Ahh, if only Dorian Gray had heard about this stuff....

The thought that there are people out there who will happily (read:desperately) shell out good, hard-earned money for this stuff doesn't dampen my thorough enjoyment of this commercial.

I really do love ads like this; commercials for products which are so obviously snake oil. Work at Home Millionaire, the Joy of House-Flipping, Beat the Stock Market, Pay off your Credit Cards at pennies on the Dollar, Beat the IRS at their Own Game- it's all good.

What makes commercials for exercise machines, acne products, weight-loss drugs and "Restoring Youth" creams especially delightful is the testimony of doctors which is always included; in this one, a guy we have never heard of (and will never hear of again) assures us that he would never "risk his reputation" endorsing this product if he wasn't sure he worked. Wow, that carries so much clout with me. I mean, check out that official-looking white jacket. He MUST be a doctor.

Not to mention that it makes SO MUCH SENSE that a company which has basically discovered the Fountain of Youth would announce the discovery on a commercial running during "The Secrets of the Knights Templar" on the Planet Green channel on a Sunday afternoon, rather than hold a press conference and turn the formula over to the Food and Drug Administration for evaluation. After all, what could they get out of approval of the FDA? Just access to every pharmacy in the United States, coverage from every major network and newspaper, and potentially billions in sales. Who needs that when you've got some doctor to give a five-second blurb promising to "stand behind" it's product?

Now, I myself have not aged in years. But I don't use this cream- I've taken the old-fashioned (though rather expensive) route of hiring a painter to capture my likeness on canvas, and then transferring my soul to the finished product. (It's not like I was using it anyway.) Sure, it's not a strategy endorsed by any doctors I know of. But it also doesn't involve rubbing stem cells on my face. I mean, that just sounds gross.

Our future heart transplant patients*

Children represent the future. Or at least, they represent the future of the pharmaceutical and avoidable illness and surgery industries. Just as long as we keep raising them to enjoy the pleasures of plastic "fruit" snacks, oil-infused potato and corn, soda, and fatty semi-dairy products like Kraft Cheese Slices.

Not to mention that all of these soon-to-be-obese, asthmatic, suffering from back pain children are contributing to America's wonderful landfills by pushing mom and dad to buy these individually wrapped squares of orange poison. The greatness of a nation is measured in the waistlines of it's youth and in the height of it's slowly-corroding garbage dumps, you know.

Yes, children are our future. And children who are taught at a very early age to find pleasure in eating crud like this mean a very fat, sick, unhealthy future indeed. A future filled with expensive medications if they are fortunate, even more expensive surgeries if they aren't. Surrounded by refuse which won't decay until great-grandchildren are enjoying their own generation's form of fun, tasty death.

*When I wrote up this post yesterday afternoon, it's original title was "I believe that children are our future." Events later in the evening convinced me that I ought to tweak it a bit or suffer the wrath of Whitney Houston fans. That being said, I'm sure not looking forward to a week or so of "let's remember why we switched the channel whenever one of her songs came on" salutes from XM Radio. However, if they drown out the hideous ads for Ozzy Osbourne's new show, all is forgiven.

Stupid, sexist soft porn from the Green Mountain State

Apparently there are only two types of women on this planet- the type that wants the Guy in their life to show his affection through the purchase of ancient chunks of pretty rock, and the type that wants that affection shown through the purchase of gigantic plush toys.

I'm not going to get into a whole discussion here about which type of woman is less mature than the other. Personally, I don't find being thrilled over a shiny pebble any more "adult" than flipping out over a fluffy package of mostly air. I'm not going to spend a lot of time here making the obvious comparison of this advertisement to commercials for Enzyte or K-Y Jelly, except to note that there isn't a trace of class or subtlety in any of them.

Instead, I'll just make two quick remarks about this repulsive, Not at All Romantic little crumb of a commercial. First, tell me that this enormous bear thing doesn't become a major hassle to own once the "thrill" of receiving it on Valentine's Day fades out. Where does one keep something like that? I wish the girl had responded by asking "Am I supposed to move to a two-bedroom apartment now so I have room for this?" I can see it's owner quickly ordering one of those vacuum storage bags things and using it to reduce her bear to the size of a waffle, and then slipping it into the closet next to the SodaStream Mr. Thoughtful picked up for her last year.

Second- do the Males who give these things just have a problem with showing affection? Because it seems to me that giving the woman you love one of these monstrosities is a passive declaration that "I really don't like hugging you, and I'm sick of your constant demands for physical contact, so here, hug on this instead?" Why would any normal guy want to provide a "fun" alternative for his Significant Other to shower hugs and kisses on? (By the end of the ad, that woman sure seems taken with her bear, doesn't she? And where's the guy? Back with his buddies in front of the big screen, playing Worlds of Warcraft, mission accomplished?)

You think DEPRESSION hurts? Try Cymbalta!

First- Sadness? Loss of Interest? Anxiety? These are the symptoms of Depression? Jeesh, who ISN'T depressed?

Second- I have seen a lot of commercials for anti-Depressant medications, but this is the first one I've ever seen which lists "yellowing of eyes" as a possible side effect. Suicidal thoughts? Check. Insomnia? Check. Bleeding out like a stuck pig? Check. But yellowing of eyes? Sorry, that's the deal breaker for me. My eyes are my meal ticket!

They are also the windows to my soul. I can't have those windows anything but rich brown- so I guess I'll have to stay depressed. I don't even have to ask my doctor of Cymbalta is Right for Me. Ulcers, severe stomach cramps, deafness, vomiting, paranoia, delusions, hallucinations, sudden irrational fear of sock puppets- I can learn to adjust to pretty much anything. But leave my eyes alone, Cymbalta!

By the way, I see that Cymbalta isn't recommended for Children under 18. What do children over 18 look like? Let me guess- they spend most of their time texting, downloading the newest version of Angry Birds and playing Call of Duty in their basements, right?

Zales shows us how to deal with a restraining order

"Must not come within one hundred yards, huh? Well, that's NOT going to prevent me from proposing marriage in an amazingly stupid, childish, cloyingly insulting way!"

"First, I know where you live because after all I've been following you home for months now. And I know the building across the alley from yours almost as well- God Knows I've used the fire escape enough times to get to the roof and find exactly the right angle to keep an eye on you as you sleep (I love you so much, I can't bear the thought of anything ever happening to you!")

"And when I climbed on to your ledge to attach one end of this string, I wasn't technically in violation of the judge's instructions, because you weren't home at the time (where were you? You might as well tell me, I'm going to find out!)"

"And when you FINALLY wake up (not that I minded staring at you as you slept for hours and hours- not the first time you've made me wait, but this time I'm not ducking behind the chimney when you look out your window) you'll see me on the roof. This time, you won't scream and reach for the phone in that adorable way you usually do, because now I'm ready to meet your price. Here's a big rock for you, plus evidence that there's plenty of money where that came from, since I am clearly not at all concerned that the string might break and the ring might fall into the street and be lost."

"No, I'm quite certain that the moment you see this ring, I will no longer be the stalker you fear and pretend not to love. Once you put it on, you'll recognize me as the man of your dreams. And you'll tear up that piece of paper you foolishly got the authorities to write up when you didn't understand that I am your destiny, and this was Meant To Be."

Thank you again, Zales, for showing us the true meaning of Love. Sick.

(BTW: Anyone else think that this whole ring-on-a-string bit is just a little too similar to the idea of baiting a hook? Anyone else more than a little put off with the continued use of the "women are for sale, and can be purchased with the right rock" message that permeates every. Single. Ad. for jewelry? Or is it just me?)

Chevron's partnership with the Church of Small Business

Wow, it's just great to see two disparate entities, with so little in common, come together for the benefit of us all, isn't it?

First we have something called "Small Businesses," which I guess includes carpenters, plumbers, and everyone else who provides a service in exchange for cash. Hmmm, I'm a teacher, and I provide education for a fee- am I a small business? On the other hand, I give away food to starving or slightly hungry kids for no return- does that make me a Communist?

Then we have one of the largest corporations on the planet, Chevron. Chevron makes it's money by raping as much of the globe as possible, in as many ways as possible, while greasing the wheels by bribing governments into handing over even more territory while turning a blind eye to it's non Chevron-related inhabitants. Tear down that forest? Go ahead, we weren't using it. Pollute that water? The natives will find some more somewhere (hey, it rains sometimes after all.) There's money to be made, and there's no such thing as "enough."

Like chocolate and peanut butter, small businesses and Chevron are natural allies. According to this commercial, small businesses are the lifeblood of our economy- no, strike that, of SOCIETY. Wait, I'll go even further- according to these ads, small businesses are the only things keeping us from returning to the Dark Ages. They stand bravely before the Gates of Hell, protecting us from the twin demons of Socialism and Communism. How sacred are Small Businesses? They are the altar at which both Mitt Romney and Barack Obama worship.

And what is the nature of this partnership? Chevron pumps billions of dollars into small, local businesses. Ok, now I have to admit that I'm lost. I have no idea what this means. Does Chevron loan money to "entrepreneurs" (sometimes called "risk-takers" but always to be referred to as "The Most Successful"- consider them the High Priests of the New Religion?) Or does the behemoth just hire so many worker drones that it's paychecks keep entire communities afloat?

Either way, the message in ads like this is very clear: Maybe you don't like Chevron's imperialistic shredding of the environment in pursuit of ever larger profits. Maybe you don't care for the fact that Chevron pays virtually nothing in taxes, and in fact receives subsidies from the US Government despite the fact that it's one of the most profitable corporations which has ever existed. Maybe you aren't thrilled that all of this damage is being done, and all this taxpayer money is being spent, to keep young Americans in dangerous parts of the world and to keep Chevron's CEOs in private jets and beach houses large enough to be seen from space. Maybe you are wondering why it's the year 2012 and we are still talking as if Oil is the fuel of the future. But the bottom line is this: Chevron and Small Businesses are the stars and stripes of the American flag, and if you don't spend every waking moment of your life thanking your boss for "giving" you a job and graciously allowing you to live another day, you are an ungrateful, selfish jerk who probably worships at the altar of the Unrepentant Terrorist Bill Ayers and Simply Doesn't Understand How The Economy Works.

Which makes you a heretic. Or a Progressive. Same thing.

Thanks, Nexus and Google "Hangouts." I can retire in peace now

I don't care if the Geico Gekko kicks a field goal for the Bears when he gets around to visiting Chicago.

I don't care if the Aflac Duck assembles an entire entourage of talking, singing and break-dancing animals to explain for the 4000th time why we all "need" supplemental health insurance.

I don't care if the next Bud Light campaign shows hot bartenders smashing bottles over the heads of guys who dare order something other than a Bud Light, or if Miller Lite ramps up it's "Man Card" series to include guys taunting their "unmanly" friends into suicidal behavior.

I don't care if Nissan uses CGI to show it's truck towing aircraft carriers into Pearl Harbor, or if the Golden Corral introduces a Carmel Canal or a Cheese Sea to go along with it's Chocolate Wonderfall. I don't care if all Cici's commercials from now on just cut to the chase and show big-bellied hicks shoving greasy junk down their gullets with no narration at all.

I don't care if cell phone companies come right out and say what they've been implying for years: that if you don't update your phone at least every three months, you are a backward loser who doesn't deserve to have any friends.

And I don't care if every other commercial on television features the same angry woman muttering vague threats against The Guv'mnt for daring to even consider raising taxes on soda, making it nearly impossible to feed her family in These Trying Times.

None of that really matters anymore, because it will never, ever get worse than this. There is simply no way that any commercial could be even one-tenth as annoying, as obnoxious, as downright STUPID that this one is. I mean, I see no socially redeeming value here at all- MAYBE if it had ended with everyone in it being so distracted by their phones that they all fell into the same trench filled with starving man-eating sharks, they might have salvaged SOMETHING. But no.

So I can quit now, knowing that ad agencies have finally reached the bottom. Right?