Unremitting exposure to this kind of thing produced mediatron burnout 
among the target audience. Instead of turning them off and giving people a 
break for once, the proprietors had joined in an arms race of sorts, trying to
find the magic image that would make people ignore all the other adverts and 
fix raptly on theirs. The obvious step of making their mediatrons bigger than 
the others had been taken about as far as it could go. Quite some time ago the 
content issue had been settled: tits, tires, and explosions were the only
things that seemed to draw the notice of their supremely jaded focus groups,
though from time to time they would play the juxtaposition card and throw in 
something incongruous, like a nature scene or a man in a black turtleneck 
reading poetry. Once all the mediatrons were a hundred feet high and filled 
with tits, the only competitive strategy that hadn't already been pushed to the 
redline was technical tricks: painfully bright flashes, jump-cuts, and 
simulated 3-D phantoms that made bluff charges toward specific viewers who 
didn't seem to be paying enough attention.