We've come a long way since "Look for the Union Label." Unfortunately, in the wrong direction.

When I first viewed this commercial, I actually thought it was a put-on. Maybe a Saturday Night Live skit, or an Onion Parody.

By the time it was (mercifully) over, I had come to the realization that the people who put together this awful, sleazy, manipulative, and downright Un-American plate of steaming tripe are one hundred percent serious in their "Unions are Evil" message.

It seems that we are supposed to believe that Unions are the reason why even working people are suffering these days. You see, workers are forced to join these associations (probably through intimidation- harassing phone calls, cold shoulders from fellow employees, a brick through the window, etc.) which suck money out of their already-meagre paycheck. To what end? Why, to make Hot Shot Corrupt Union Bosses richer, of course. Isn't that just like a Union-interfering with the God-endorsed right of workers to negotiate their own wages and working hours and safety standards on a level playing field with their employers. Insisting on decent wages, health care coverage, non-draconian hours, sick days, paternity leave, fire escapes and all of those luxuries which have made it Impossible For The Most Productive to Create Jobs In This Country. Damn them.

If only these vicious Unions, and their pot-bellied, cigar-chomping, suspender-wearing bosses (did I miss any cliches? Oh yes, limousine-riding! Sorry!) would just get out of the way, the Successful Amongst Us would be free to wipe unemployment off the map. They'd go right back to providing those awesome 60 hour work weeks in factories spewing lovely black ooze into the air and turning our rivers a gorgeous shade of gray. And believe you me, they can't WAIT to hand our children all the work they want, too!

Oh, and did I mention we'd save money as well? Because no more unions doesn't just mean no more sexual harassment laws, no more job security, no more worker's comp and no more weekends with the family. It also means no more Union Dues, which means no more fat, corrupt Union Bosses! Yay!

Equal Opportunity Racism from the Golden Corral?

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Take your pick:

1. White people are pretentious blabbermouths who love to hang out with black couples, especially when they can double date at very expensive restaurants famous for their "very limited $20 entree menus." White people appreciate Quality over Quantity, or at least don't mind paying premium prices for atmosphere. White WOMEN especially like to obsess over the food at these very expensive restaurants by praising them in annoying chirpy voices that would probably convince ME to jump from a moving automobile rather than tolerate it. Oh, those wacky white people! OR,

2. Black people are cheap gluttons who will always value Quantity over Quality. To black people, the idea of spending $20 on an entree which must then be (gasp) shared with your date is unbearable; SO unbearable, in fact, that it's worth risking major injury by hurling oneself out of a moving vehicle in order to avoid it. Black people prefer eating the kind of cheap junk they serve up at America's favorite feed bin, The Golden Corral. Maybe it's that glorious chocolate fountain- excuse me, "Wonderfall." Or maybe we should just take the guy's word for it- "I'm not paying $20 for an entree." Classy.

I have to say that, as a white person, I was much more offended at the sight of the black couple freeing themselves from the horrors of a double date at a fancy restaurant where, sorry, you are NOT allowed unlimited access to mountains of fatty crap kept warm by steam troughs than I was at the depiction of white people as spendthrifts. Apparently The Golden Corral thinks that black people are so tight with a buck- and so bereft of taste- that they'd rather spend an evening stuffing themselves with meatloaf, Grade B steak and Rice Crispy treats soaked in Hershey syrup than have a decent meal in a restaurant that doesn't advertise itself with huge glowing sign and isn't populated by double-chinned yokels wearing Nikes, pajama jeans and Packers jerseys.

In my experience, tasteless hicks who like to jam heart-damaging crud down their cake holes come in all colors. I thought that The Golden Corral agreed- but after this ad, I'm not so sure.

What's missing in these commercials?

Sometimes I think that the people hired to write Viagra commercials are all frustrated poets or painters. They always present us with this "clever" imagery that is supposed to make us nod and think "yep, that's a super awesome way of presenting erectile disfunction in a commercial which can be broadcast during football games." Overheated cars. Trucks stuck in the mud, rendering the vehicles impotent (get it? GET IT?) Spinning tires, going nowhere. (GET IT?)

They also appeal to your average couch-potato slob who likes to take breaks from imagining himself to be a lightning-fast wide receiver to imagining himself to be the kind of rugged outdoorsman who spends his weekends hauling thoroughbreds or cruising along in a sailboat or doing any number of those rugged outdoorsy things which don't include guzzling beer or using the dust buster to vacuum chips off your stomach at halftime.

What I don't get is that none of these Viagra ads ever include men interacting with women. So they are sexually excited because- they are driving trucks? Because they are in sports cars? Because they are doing something involving dirt, other guys, and horses? What?

Hey guys- maybe the reason you are having-- umm, disfunctions-- is because you constantly find yourselves doing things that aren't at all erotic. Maybe you just might consider spending more time around actual females? Think that might help?

Also, notice how the strongly implied message in all of these ads is that the men featured in them can have sex at the drop of the hat, any time they want- as long as it's physically possible for them? There's always the trucker pulling up to the lonely, dark farmhouse with the super-confident look on his face. "When the time is right" seems to mean "when you get home, because the time is always right for the little lady." Very nice.

Anyway, I don't post on a lot of these commercials because I find them so terribly distasteful. I don't get how there could be a single male left in this country who isn't aware of Viagra and needs to be prompted to Ask His Doctor about it. These are kind of like ads for McDonalds or toilet paper- yes, we know it's out there. We know how to get it if we need it. Now please, stay off our televisions, ok? This is not stuff we want to think about while watching football, or any other time for that matter.

Maybe this guy IS an authority on what is Not Funny

On some planet I will never occupy, Larry the Cable Guy is funny. "Get 'er done" is an absolutely drop-dead hysterical catch-phrase that leaves one rolling on the floor, laughing one's ass off. Anything involving sleeveless shirts, three-day beards, feed caps, chewing tobacco, pickup trucks, American flag patches and the Golden Corral is already hilarious- adding jokes about toilets, white bread, ugly wives and beer is just the icing on an already amazingly delicious cake.

And on that planet I'll never even visit, the kings of Blue Collar Comedy can sell us anything. Just by appearing on the screen and doing their schtick, which invariably involves waddling around with 60 lbs or so of extra flab spilling over their belts, spewing each line with an exaggerated southern-hick accent, and being as Caucasian as humanly possible. You'd THINK that the only things these people could effectively pitch is beer, KFC, and trucks, but you'd be wrong. On this planet, where babies can sell online trading services, fat men in dirty t-shirts can sell us anything. Including heartburn medication.

Ok, maybe this actually does make a little sense. I mean, this guy comes right out and tells us that he's a dumb ass who doesn't know a thing about medicine, but he's "got a degree" in stuffing fatty, spicy junk down his cake hole. And when he's overindulged, why, Prilosec is what he turns to. Sure beats the alternative, which is not overindulging. This IS America, after all. Still....

I'm not at all sorry I don't live in this planet. Maybe I'm a snob, but I don't think I would ever feel like I belonged there. See, I only laugh at funny things, and I only buy from spokespeople who look like they might know what they are talking about. Maybe Jeff Gordon can sell me an oil filter, but I don't care what brand of soda or ice cream treat he likes. I don't care about ANYBODY ELSE'S taste in beer, and I wouldn't buy a Light beer if you threatened to permanently revoke my Man card. And while I can believe that this jerk gets heartburn on a regular basis, I'm not taking medical advice from someone who looks like he ought to be slopping the pigs or loading grain bags onto a pickup truck down at the feed store.

And I wouldn't watch five minutes of Larry the Cable Guy if you held a gun to my head. But then again, I'm just an alien here, right?

For the first and, I'm sure, only time: Go Giants

I'm a New Englander. That means I'm a Red Sox and Patriots fan. And that means I grew up with a lot of heartache and anxiety when it came to professional sports. I'm old enough to remember Superbowl Shuffle and the Bears' mauling of my team, and I can recall wandering around Washington DC in a daze for hours after the Buckner Play. I know what it's like to live and die with a sports club.

Of course, I also remember The Drive and the Giants ruining the Patriots bid for a perfect season in 2007. (I was married to a Buffalo Bills fan for a few years and watched as the Giants broke her heart in the '91 Superbowl, too.) So I really hate the Giants.

That being said, it takes a lot for me to root for the New York Giants- it's not like rooting for the Mets or Yankees, but pretty damned close. Yet, State Farm has made this possible. Because after watching this commercial for roughly the ninth time in the last forty minutes, I really, REALLY hate Aaron Rodgers. I mean, this junk is so damned stupid, so "we know all you football fans are slack-jawed yokels, so nibble on this, mouth-breathing monkeys" insulting, how could anyone possibly root for it's star?

It seems like only yesterday when Peyton Manning was featured in pretty much every other commercial on Sunday afternoons. I can't believe that I'm saying this, but-- man, those were the good old days. Get better soon, Peyton, so your ads can at least in part drown out what is apparently going to be an entire series featuring Aaron Rodgers and an expanding group of witless clowns waving at their midsections and calling it some kind of "dance."

Meanwhile-- this hurts a lot, but....life will be a whole lot less painful if Eli Manning and the Giants stuff Rodgers and the Packers into the frozen turf and out of the sports headlines for another year this afternoon. Sorry, cheeseheads: I actually love your publicly-owned team. I think you are wonderfully dedicated fans, like the people I would sit next to in the cheap seats of Rich Stadium while the snow swirled around and the Bills marched toward another inevitable Super Bowl collapse (I lived in Buffalo from 1991 to 1995- the Bills went to, and lost, the Big Game each year I was there except the last.) But this- this is beyond ugly. It's beyond stupid. And I just can't root for it to continue.

Go Giants. For one week. I don't care who you play in the NFC Title Game, I won't be rooting for you then. But for today, I'm a Giants fan. Don't blame me, blame State Farm. Only they could have made this possible.

Ford Fiesta provides one of my favorite lines ever

I really couldn't pay attention to anything that happened after the line was uttered. The choreographed nonsense that followed- people jumping off of buildings, dancing, spreading banners...seriously, whatever, who cares. I could even completely ignore the utter nonsense of it all- the idea that an entire city could go into rapture over a Ford Fiesta. (I mean, please. A Ford Fiesta.)

None of the final 55 seconds of stupid which followed The Line really mattered at all. This thing could have turned into a commercial for Viagra, with entire buildings crashing down, trees springing up out nowhere, and the entire universe being reordered because two people found that "the moment was right" at the same time, thanks to the magic of the purple pill. It could have turned into yet another offensively dumb cell phone ad, with fire hydrants exploding while some disconnected loser muttered "yo, I'm on my way" into the microphone of his Best Friend.

No, nothing else mattered once the female in this ad uttered the truly immortal line "do you have the keys?" I mean, if you ever find yourself lucky enough to own a car with keyless starting, how do you manage to get someone to say that to you before you push that button? What, did she think the guy was going to hot wire the car? Are they stealing it?

"Do you have the keys?" Classic, Ford. Thanks so much for making my day. You could have dumped the rest of this ad and saved a lot of money. Because this commercial is really over after that line.

Another unintentionally hilarious cell phone commercial

Wow, a piece of technology so advanced that it "knows" what it's owner wants to do at any given time of day, and "adjusts" to meet that owner's "needs."

Seriously, how complicated could this be, really? Like it's really difficult to "remember" the doings of your average stunningly predictable cell phone addict. "Wow, my phone KNEW I wanted to post a tweet, just because I post tweets roughly every twenty minutes or so. And it KNEW I was going to ask for GPS directions to the Gulp 'n Blow I hit for Cheetos every afternoon, even though I know where the damn store is by heart, because I have to justify having this service available to me..."

Oh, but owning one of these time-sucking, brain cell-murdering little toys makes one feel like James Bond, doesn't it? "You don't want this technology falling into the wrong hands." And the "right hands?" Geeky, soulless, friendless losers who need directions to the living room downloaded to them and who think that they are just ONE technology upgrade from actually having a life, of course.