I like it when inanimate objects speak to me. And not in that cheap, “ate-some-magic-brownies-” or “hit-the-bottle-a-bit-too-much-” kind of way. No, I prefer my anthropomorphism tangible and intentional. From the maniacal Tickle-Me-Elmo to the evil little Furby, I like the lull of a disembodied, semi-robotic voice.

However, while haphazardly flipping through a copy of Rolling Stone a few weeks ago, a voice spoke to me. As two bright lights shone in my face, a higher power gave me my mission in strange tongues, which sounds, to an untrained ear, like the squealing wheels and crash of a car.

I screamed.

Okay, maybe most are not as wimpy as me, but as a society, we have come to expect certain qualities of our print ads: visually eye-catching, the occasional free sample, a sniff of the latest designer fragrance. But the WB’s adding of a vaguely supernatural voice to promote its newest teeny-bopper thriller-lite, “Supernatural?” A girl’s got to draw the line somewhere.

I’ll admit, after recovering from my belief that my Harvard-addled mind had finally cracked, I was impressed. To paraphrase Ron Burgundy, “You created a talking ad with light up-headlights? How’d you do that? Actually I’m not even mad. That’s amazing.” But the inherent creepiness was a little too “Minority Report” for me. First, the ad is talking to me, then it is stalking me, then the robots take over the world, etc., etc.

Through my addiction to perusing the entertainment blogosphere, I soon learned that “My Name is Earl” star Jason Lee was also sneaking into homes, ready to make pronouncements from under a glossy page. NBC, so worried that the whole network will shrivel up and die, took it one disturbing step further by adding television monitors featuring clips of the show to the shirts of some officially titled “Adwalker-brand ambassadors” (read: pretty women) in Santa Monica at an outside mini-premiere of “Earl”—ensuring that the “this show will follow you EVERYWHERE” vibe was maintained.

Sadly, I cannot say that these strategies crashed and burned. Innovative advertising often pays off. Both shows premiered remarkably well, “Earl” winning its timeslot and “Supernatural” finishing first among the WB’s key 12-34 demographic. Yet does this brief success on the battlefield condone the killing of our soul?

Okay, so I might be exaggerating a tad. Most certainly someone who was zombified on a healthy diet of Saturday-morning infomercials, not cartoons, isn’t ready to condemn innovative and interesting advertising. It’s not the consumerism I object to; it’s the inherent unnatural quality of the aggressive campaign.

Plus, somehow I’ve managed to absorb the concept of weighing the cost/benefit of such a situation, even if I routinely ward off economics and other math-like endeavors with my garlic pendant. And did I mention that the “Supernatural” marketing team had actual gifts for passersby in certain locations? That is, if your very liberal definition of a gift includes those trendy, “love-a-cause,” wristbands.

WB shows, now that’s a charity to get behind. Middle-aged men, old women, young children, all supporting a show they almost surely did not watch. I may have worn my band proudly for a few hours because I’m a sucker for things that are free and glow-in-the-dark, but I wasn’t marking my calendar to save a place Tuesdays at 9.

The Supernatural campaign is ridiculous and most likely unnecessary. It is a truth universally acknowledged that WB shows are for teenage—with a margin of error +/- 10 years—girls. Some ridiculous shows survive on the WB, simply because if you make it, and make it with a couple of cute boys, they will watch. Kevin Costner’s career is rolling in its grave, but it’s true.

For the men at the movies taking a free band or the vast majority of Rolling Stone magazine-readers, no amount of trendy is going to make them view it. A “Gilmore Girls” lead-in combined with general girly curiosity gave “Supernatural” those numbers, not Grandma or Dad or Billy-Bob.

Even for a show like “Earl,” in which the chances of reaping the rewards are much higher, it would seem that for every person intrigued, another was turned-off by the full-scale attack. Traditional television ads go much farther in previewing the entertainment possibility of a new comedy and actually tempting me to watch. Guerilla campaigns are more successful in producing a thick scent of desperation.

For a culture junkie, each forward step for promotion brings almost more fascination than trepidation. But I’ve got enough things talking to me (not to mention the actual people I’m supposed to be interacting with). The magazines—and t-shirts, and unnecessary waste of rubber (and voice in my head telling me to burn things?), and whatever doohickey they come up with next—can shut up.

—Staff writer Margaret M. Rossman can be reached at rossman@fas.harvard.edu.