Dear Local Car Dealer

Recently, while sitting at the breakfast table awaiting my morning traffic and weather, I once again was assaulted with the thirty seconds of brain-rattling claptrap you deem advertising. I listened. I watched. I have a small suggestion.

Maybe don’t do your own ads anymore.

While I realize that people (yourself included) get a real kick out of seeing your face on TV, and you do “call the shots around there,” your transparent thirst for regional quasi-celebrity is neither doing you, nor your dealership, any favors.

First, your general appearance is not in any way conducive to the television medium. Your dialect is coarse, your movement is clumsy, and your delivery is awkward and ill-paced. Let me also take this opportunity to inform you that I tend to keep my television audio at a reasonable level, so you needn’t shout at me as though I were trackside at a NASCAR race. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your very important message regarding 0% financing on all remaining ’09 models, I do. I would just appreciate it much more without being startled into a Cheerio-splattering recoil.

Second, though I’m certain I will one day be watching your child’s Daytime Emmy acceptance speech, your offspring should probably pass a few more classes at the Julliard School before hawking any more closeout minivans. Also, I’m pretty sure FDR passed laws against stuff like this back in the ‘30s.

Third, consider a minor investment in production quality. Yes, your animated “SALE” burst flying onscreen is very attention getting. No doubt the green wash of your dealership’s fluorescent lighting is true to life. However, allow me to make one suggestion — and I may be out of line with this: Think about hiring a director. Directors are all the rage. Seriously. They have these things called “crews,” “professional equipment” and “expertise,” that “make things not suck.”

But then again, maybe I should be careful about what I wish (or request). There is an ever so-small part of me that loves your crappy commercials. They add flavor to my life and represent the advertising equivalent of a crazy uncle. You never know what ol’ Uncle Jack is going to say, but you’re pretty sure it will be amusing, abrasive, and someone will likely walk out of the room offended. Were it not for your 30-second, jalopy-hustling symphonies, my office conversations might be roughly 70 percent less interesting, and I should thank you for that.

So, local car dealer, change or don’t change … your call. I now realize your significance in my life. And while your 15-minutes of fame could improve, the campy clutter you spit out only makes my commercials look better.