Well, at least there's no chance that this client will ever come to dinner again

For today's entry, we take you back to America, circa 1956, when a favorite sitcom theme was the "husband bringing the very important client home for dinner without letting The Little Woman know in advance." The theme mixes very well with the more modern "Dad Screwed Up AGAIN!" theme which is openly presented to us in the ad's opening seconds (by the little choad who had apparently been told to entertain the client in the living room while Mom and Dad argue four feet away.)

Once the Painful Situation is defused by a pan of junk a college freshman MIGHT eat after a night of smoking pot when he realizes that he's out of Ramen noodles and stale Doritos, things settle down and get much worse. We move on to an intensely uncomfortable, silent meal with dad, client, Angry Mom, and nasty little narrator-kid sitting around a pile of cheese-flavored crud which we are apparently supposed to believe is good enough for Dad's Client because it's baked. Actually, the best possible result would be to convince the client that this guy really really needs his business, because good lord, look what he's providing for his family's dinner table. I personally think that the client is not being silent because he senses the tension between Mom and Dad. He's being silent because he can't believe that he's been transported into an episode of Leave It To Beaver, and that he's expected to play along by putting hot orange poison into his mouth.

We end with the truly smarmy little prick of a kid (who has appeared in another ad for the same nasty sludge not-food product) awkwardly twisting his head toward the camera (I only wish he could move a little closer and that technology allowed me to smack that look off his face) and tells us that "Dad really screwed this up." Oh, the hilarity.

All we really need to make this lovely little dollop of Yesteryear complete is to film it in black and white and add a laughtrack. Ok, I'd like one more thing- for that kid to be sent to his room, forever. And for the people who wrote this mess to apologize.

But I'd settle for a promise to stop showcasing the little creep. Two commercials in, I'm sick to death of him already. Send him over to Volkswagen and let me see him get slugged in the stomach when a "Red One" drives by. Better yet, pay him in Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. That will finish him off fast enough.