This guy has a television show, and I can't average more than 400 hits a day?

Life is so unfair.

Here's an barely literate moron who's claim to fame is his refusal to admit wrong after using a false claim of racial attack to get himself on television almost thirty years ago. After a couple of decades of camera-mugging, he made a run for the Democratic Party's nomination for President which the word "quixotic" does not really begin to describe, doing his best to ruin each debate he was inexplicably invited to with his bizarre rants and disconnected, broken word salads.

Then Keith Olbermann and Cenck Uyger made the mistake of being Progressive instead of Establishment Democrats and were shown the door by MSNBC. That created room for faux Progressive "Leftists" (yeah, right) like Lawrence O'Donnell and this worthless bag of wind. So we get gems like this commercial, in which Reverend Al sputters something about blueberry pie ( I think; I don't speak Sharptonese.)

Anyway, this is all really pointless and stupid and irritating because we are reminded that this pathetic snake oil salesman has somehow managed to land a highly-paid television gig in which he is promoted as a serious political commentator. As far as I'm concerned, this is like asking Dennis Miller to grade the State of the Union Address or Rush Limbaugh to call plays on Monday Night Football- it just doesn't work, because the speaker can't beg, borrow or steal an ounce of credibility.

"They were ones that were eatin' the pie!" And you were the one giving me the migraine. I think I'd rather hear that BIG BIG BIG Smart Car commercial 45 times an hour (easily accomplished by watching Olbermann or Uyger on Current TV) than spend five minutes watching this blowhard. Hey MSNBC, there's real talent out there- maybe the next time there's a slot open, you might actually try to find some of it? Because this is just one small step away from giving Mark Furman a set and an early evening time slot.

Decorative toe tag comes with upgrade, just pay separate shipping and handling!

I was just coming in from a walk on Christmas Eve and I caught the last few seconds of this wonderful little gem. As jaded as I am, I really thought that it was a parody of the Snuggie ads. Imagine my delight when I realized that no, the makers of these things are dead serious. They really thing these things are a good idea- or, at least, a salable one.

Ok, I can remember an episode of Seinfeld in which Jerry notes that George has taken to wearing sweatpants on a daily basis. Jerry admonishes George that wearing sweatpants in public is a sign that he has simply given up. I wonder what Seinfeld could have done with this advertisement, which spends more than a minute gushing about how gosh-darned wonderful it would be if we could just get used to walking around wearing our own body bags.

It starts off reasonably enough ( I mean, compared to other commercials for similar products.) We are reminded about how freaking cold our houses are, and how damned expensive heating oil is. As long as we keep our shades drawn and live alone, and never have company drop in, I guess this "Forever Lazy" outfit (it looks like the thing Ralphie was forced to wear in A Christmas Story to me) makes a little bit of sense. But, just like the Snuggie commercials, it then goes too far- it shows people wearing these "All that matters is my comfort, fuck you society" outfits in family settings and IN PUBLIC without even the slightest trace of irony.

Except, does it? "You'll be the talk of the tailgate." Oh, I have absolutely no doubt of that. If you wear one of these things to the tailgate party- or anywhere else where you might actually come into contact with civilized human beings- I have no doubt that you will be the talk of everyone who sees you. Why this is a good thing from the wearer's perspective? That's another question.

And the absolute best part of this ad- in fact, I think the best part of any commercial I've seen all year- is the "handy front pocket for emergencies" we are told about as we watch a happy Forever Lazy customer dash into the restroom. Ok, so we are all officially four years old now? We needn't worry about having an "accident" in our "Forever Lazy" wrappers, because the front just unbuttons in
a flash- hey, that's another improvement from these annoying belts and zippers!

Now just attach a convenient, disposable rubber bladder to the front flap, and I can sit through an afternoon of football without ever leaving my couch. Gosh, why would we ever wear anything BUT Forever Lazy?

Actually, I think that's the goal of the people who make things like Snuggies and Forever Lazy- in the end, they want us to discard actual clothes altogether and just stumble through life looking like overgrown telly tubbies, except with the little televisions in our hands rather than implanted on our stomachs. Speaking of stomachs- we will be free to allow them to get much bigger once we are all draped in flowing robes or sweatsuits with footsie socks and hoods. What a perfect response to the obesity epidemic- "clothes" which render us shapeless masses of flesh covered in cheap fabric.

Well, we may look stupid (even dumber than we did in our Pajama Jeans,) but at least no one will know how fat we are until they've already committed to engaging in sexual intercourse. And we'll never have to worry about those annoying little "accidents" again. Thanks, Forever Lazy!

Just like the rest of us, Santa gets dumber, duller and more helpless every year

Since his first appearance in popular literature, which was probably "A Visit From Saint Nicholas" (published in 1823,) Santa Claus and Christmas have, for many people, gone together like turkey and Thanksgiving. Thomas Nast gave him a recognizable face in the 1870s, and soon the jolly fat guy's run as the most successful marketing gimmick of all time was under way.

In the 20th century, we got Santa Claus-themed greeting cards, candy, cartoons, car commercials- heck, there was hardly a product the big guy WASN'T selling between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day. But whether he was helping Jim Varney save Christmas or sliding down a hill on an electronic razor, one thing remained constant: Santa was always on top of the situation, always in charge.

Not anymore.

On television, Santa has joined the rest of the electronics-addicted population in being totally incapable of taking a step without first consulting a product assembled by a preteen girl in China. A product which provides instant information concerning topics he Needs to Know About Right Now- the current temperature in cities 3000 miles apart, for example. Or how many billion more people he has to visit tonight.

(Quick aside: I've had more than enough of the insufferably arrogant "all humans are materialistic Christians on December 25" theme. No, Santa does NOT have 3.7 billion people to visit tonight- he can skip the Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Jews, Calvinists, etc. , not to mention all the Christians who believe that Christmas has nothing to do with maxing out one's freaking Visa card on presents and ostentatious light displays. Ok, now back to my original rant....)

I'm used to being Santa Claus portrayed as a silly, more than a little creepy stalker this time of year (that "Santa Claus as Truck Salesman") ad is REALLY weird- would you really buy a vehicle from a guy who looked like that?) But until this year, he always seemed to be the boss of each situation. Now he's begging for information every five seconds and being admonished by a disembodied voice to "take it easy on the cookies" (Santa has to "take it easy on the cookies" on the one night they are provided, free of charge, in unlimited quantities?) Suddenly it's not magic that gets Santa to every house on the planet (again, groan...) but a downloadable App.

Never mind how silly this all makes everyone else who uses this device (not that they didn't look plenty silly already.) Does the average human need to know any of this information? Isn't it already available with a quick online search or (gasp) a call to an actual human being? (What am I thinking? Phones aren't used to talk to people any more- just to "stay connected.")

Anyway, at least this ad ends before Santa asks his phone for directions back to his sleigh. That's probably coming next year, because by then Santa- along with the rest of us pampered idiots- will have become so damned helpless we'll be getting lost in our living rooms without the assistance of turn by turn directions. Bah Humbug.

There's Hope for Me in 2012!!!

Check out the guy who makes his appearance four seconds in, and at the very end of this ad for Bank of America. Greasy hair. Beard. Tight buttoned-down sweater, with a pink shirt sticking out the bottom. In other words, a guy who looks like he's totally incapable of washing or dressing himself. Not to mention a total femme.

He's got a baby in his cart. So unless this is a Baby Store and he's making a purchase, it looks like this guy has found someone to have sex with. Greasy hair. Beard. Tight, buttoned-down sweater. Pink untucked shirt. This guy can find a sexual partner serious enough to be willing to produce a child by him.

Now, maybe this is more about the power of desperation. Or alcohol. But I'll put those ideas aside for now, I don't need my balloon popped with New Year's Eve only a few days away. As a better-than-average looking guy who knows how to shower, shave and dress, this commercial gives me a lot of optimism about the future.

And hey, I'm better with money, too. I don't "save" my using a Bank of America credit card. I save by using cash and avoiding debt. Pretty hot, eh ladies?

Or maybe greasy hair, beards, tight sweaters, untucked pink shirts and no money management skills are in now? I think I'm probably out of luck then. I mean, I might be willing to convert for the right girl- but this is asking a bit too much. I have my pride!

I guess he couldn't afford to rent the Jumbotron?

Here's another episode in the Adventures of The Guys Who Live To Make Total Jackasses of Themselves. It's a very long-running series (this particular ad is several years old) and has included such classic, unforgettable moments as:

--The time The Guy gave his girlfriend a ring to interrupt her singing the praises of her Egg McMuffin, or

--the time The Guy tried to work up the courage to propose, but could not distract his Intended from her Progresso soup with the Big Chunks of Potato, or

--the time The Guy held up the football game because both teams had to stop and admire the rock he was handing to his Secretly Mortified Future Wife in front of 100,000 people, or

--the time The Guy drove his girlfriend all over town hoping she would finally get her head out of her ass long enough to notice the airplane with the streaming "will you marry this pathetic, cowardly, fat excuse for a man?" banner.

In this particular installment, The Guy proves himself a bit too classy to propose at a burger joint, or maybe too poor to hire the scoreboard or an airplane (though it looks like they may be in Europe here, can't really tell for sure.) At any rate, he's not happy enough with the fact that the woman he's with can tolerate being with him. Or, he's decided that being with him is not in itself quite mortifying enough. So he stands in the middle of the square and screams "I LOVE THIS WOMAN!" at the top of his lungs (because everyone really cares. And needs to know. Odd- when I was dating the woman I would eventually marry, just letting HER know seemed good enough.) Long-suffering girlfriend, who quite some time ago learned to mask her distress at her boyfriend's boorish behavior behind a "No Really he's Adorable and Hey I'm Pushing Thirty" smile, responds by repeating the mantra which has been engraved into her brain since the day she realized that It's probably not going to get any better than this guy- "I love this man. I love this man. I love this man." Yes, you keep telling yourself that, honey. Quietly, so no one else can hear-and wonder "why?"

(And I just can't shrug off the suspicion that yelling "I LOVE THIS WOMAN" very loudly was a ploy to distract this girl from noticing that the rock is somewhat smaller than she might have hoped, and that yelling loudly didn't cost this guy a dime.)

My dream is to be at a major sporting event when The Guy proposes to someone on the scoreboard-- and gets rejected. Because there has to be a woman out there, somewhere, who does not appreciate being put on the spot by awkward, passive-aggressive, classless little boys like this.

Wait- this is new? So it's just going to get WORSE now?

Let me see if I can get this straight- self-absorbed moron of Uncertain Ethnicity has cranked up his music to such an insane decibel level that it is flattening the world around him. Totally detached, said moron listlessly jaywalks through the set of Inception as his eardrums are assaulted by an endless wave of drivel until he gets a call on the same device he's used to download this....umm..."music."

He answers the phone, and whatever the person on the other end said, his reply is "yo, I'm on my way." Well, I'm sure that's a relief to the caller. Because I can't imagine the party getting started before this guy shows up.

Here's what I don't get- this is somehow new technology? How can that be? I've seen (and HEARD- ear buds are next to worthless when it comes to keeping your music to yourself) this guy everywhere for the past two decades. He's always in the same subway car, treating me and everyone else within thirty feet to free "entertainment" in the form of leaked garbage. He's next to me at the gym, mysteriously assuming that I want to listen along with him instead of paying attention to what is on my own headphones. More and more often, he's in the fricking library- because what is a more appropriate place to listen to music at a high volume than a library?

Or am I missing the point of this ad- is the message here that the earbuds are so effective, only the wearer can hear the music? If so, I don't think this latest offering is going to be very popular- from what I've seen, people who own cell phones, MP3 players, etc. see being boorish and rude as a fringe benefit that comes with ownership of these things. What, I'm not advertising that I own a little toy which lets me download music and force anything resembling thoughts out of my head, and yours too? Pass!

"And..... everyone you've ever met will be glad to hear this happened to you."

It's almost horrifying to realize that this commercial chronicles the life of exactly ONE disgustingly entitled dickwad. It would be bad enough if we saw four separate episodes in the life of four separate people- to believe that all of this crude nastiness exists within a single semi-human makes me think that we've found the subject of the next installment of the Omen series.

It starts with his formative years, when Damien introduced himself to the world with his flat refusal to accept an ice cream cone until it's been decked out in colorful sprinkles (he can't ask for the sprinkles, of course- that would be...what is the word I'm trying to think of? Oh yea- POLITE. He has to treat the poor guy behind the counter like a worker drone who should be eternally grateful for the opportunity to serve. Anyway, this kid has learned a very valuable lesson- being a demanding, rude jackass pays off. It's a lesson he will, unfortunately for us, never forget.

Later, Mr. Loathsome Choad has grown into a skinny, scruffy (but what guy on tv isn't scruffy these days- jesus, when is the To Hell With Shaving look going to go out of style already?) but still Very Much Determined To Demand Everything jerk, not satisfied with being offered a nice job until the interviewer grants him stock options, too. Because this guy looks like someone you'd want to encounter at the water cooler every day. Of course.

And now it gets really, really bad- Disgusting Proof that Fecal Matter Can Be Trained To Walk Upright is complimented on a pair of jeans he's trying on, but the compliment is only good enough if the saleswoman offers sex in exchange for the chance to earn the commission. For the next three seconds or so, the commercial becomes an ad for Enzyte or K-Y Jelly (it's certainly nothing you want to have to explain to your kids who were just trying to spend a few hours of quality time watching football with you.) What, this guy is James Bond now? Are we supposed to find him attractive? Or is it just more of the Hot Women on TV are Easy theme?

At the conclusion of this brain-numbing, steaming cow pie of an advertisement, Our Hero takes a swig of Coke Zero and gives us an indication that THIS is the best thing that's happened to him all day. His friends at the table seem mystified at his reaction. I'm mystified that Mr. Smarm has friends. And that anyone could possibly get this excited over Coke Zero, which is just like Diet Coke if Diet Coke came in a black can and included a nasty aftertaste.

Anyway, we are left wishing that a gas leak in the restaurant kitchen would suddenly level this place and kill everyone in it. Sure, we only really hate that one guy, but if he ends up with his face burned off and with shards of that can jammed halfway down his throat, I'd call them acceptable losses.

(I'd like to be the paramedic on the scene who tells the guy "sorry, you're going to die now." When he responds with the inevitable "And...?" I would respond "and you aren't doing it fast enough" or "and you will not be missed.")