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May 22, 2009, 11:14pm

I don't watch much television. When I do I'm happy to vapidly gaze into the glowing cube and gape at whatever slop my snapped-in-half rabbit ears can receive. It's all just crap for me to zone out to when I feel like I need to paralyze my brain for an hour. It's probably because I don't have cable, but for whatever reason I've noticed that companies are buying commercials in blocks. Over the course of a half-hour show, I'll see the same ad three times on average. It usually doesn't bother me, but every once in a while I'll stumble across a promotional abomination that vomits on my soul and makes me want to track down and lynch the standards-and-practices board of whatever network I'm watching. In an attempt to analyze and exorcise these demons, I've compiled a list of commercials that refuse to die and make me want to abolish every human being who's ever been beamed through a cathode ray tube. Keep reading to see all the bullshit that makes me hate people.


Let's start it off with the most prevalent offender. It's a fucking dancehall jingle about a cable company sung by a fourth-rate Daddy Yankee that takes place on what looks like a Caribbean beach. Oh, and there's some asshole in a water dragon costume who does a guest verse. I thought that maybe this thing had finally run its course, but I've seen it exactly 11 times in the last week and I think I've only watched two hours of TV total. My guess is that they decided it was a good time to bring it back now that summer's around the corner and everyone's all "We love fun in the sun and drinking rum and screwing anything with two legs." When I finally snap and go crazy from seeing this asshole's chipmunk gourd one too many times, I'll be sure to dial 877-393-FOUR-FOUR-FOUR-EIGHT to tell them they are the reason my mom's going be spilling tears onto a picture of me for 24 hours straight next Mother's Day. Fuck you, Optimum Cable. (PS: The version above is a "special cut" that features a guy in his underwear swinging a dildo above his head. Sadly, he does not appear in the original.)


This series of commercials is the stuff that makes night terrors that compel you to stab your dog while sleepwalking, thinking it's breaking into your apartment. The last time I remember feeling like this from watching something on a television was when I was seven and my uncle Joe made me watch



Nightmare on Elm Street

back to back. Seriously, this guy scares the daylights out of me. I'm planning on borrowing someone's DVR so I can record this commercial and transfer it to a DVD. If I ever have kids, it will be the go-to punishment for when they're acting like little shits. I'll just lock them in a small room, pop this thing on repeat, and scare them until they become emotionless beings who beat up creepy old men that dress in tuxedos and dance around the streets. As an interesting side note, a friend of mine recently went to Six Flags in Jersey. We had an argument about whether or not this fucker would be foxtrotting around the place like a senile paper bag. She said he wasn't a "mascot," but I insisted that they wouldn't put him in every goddamn commercial if he wasn't at the park. Of course, the first thing she laid eyes on was this waste of oxygen and my prize was her having to put her arm around his creepy fake-old-man neck and pose for a picture.


This was the bane of my existence last summer, and possibly one of the most-played television commercials of all time in the Tri-State area. Now I can't even hear a Fixx song without thinking about zero percent APR financing and power windows. It makes me want to throw myself in front of a Corolla. I swear on Jesus' virgin wee-wee that I saw this

four times in a row

at some point last year. The only positive thing to come of it was a joke that my roommate came up with about "Saved by Zero" being about masturbation (or maybe it really is?). You know, sometimes things get so desperate you just have to make a 0 shape with your hand and move on with your life. When I was compiling this piece I was excited to discover a comrade-at-arms who stitched together this nine-and-a-half minute loop of sheer horror. I would pay a year's salary to put the ad execs who came up with this commercial in a room and sonically torture them like they were the guests of honor at Guantanamo Bay.


Oh shit, I might even retch while writing about this one. It's one of the newest entries in the cavalcade of commercial atrocities, and I want to meet the guy (or gal, but I seriously doubt it) who thought it would a good idea to a) commingle strippers and pigs b) splash what appears to be liquified shit all over the patrons and c) convince people that eating barbecue meat from White Castle won't give them dysentery. If actually it's supposed to be barbecue sauce, what is it parodying? Tit milk? Vagina juice? Lube? Have any of these people ever been to a strip club? Or a smokehouse? Or a restaurant of any sort? Have they even watched TV, or been around another human, ever? Too many questions.


God, why do you allow this kind of stuff to happen? Is it because you don't exist? The first time I saw this, I thought it might have been a nice PSA to remind negligent parents to keep a close eye on their kids in public. Based on how often toddlers who can barely walk are drooling and screaming into my legs (while walking!), this is a very good idea. But no, it's another "shocking" ad to tell you that smoking kills you, especially if you have children. What a revelation! Thank you so much. You know what though, anti-smoking guys? Every time I see it I want to smoke three packs because I stress out about having some pussy of a kid who cries when Mommy leaves him alone for a few minutes. Wah, wah, wah. Sorry, junior, but you're not going to have a real reason to cry (or smoke!) until I send your ass to military school. Until then, grow the fuck up.