tellhimfred.com

Hey folks. JH back in the house.  Sorry for my long, unexcused absence, loyal reader, but I did have a couple of reasons for laying off…the broken ankle which developed blood clots which became pulmonary emboli chief among them.  But I’m back, and I have a few things on my mind these days.

Some of the most interesting things I’ve seen on TV (and with recent events I have been watching a lot of TV) have come from commercials. Think of it: there are whole companies full of people who craft 30 to 60 second morality plays, designed to get us to buy stuff. And some of them…well, some of them just don’t make a lot of sense. Let’s look at a few, shall we?

Cialis:

Now, at first glance, when we’re not really thinking about it – and let’s face it, when are we ever really thinking about a Cialis commercial – what the hell is going on here? They’re pitching boner pills, and we’re supposed to buy the fact that two senior citizens, who presumably have some private stretch of beach, have the foresight to purchase two semi-antique ceramic bathtubs, and the spinal fortitude to haul the things down there, okay fine. Let’s suspend disbelief. Are they filling them up with salt water? I mean, what’s the point? I could see one big hot tub, but two separate individual bathtubs? How are you going to get it on? Whatever. Nice job, commercial inventors.

Chips Ahoy:

I do not want to think about the ramifications of eating an anthropomorphic cookie that has self-motivation, hopes, fears and dreams. Certainly not one who is in a Wizard of Oz cosplay fantasy.

The Minivan Commercial Where the Kids End Up Watching TV in the Driveway Inside the Minivan:

Your family is sundered, and your children would rather sit in the car than endure the smell of their great uncle’s cigar, which, for your information, smells like a goddamn burning shoe. Oh, and the great-aunt who wears her underwear on the outside and smells like baby powder and urine – the dollar that she gives them every thanksgiving is clearly not enough to offset the horrible torment of them having to deal with the smell. Yep, you’re just going to have to buy a Ford Escape and hope you die before your kids’ therapy bills come due.

Tanqueray:

Don’t you just want to punch that overdressed, semi-ambiguously gay club fop in the sack? I know I do. I would love to see that guy walk into J.J. Foley’s on East Berkeley on a Saturday night and try to peddle his crappy British accent. The bartender would vault out from behind the bar with his sawed-off baseball bat and throw him bodily into the alley. Green silk vest and all.  Man, I would pay to see someone fuck up that guy.

Priceline:

Is there anything that Shatner won’t sell? If money is a dick, then Shatner will give it a rub and a tug, slobber all over it, and let it blow all over him till the camera fades out. I’ve met Shatner, and he’s an asshole. He cheats at paintball and he won’t sit up to shake the hand of someone who gives him a kind word. Every time I see him pitching low prices on undersold hotel rooms, I want to shoot him in the dangle-bobs with my Tippmann.

Women’s underwear:

Well…okay. I honestly have nothing in particular against these commercials. Although, honestly, when one shows up on ABC, are you really ready for it? Maybe you’re sitting there on the couch with your wife, the two of you watching Jeopardy, all of a sudden Playtex throws a “plus-size” bra ad in there, it’s like what the fuck, I wasn’t ready for this, I don’t have my game face on! I mean, you’re watching Spike TV and your wife is in the room, at least you know enough to start a conversation about florists, or salad, or poor Michael J. Fox’s Parkinson’s charity when the phone sex ads come on. But you’re not expecting double Ds to be flopping into your living room in prime time, are you? Come on, Playtex – have a heart!

The Olive Garden:

Nobody believes that mom and dad take their collegiate daughter and her roommates here for dinner. Unless mom works for the MBTA, dad is a disabled factory worker and “college” is Mass Bay. Their food is fucking disgusting, and you’re not at the Olive Garden unless:

- you’re a 17 year old high school guy and this is what you can afford for date night (free refills)

- you’re a fat chick whose angry boyfriend is at least willing to accompany you to dinner with the two ill-behaved kids you had by two other guys

- you’re 40+ female office worker sitting in the bar looking to pick up a college kid

- you’re a college kid looking to get head in the parking lot in a ‘96 Taurus from someone’s mom

Bob’s (for local Massholes only)

Point of interest: That man with the beard? That is not Bob. That is a man that Bob paid to act in his commercials. The real Bob is apparently so unphotogenic that this cob-crusher is an upgrade. Go figure.

The Home Depot:

“You can do it. We can help.” Except we won’t. Because we don’t give a shit. Go find it yourself.