have been heaped upon the Villar ads' virtue of "catchiness" and "recall." But the same argument can be said of Lito Camo songs. Of course, when something is played 10,000 times a day, only a corpse would fail to appreciate its "catchiness." In theory, I can record the soothing rhythms and melodies of my own fart, have it aired to death, and, voila, instant hit!   Likewise, I would be hailed as a hitmaker, a pop genius of the first order. Media observers will hyperventilate how I am so in tune with the pulse of the Filipino masses. And I'll be driving a freaking Hummer. It also doesn't hurt if the interpreter of my songs happens to have his own psychotically popular noontime show, on a TV network that has its own radio station. To paraphrase Goebbels: crap told often enough becomes, uh, just slightly less crap.

I call it the Wowowee-fication of Philippine politics. It's the tyranny not merely of the image, but the most crass, the tackiest, and the most desperate image possible, hoisted down to the basest sensibilities and the lowest common denominator. Dignity takes a backseat to recall. Noise and frippery over sobriety. Drama over discourse. Bullet points and infectiously dumb catchphrases over well-articulated platforms. These are basically the same elements used when selling corned beef and sanitary napkins. This corned beef is not tuna. This sanitary pad makes you feel like you're walking along a summer field in Southern France. It should have the ability to address the short attention span, create an illusion, and pummel your message even into the densest of crania, preferably with pom-poms and gyrating girls in bikinis. And speaking of advertising: according to a Nielsen study, Villar ranks 14th on the list of the top 20 biggest national advertisers from October to December 2009. Hey, big spendah.

Brace yourself. There will be more Villar ads. And there will be more ads about swimming in seas of garbage and spending Christmas in the middle of the street.   Expect the other candidates to try to pump up their ads with impolite dosages of the poor and the unwashed. There will be more ads about eating filth from garbage cans, about geriatrics dying from untreated tuberculosis and being crushed by 10-wheeler trucks while crossing a dark street to sell balut. There will be other similar soundbites of squalor and wretchedness, yes, but don't worry: these ads can wrap them up into neat, fun, tightly edited and vibrantly photographed 30-seconders. And you wouldn't be able to get them out of your head. Especially when the two leading contenders in the survey finally bring out the big guns: Willie Revillame and that woman whose name starts with the letter K.