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Commentary

Commercials: Maybe Part One

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.

kitty litterThe 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!

ad5What 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 charmintoiletpaperimage1(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.

(While looking for an image to steal I found this kindred spirit.  The miracle whip stuff is hilarious.)

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.

joeyfullystated

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.

I love…

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Categories
Commentary Funny and/or Strange

Pet Peeves 1–Minor Rants in a Minor Key

Minor Rants In A Minor Key…a new, occasional feature on Old Road Apples, wherin the author bleeds his spleen onto the screen to therapeutic (for him) and, hopefully, entertaining (for you) effect.  This column will appear sporadically, when you least expect it, like a hummingbird in your garden, or like shingles, a leak in the roof, or the lab tech your probation officer sends over to take a urine sample.

1. Here’s something that drives me nuts: when I click on a “news” link and what I find isn’t an article, but a video. I don’t want to watch a video. I want to read. Do they think I can’t read? Should I be insulted? Or do they put these videos where the articles should be just so they can force me to watch a commercial for some insurance product or pharmaceutical item I neither want nor need, for EACH video segment. At least on broadcast television they’re limited to 8 minutes of commercials for every half hour of content. On the internet its more like 1:1.

552566043_3339b39c4f_m2. Testicles on pickup trucks.  I’ll admit, the first time I saw this, I enjoyed a good laugh, but….no.  Just, no.

3. Blogs in which the author–usually a very modest talent–writes, at great length, a warning about copyright infringement–citing fine amounts and repercussions, with a surety that bands of collaborators are scheming, even as we speak, to plunder and steal form his or her work…but which blog, upon further examination, is crowded with literally hundreds of uncredited, unattributed photos and illustrations.

7601895070_0e332baebd_m4. People who call people with red hair “gingers.”  This makes no sense.  I’m a gardener and I like to cook, and know for a fact that ginger isn’t “red” or orange orcopper or auburn or whatever.  Trust me.ginger-health-benefits-uses

 

 

 

 

5.  People who say “tis” and “twas,” and who use the word “shall” gratuitously.

Categories
Photo I Like

Random Photo Found via Google Search 7

Random photos from the internet to you, via me.

3642527_f3bba43a91_o

About these posts and the photos in ’em: http://wp.me/p3AOvB-FN

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Uncategorized

HIPSTER GOD–Beards are Best

I’ve been enjoying the current prominence of hipsters–I say prominence in respect to the temptation to write “fad” or “trend” because, unlike a lot Hipster%20beard.jpegof trends, hipsters are not so broadly defined, and much like polygamists and Seattle Seahawks fans they’re always out there, we’re just not used to seeing them in full plumage.  I like hipsters because the most fashionable of them wear great hats and the absolute best vintage suits–but mostly I like them for the beards.  And, of course, I’m a HIPSTER GOD because I’ve been rocking the whole fuzzy beard thing since, oh, 1986.  I’m enjoying the company

photoGrizzlyAdams
Grizzly Adams had a beard. And a Grizzly.

I’m not bragging.  It’s been lonely.  For nearly three decades I’ve lived beneath the tyranny of the baby-faced, listening to peach-faced corporate functionaries drone on about “looking professional” and hearing the sad, fetishisticly fastidious pontificate the virtues of being “clean cut” as if that sort of shorn cleanliness has anything to do with manliness–or if it’s any measure of cleanliness at all.  It’s certainly not next to godliness.  God had a beard.  I’ve seen pictures.

228740-20111004-140514-640x360
The Guy On A Buffalo has a beard, too. Can’t ride a buffalo without one. It’s a rule.

And here’s the thing: simpering suburban worker bees fear the beard, clinging to the notion that “good grooming” is in some way actually “good,” quietly judging–and only the most tremblingly weak may judge, but we judge too.  When I look into the eyes of a clean shaven man I assume, until proven differently, that man is not capable of summoning the testosterone necessary to build a better beard.  It’s unfair, but I’ve been ask too many times “what are you hiding.”  (Answer: my snide sneer.)

brad-pitt-beardBlessedly and quite suddenly, beards are in.  Bigtime.  Famous actors like Brad Pitt are rocking beards, and professional athletes like Brett Kiesel as well.

Brett Keisel
Click to enlarge–this is a GREAT picture of a great guy.

 

Of course, bad-ass rugby guys have been pulling full-bore facial fur for a long time now and nothing says testosterone like a sweaty, mud-covered rugby player.

Jason-Eaton article-2056335-0E1AC8DF00000578-143_468x662Josh-Strauss

The list goes on and on.  Bearded men are superior.  Check out these guys, these bearded bad-ass Pakistani heroes saving the day:

p17_24563813When men shave, they do so in shameful obeisance of an inner force that sings, day and night, of their inadequacy.  Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman didn’t bother with razors.  Didn’t need to.

hagridHagrid had a beard.  So did GI Joe, Barbarossa, Leonidas, Robin Hood, The Allman Brothers, and all those Old Testament Dudes.  Even Jesus had a beard.  Jesus and Santa and Mr. Edwards on Little House on the Prairie.  Mr Edwards was the only redeeming quality of that steaming pile–him and Nellie Oleson, that bitch.

Paul-Bunyan-Babe-13or6ndYou want to know who had a beard, you really want me to say it? Paul Bunyan.  Paul Bunyan had an awesome beard–not to mention a blue ox.

You know who didn’t have a beard?

Peter Pan.  Think about that the next time you’re looking in the mirror. Peter Freaking Pan.peter

So, you know what, I’ll thrilled as apple pie that so many guys are sliding out from beneath the yoke of middle American homogeneity and daring to live like nature intended.  I’m happy to fit in, even if it means sacrificing a little bit of my uniqueness.  It’s not so bad, fitting in, when it’s society bending to match me, and I enjoy the company.  The brotherhood of beards–we don’t even need a secret handshake.  It’s like the turtleneck sweaters I love in the winter–when they come back around, style-wise, I’ll enjoy them while they last, store a few in the attic for the future, and look–for just a few, fleeting moments–like I actually give a shit what someone else (except my wife) thinks.

Of Interest:

http://sabotagetimes.com/life/an-open-letter-to-bearded-hipsters-stop-ruining-my-beard-fetish/

http://nypost.com/2014/02/25/hipster-wannabes-forking-over-thousands-for-facial-hair-transplants/

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Uncategorized

The President Needs a Make-Over

While I was devoting considerable energies into not nodding off during the State of The Union Address last night, Mrs. Junk remarked on how odd it was to see President Obama’s suddenly graying hair.  As a guy who has seen Obama Grayhis own hair take a sudden flight towards white–I’ll be in Santa country by the time I’m 55–I have to say he carries it well.  He’s a handsome guy, after all, and he’s got a lot on his mind.  Not only that, he’s certainly in good company. Until my own hair changed from brown to salt & pepper to–uh–just plain salty (like my personality, I guess), I have to admit that I suspected s conspiracy of Presidents.  As candidates, it goes to figure, Clinton Graypotential leaders want to appear youthful, energetic, virile, powerful and vigorous; so it goes without saying that coloring one’s hair is a simple part of a campaign not unlike wearing good suits and attractive ties.  Once in office, however, the cultivated image of choice shifts to one of wisdom, maturity, and leadership–candidates are cast as agents of change, but Presidents are leaders.  The are diplomats who set the tone for george-w-bush-58e91e6f1fa9866bnational discourse and international relations.  Even the simplest of men, those who bore leadership as if it was no greater burden than a sack of children’s toys, have aged under the weight of responsibility and the pressure of constant scrutiny.  Was I wrong to suspect that Presidents in office intentionally let their hair go gray?  That some possibly even hasten the process via artificial means?  I suspect I’m on to something–but I also think that these guys are missing the boat.  Ronald Reagan, that canny old player, appeared to RonaldReaganmoisten his hair with waxy black shoe polish right up to his last days in office, even as he muttered “I do not recall” to inquiry after inquiry into the despicable conduct that took place on his watch–and people loved him for it.  Why did folks love Reagan?  Not because he denied any problems America faced with the same fervor he denied knowledge of the FonzIran-Contra Arms For Hostages deals, and not because he reminded many of us of our doddering old grandfathers.  Reagan was beloved because he had the same hair as The Fonz.  When Reagan was elected, who was the reigning cultural icon?  It Arthur “Fonzi” Fonzarelli.  When Reagan won reelection in 1984, American was sadly saying goodbye to that same shark-jumping icon when a wave of nostalgia carried the incumbent back for another four-year term.  Coincidence?  I don’t think so.

So, clearly what President Obama needs is a celebrity make-over, and the perfect celebrity has never been more clear–we need someone who is highly intelligent and articulate, someone who works as hard as Obama, and we need someone cool–if the truth is to be told, Obama needs a little help here: he’s a bit of a policy geek, and those cigarettes don’t make him seem any cooler, despite what years of Marlboro ads have said to the contrary. He gets points for playing basketball, but not enough to compensate for his wonkishness.  On the subject of his rumored, rabid fanaticism for Star Trek I plead the fifth amendment and the right to not risk self-incrimination.

I’ve found a guy who is smart, articulate, wildly talented, supremely hard-working, and unquestionably cool.  His name is ?uestLove and President Obama should assume his style immediately. questlove

Screen_shot_2010-11-15_at_9.08.26_PM
“Hey, Questlove–I need an update–who’s your stylist?”

Not only would it be a serious upgrade in terms of both style and cool, but there would be added tactical advantages in dealing with the primarily southern, lilly-white conservative seed at the heart of Republican stubbornness, for example–that tall and proud hair is going to scare the bejesus out the closet crackers who let their backwardsassed racism foul progress.  On the international circuit, do we really think a bully like Vladamir “Mad Vlad” Putin is going to give a giant like Questlove–easily 7 feet tall with the hair factored in–and backtalk whatsoever?  I don’t think so–and Obama is another tall guy, so all he needs to do it thicken up, add 150 pounds, and voila….

If I was any good at computer graphics, I’d mock up a cut and paste job of Questlove’s hair on Obama, but I’m afraid we’re just going to have to wait for the inevitable since, now that I’ve loosed this cat from it’s sack, there’s no way this isn’t going to happen.  In the mean time, please enjoy the video link.