I have spent the better part of my week sulking on my couch because of this ridiculous cold. What cold? The one that my freeloader brought home and so graciously shared with me. Anyhow, in addition to squatting and sulking, I made good use of my down time and analyzed commercials as they played over and over again on my television.
I’m pretty sure I just got dumber.
I can’t help it. I’m compulsive. With the sinuses not working properly, I’m certain that there has been a lack of oxygen supply to the part of my brain that tells me to ‘mute’ the television and ignore the stupid people. I don’t know what happened but all of a sudden I found myself calling bullshit on certain claims.
I will not argue the fact that advertising companies out there have a job to provide the best possible message to the viewing public. But do they have to be so incredibly far-fetched that it just makes you NOT want to buy a product?
According to NutriGrain, if I eat one of their bars while fully dressed in expensive clothing, hair done and makeup on in a gourmet kitchen with the sun shining through my kitchen window; over a pastry (which by the way, I’d have to special order in to get a pastry that delectable), then for lunch I will eat a picturesque chef salad, I will push my kid on a swing (instead of sitting on a bench sucking down a monster size cup of java) except my kid is ten and if I’m pushing him on a swing, then I’ve definitely failed as a Mom if I haven’t taught my kid how to push himself on a swing. Either that or I’m coddling him too much. In addition to this, for my late evening snack with my perfectly chiseled husband, I will eat a giant bowl of bigger-than-life strawberries and my model husband and I will cuddle and coo and giggle all night because I chose to eat a cereal bar.
The makers of Midol claim I can manage my PMS symptoms by taking their pill. It helps with bloating, cramping, fatigue and headaches. Yes, for the lucky women who don’t spent the majority of their “time of the month” strategically placing their uterus and ovaries back into their proper positions, this pill might bring some temporary relief. I love how the commercials show the women skipping around in a mini-skirt, smiling. Can we not have Frumpy Fran sporting menstrual sweats and a baggy shirt while carrying a 14-pound bag of chocolate and bottle of wine?
Apparently I’ve been using the wrong tampons as well. I should switch over to Playtex since they are so trustworthy. There is nothing I hate more than not being able to confide in my tampons.
Nationwide is on my side. Really?
My dentist is nowhere NEAR as good looking as the dentist that is promoting the Crest commercials.
I also need to ‘man-up’ and drink Miller Light.
My favorite commercials (sarcasm) are the, “Were you injured in an accident? Do you need a gazillion dollars? Call Attorney Rip Uhoff and he’ll get what’s yours.” Then all these poorly paid starving actors come onto the screen and begin to tell you how Rip got them hundreds of dollars.
My last question, why do beer companies use the following characters for their commercials?
Because it’s not appealing. Really? Why not? What’s not appealing about that?
I get it. Beer commercials are geared towards, men. Men who like women. Men who watch football. I have yet to see a commercial portraying women sitting around watching football throwing back a tallboy. It could happen. Some of us like football too!
I think it’s only fair that if men get to watch bouncy girls with beer, women should have this, promoting chamomile tea?
These are all things that crossed my mind while vegging on my couch sucking on cough drops. I’m sure that with my uncanny ability to dissect everything and blow shit up bigger than what is necessary, I am digging my own hole by blogging about commercials. But, that is what happens when you’re full of liquid ass-flavored medicine and are forced to watch endless hours of news and talk shows.
I’m all out of clever. This will have to do for now until the fog clears from this head cold and I’m able to write about something more stimulating.
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