"Why do you feel compelled to rationalize our relationship?"

Here's another one of those "funny" Miller Lite ads in which the guy becomes tongue-tied and hil-ARIOUSLY inarticulate when his Significant Other attempts to get him to use the word "Love" in a sentence without the adding the words "this beer."

This time, the beautiful, long-suffering You Wanted this Relationship, So Live With It female is sitting with the guy in some park which allows the consumption of alcohol when she springs the "Why do you love me?" trap. Unable to come up with a suitable answer that doesn't reveal that he clings to her for sex and beer, this clown naturally stumbles around for a bit, tries to mention something about her hair, and finally falls flat on his face by throwing the question back to her.

She's ready for this. She quickly replies "you're my soul mate."

He's frozen. He answers "ditto," which on the surface doesn't seem to please her- but she doesn't get up and walk away, and it's hard to imagine that his ends the relationship. Which means that, just like all the other women in all the other Miller Lite commercials, she's going to cling to her choad like a tic to a raccoon.

I have a better answer for this woman. Several, in fact:

1. "What the hell does that mean, I'm your soul mate?"

2. "You love me because I'm your 'soul mate?' Well, what makes me that? The fact that I can't tell you I love you back? Have you always had these self-esteem issues?"

3. "You love me because I'm your soul mate? Doesn't that mean 'I've decided that we are meant to be together, so I'd better love you, or live my life in sad misery with someone I don't love?"

4. "If I'm your soul mate, why do I need to respond to your bullshit questions at all? Pour me another beer, soul mate."

5. "Are you honest enough to admit that if I had said 'you're my soul mate' first, you would have called me on such a lame-ass, meaningless, cookie-cutter response?"

Any of these would be far better than "ditto." But then again, who am I to criticize an ugly, inarticulate doofus who has somehow landed a hot bubble-headed enabler willing to overlook Disinterest in Commitment because she thinks he's her "soul mate?" I raise my beer to you, sir.

It Says "don't forget to breathe, and there's drool running down your chin"

This commercial would work as a parody. Because it's clearly NOT a parody, it's just another episode in the natural progression of the cell phone from luxury to convenience to More Essential Than Your Lungs.

Everyone in this ad has settled comfortably into a life of consulting their phones for all of life's answers. Where do I turn now? I'll ask my phone. What should I eat for dinner? I'll check my phone. What would the person sitting next to me- across the fucking table from me- like to do next? I'll check my phone.

Let's all spend our entire "lives" staring at a little glowing screen, afraid to move without getting the OK signal from some electronic brain we'll never meet, but would probably have a more fulfilling relationship with than any of those icky humans who insist on interrupting our phone time every day. Oh, and let's start really early, too- wouldn't it be great if YOUR kid didn't wake you up in the middle of the night because she thought that there was a monster in her bedroom? Wouldn't it be great if she could just call a stranger and get comfort there?

What the hell is the matter with us? How did it come to this? I have a cell phone. I use it to call people, and occasionally text. I don't ask it questions. I don't use it to download videos, or directions. I don't subscribe to twitter accounts because I can't imagine wanting constant updates of anyone's life. I think it goes without saying that I don't Tweet.

I don't use my phone to check out restaurants before I go to dinner, to buy or change plane or train reservations, or to see which amusement park rides have the shorter lines. Somehow, I manage to get to where I want to go without checking my phone every fifteen seconds. If these commercials bear any resemblance to reality, I'm in the minority.

Because it sure seems as if we are raising a bunch of pumpkin-headed, helpless, social misfits who think that life is all about the battery-powered security blanket they can't put the fuck down. I just wonder what relationships these idiots are going to forge with actual people, what kind of basic skills will never be developed because they've been told for years that The Phone Knows All, and how long they will be able to bear to listen to that marble rattling around their empty skulls during those fleeting moments when they have No Coverage.

Is this supposed to be funny, or inspire anyone to buy phones? I think it's just depressing. What a sad, pathetic, self-absorbed pile of putrid rubbish we are becoming, thanks to crap like this. And to think, only a few short decades ago, someone called television our vast wasteland. That person could never have imagined the kind of brain rot offered by today's super-fast, Do Everything But Burp You cellular technology.

While we are on the subject of offensive stereotypes....

Let's see- we've got African American males hitting each other, calling each other "Dawg," and encouraging each other to ogle African American women. We've got bug-eyed astonishment, greed, and lots of jumping around and screaming, especially by overweight African American women. We've got beautiful women being manipulative toward the men who are ogling them. We've got pratfalls and sexual innuendo and three-word sentences delivered in a dialect which I THINK is related to English and I'm sure is supposed to be hysterical. We've got an all-star cast of very wealthy African Americans who have absolutely no respect for other African Americans or for human beings in general throwing together what looks to be a total mess of a film designed to cater to pretty much EVERY negative image the moviegoing public (which is overwhelmingly white) has toward African Americans.

The result will no doubt be a mildly successful film which does nothing to move society any closer to a post-racial future, but DOES encourage black people to laugh at themselves and white people to laugh at them even harder. All while lining the pockets of a tiny group of African Americans and a larger group of Caucasians, both of which should be ashamed of themselves, if they were still capable of feeling shame.

Meanwhile, for a week or so at least, I have another reason to keep the remote very handy. Thanks for nothing, producers of Lottery Ticket.

How many offensive stereotypes can you count in this commercial?

I have to admit, I'm really at a loss to understand what this commercial is trying to tell me. First, this woman has the most ridiculously annoying voice I've ever heard- my bet is that she's not a Texan, probably not even a Southerner, but the ad guys thought that she did a right-good fake Texas drawl and that girl who starred in The Dukes of Hazzard Movie said No to more commercials for Cable or Cable-related products, so she'd do. So we've got the dumb blonde from Texas. Check.

Second, what's with the old guy. I get the creepy idea that she's supposed to be her husband- so we've got the dumb blonde from Texas who is also a golddigger. Check.

Third, "Troy Barkman?" Really? And he's been trained to hunt down Redskins stuff? Ok, I think we've got dumb blonde from Texas who is a golddigger and is intolerant of non-Cowboys fans. Check. Or maybe just Redskins fan. Or maybe she's just a jackass.

Fourth, what's with the old guy? Sorry, I guess this is kind of a fixation, but- what IS his deal? Is he supposed to be brain-dead, depressed, senile, or what? And what IS his relationship with crazy annoying Cowboys fan? Is this clear to anyone? Could you explain it to me?

Oh, and BTW, Cowboys fan- your team isn't winning anything with Tony Romo as your QB. Just letting you know now.

(I wanted to post on the NFL Direct Ticket Commercial featuring the asshat Packers fan who gave a cheese platter to her non-Packers neighbors, with the cheese slices arranged to form the words "DIRT BAG"- ah, the hilarity- but I couldn't find it. What bothered me most about THAT commercial was the idea that anyone in Wisconsin would actually purchase orange cheese. I'm from Vermont- the "other, smaller Wisconsin," according to MST3K- and I don't know anyone who would go near orange cheese. Pardon the digression.)

They're MY Eggs, and I want that Goose dead NOW!

What's the most obnoxious, depressing thing about this commercial for JG Wentworth, a company which apparently specializes in urging people to go ahead and kill that ol' golden goose and get all the eggs right now?

1. That the guy shown in the opening scene might as well be depicted as having a light bulb go off in his otherwise empty head, as a few words from the tv pitchman has him suddenly realizing that HEY, he's got a structured settlement, annuity or lottery winnings coming, and bills pending, so why shouldn't he have all that money RIGHT NOW?

2. That JG Wentworth has so little respect for it's potential customers that it needs to show us EIGHT morons behaving like brain-damaged contestants on Deal or No Deal, advertising their utter imbecility to the world by screaming "It's My Money, And I Want It Now!" at their innocent neighbors (and in one case, to the poor people stuck in traffic with Mr IQ.)

3. That there are really people out there willing to use JG Wentworth's "service," which involves receiving a one-time lump sum payment in exchange for scheduled future payments, because they are too damned pathetic to get their financial houses in order? I mean, these have got to be the same people who give away a large percentage of their tax refunds for the "convenience" of immediate payment, right?
How seriously stupid do you have to be to want to cash out for pennies on the dollar?

People so fucking greedy and impatient that they are downright EAGER to hand over a big chunk of money to get the rest a bit faster must have read only half the fable- when they get to the part where the guy says to himself "if I cut open the goose, I get all the eggs at once!" they closed the book and thought "yep, I'd do that too. Good plan!"

Exactly as I've always imagined it

If Lance Armstrong really had an office at Radio Shack headquarters, or anywhere else for that matter, what would it look like? I've had it pictured in my head for quite some time, and it looks as though Radio Shack actually invaded my mind to create this ad.

Of course there would be some fat, nerdish supplicant named Alfonse, jumping up whenever Lance barks to do his master's bidding. Of course Lance would be there, peddling away on his endless journey to nowhere- hell, it beats coming in 30th or whatever it was in this year's Tour de France. And most important of all, there would be several framed photographs of Mr Live Strong himself, captioned with one word slogans like "Determination" and "Courage" and "Inspiration" and "Perseverance." Because who wouldn't expect Lance Armstrong's office to be anything less than a shrine to Lance Armstrong?

What's funny is how honest this scene is. Mr Can't Get Out of the Way of his Own Ego wears his bicycle pants to "work" and bleats orders that have pretty much nothing to do with the land of cheap batteries and untrained, minimum-wage cashiers who must be thrilled that their employer, which just cut back on hours, decided to shovel some money into the bottomless Lance Armstrong money hole. Hey, at least they get a discount on those batteries, right?

At last, a Junk Drawer that travels with you!

This commercial wins on so many levels. First, it provides a great example of my favorite infomercial cliche- the harried woman struggling to negotiate her way through a mass of disorganized papers. When I first saw the opening scene I thought it was going to be an ad for a debt consolidation scam, and was pleasantly surprised to find that nope, it's another "organize your life and then carry it with you wherever you go" product. Nothing but Fun.

So this woman quickly moves from the black and white, full of despair world of disorganized clutter to the magically sensible, "every tool has it's place," colorized world of the Wonder File. Wonder File, it seems, is a foldable file cabinet for every bill, receipt, book, magazine, lollypop or pack of gum you've ever wondered where you cut set aside and easily find later. Just stick it in one of the 38 or so pockets, fold it up, and away you go, with all that once hopelessly scattered crap now packed away in one convenient storage unit. Hooray!

Is it fun to use? Check out the faces of the people who bought Wonder File. Unless these people are recalling the absolutely incredible sex they had last night as they fold away their new toys, yes, this is a VERY fun product to use. I believe it- who wouldn't get a real kick out of owning a filing system which seems to defy the laws of physics themselves by allowing you to store fourteen pounds of material into a carry on which remains flat and light? I mean, this makes the makers of those Buxton Bags (sic)- you know, the ones that hold the contents of an entire living room in 16 different pockets- look like pikers when it comes to creating modern marvels of convenience.

Thank goodness for Wonder File. No home should be without at least two. Just pay extra shipping and handling, and your Closet in a Case will be on it's way. You'll wonder how you ever lived without it. Honest.

(Might I suggest "designer plaid" for the kids? I'm SURE it won't get them beat up at school. No way.)