For Only Three Easy Payments of Soul, Dignity and Intelligence!
Late the other night, I came upon a commercial while sitting spread-eagle in my underwear, eating popcorn and Slim Jims in my “comfy chair”. I know…disgusting, right? Who watches commercials when they have cable TV? Well, for the purpose of this story, I do.
The truth of the matter is, I thought I was either dreaming or had woken up to an alternate reality where everyone was as dumb and uncoordinated as a four year old alcoholic on a weekend bender. The events I saw before me on the silver screen brought clarity to my eyes and a new-found understanding and sympathy for the American populace…an infomercial. If I were to have only seen infomercials for the last ten years, I could rightfully assume two things:
1.) People have no idea how to cut fruit or vegetables of any kind with any real semblance of adult hand/eye coordination.
2.) People are beyond lazy and venture into the realm of ‘vegetative state’ due to their inability to do simple tasks without over-dramatically showing how exhaustive chopping bananas can be, or any of a million other non-food related tasks.
If I were an alien, earth would be the icing on the cake of interstellar domination when reporting back to the Galactic General for an update after light years of planet conquering.
Says alien to general: “Yeah; no it won’t be an issue. Apparently they’re still working out the mechanics of stain removal and knife wielding. We’ll have this wrapped up before dinner.”
I find these commercials wholly insulting to my intelligence. Are you insinuating that I am unable to wrap a towel around myself and am at my wit’s end due to this failure of basic hand movements? Has this actually become such a nation-wide issue that you, the inventor (of Edison-stature), needed to create a towel with arm-holes? Who the holy-fuck is wearing towels for such elongated periods of time that they need, what is in essence, a dress made from a towel? You get out of the shower, you grab a towel, you dry off and you get fucking dressed! This has to be geared towards women who do shit ass-backwards by getting completely ready first (make-up, hair, de-clawing) then get dressed. That just seems counter-intuitive to me; but what do I know? If you watch TV at all, you’ll know I’m just the idiot husband who can’t complete simple tasks without my wife’s help (or Slap Chop’s help).
Then we have the items that make my head want to explode; Hawaiian Chair anyone? On paper, I suppose I can see how this might be appealing; you’re at work all day, sedentary and loudly getting fatter. Why not have a product that allows you to work while simultaneously allowing you to burn calories? And what we get is a chair that makes the user gyrate like an eight year old with ADD, monkey-fucking a football. Try typing “Monkey Fucking” while using this chair.
1.) You look fucking stupid, and
2.) It looks difficult while you look fucking stupid.
What is even better is the 30 minute commercial showing play-by-play the ass-mastery that ensues while using said chair.
Certain products need to remain simply thoughts in an underdeveloped brain. There are reasons products are not sold in stores; it’s because 9 times out of 10, they suck. They don’t just suck, they’re massive vacuums of epic failure; but because we’re largely a society of lazy idiots, we buy this shit in bulk. Hang on! There’s more! There’s always more! We don’t just get one set of guaranteed-to-make-you-look-like-an-idiot masturbation weights, you get 40! All for just 3.99! I’ll give you a hint, if you get multiples of these items for less money than it takes to buy a rope with which to hang yourself…it’s probably a shitty and poorly manufactured product. Period. To this day, I truly believe Shake Weight was one big hoax the inventor concocted to show just how stupid the public is. He was probably thinking: “There’s no freaking way people will fall for this; I mean come on! They’re simulating jerking a dude off!”
Lo-and-behold, it sold millions. I weep for you America…I weep.
So here’s to you Billy Mays, the Patron Saint of Sales, the Commander of Commercials, the Prophet of Product, the Big Daddy of Blow. You were a pioneer of profiteering and we miss you. If only you had gotten clean…Oxy Clean.