I Have a Better Idea, FIOS

Instead of this guy casually issuing orders to his private team of movers- "adjust the flat screen tv just a smidge"-- as he settles into his vast, bright new palace with it's 20-foot ceilings, only to suddenly decide that he doesn't want to live there after all because it's not a "FIOS building," I have a few suggestions.

Unfortunately, I know kids who read this blog, and all my suggestions involve shoving foreign objects into spaces where foreign objects really shouldn't go.  Accompanied by pain.  Lots and lots of pain.

They also involve a lot of swearing and calling this person names I really don't want them picking up from me, or anyone else.  After all, they are good young ladies who should remain that way, and should not be corrupted by their evil-minded history teacher.

So I'm afraid that this time, I'm going to have to keep all the mental imagery where it originated- in my head.  I'm not going to describe the movers turning that flat-screen tv into a hula hoop over the privileged, noxious little jackass.  Nor am I going to share my fantasy of where that remote ends up (hint: to turn the channel, he'll have to get inventive with his diet.)   Nope, not going to do it.  Because some people I really like and respect read this blog.

So my detailed description of how this guy gets beaten into a bloody pulp by the furniture movers, with the remains being left to the dogs, and then has his non-FIOS castle burned to the ground to complete the Viking funeral for this sorry waste of skin is going to have to stay in my own imagination.  I'll leave you guys to use your own.  Sorry I couldn't be more help- but with this particular commercial, you probably didn't need any, anyway.