I found the post attached down yonger at the end of my blather and it inspired me to hate on some commercials that bug me. Fair warning: there’s some content down there that is a little indelicate. Just saying.
The throwing cat litter around the neighborhood like folks are stacking up sandbags against rising floodwater gets me–one of these days I’m going to load up the Chuckwagon and head up to Pennsylvania Station in New York City to track down some ad people and lie in wait with a pallet of 80# bags of bargain priced SuperClay Crap-Away Cat Gravel and just hurl ’em at the sumbitches as they step off the train from Jersey. Catch that, Motherfletcher!
What really gets me is the one with the bears wiping their hairy bear asses with Pillowy Soft Toilet Velvet Paper–er, I mean “bathroom tissue”–first of all, those velvet TP rolls have like 200 sheets, what the frak is that about? Don’t people on TV eat TexMex food? A roll of Scott Extra-Scratchy gives you a thousand little squares–a measurement that has about as much relevance as the FDA serving sizes on the side of potato chips bags (1 serving = approximately 13 chips. HA!. Normal people have already polished off a fistful of the latest Lay’s Hybrid Abomination Flavor (did you see fried chicken and waffles with maple syrup flavor? I absolutely shit you not–they make that). But I digress. Who counts out TP one measly gauzy square at a time? Nuns and Priests, maybe–the ones who wear hair shirts and flog themselves in movies, maybe?) But I digress–we were talking about Charmin Toilet Paper, the selling point is not its cushiony wonderfulness, but the fact that it holds together and doesn’t leave dingleberries on the bears’ hairy asses. Who comes up with that marketing strategy? “Buy our toilet paper, it won’t leave little dried poop-paper balls on your crack hair?” Rush Limbaugh is right–all of us but him are on the Hell Express (like Eddie Murphy said, back when I was a kid and he was funny “…I’m going to hell, I’m not waiting in line with nobody. I’m taking the hell express.”).
I have to admit this: using a “bear” to pimp anti-dingleberry paper is almost clever. (They’re homonyms, get it?) It took me a while, but I got it.
What’s next? Marketing TP to college students to put on their nightstands for all that late night (or early morning, or mid-afternoon, or late morning while skipping your Psych 101 lecture) drunken onanism–our “bathroom tissue is so soft, it it won’t end up tangled in your belly button piercing or stuck to your junk.”
And don’t get me started on TV parents who feed their kids “frozen entrees.” Come on, people–drop the pretense and just drive your kids through the Long John Silvers drive-up window and feed ’em two fat-encrusted fish logs, a heap of lard-sodden fries, and a bucket of “crumbs” plus two hushpuppies.
Sassy and I were watchin television last night, when a commercial came along to entertain us more than the show. I can’t even remember what show we were watchin, but I’ll never forget the commercial.
In the commercial, a school-aged child is blowing through his straw, making bubbles in his chocolate milk, while the baby sits next to him, sayin, “Again! Again!” The big brother blows more bubbles into his chocolate milk, and the chocolate milk bubbles right over the edges of the cup and onto the table, and down the side of the table, and the mother, she just smiles and unrolls some paper towels.
IN WHAT FUCKIN WORLD DO THESE COMMERCIAL PEOPLE LIVE?!?
I immediately broke into laughter, and I looked at Sassy, whose eyes had grown big, and her mouth had formed a small circle of disbelief.
“Oh, right! Cause moms do that!” she said.
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