Non-Partisan Stupidity from Carbonite

What can Ed Schultz and Rush Limbaugh, Rachel Maddow and Glenn Beck, Thom Hartmann and Sean Hannity all agree on? I mean, besides the "need" to invest at least part of our investment portfolios in gold, "the only asset isn't somebody else's liability?"

Well, this is actually a pretty easy answer: It's that we must all back up our files using Carbonite. Because our whole lives are on our laptops.

In case you didn't buy the idea that your bookmarks, recipes, and--well, actually, for 99.9 percent of us, that's just about it- were absolutely irreplaceable, here's an utterly obnoxious, sadly topical commercial from Carbonite. A beautiful young woman is preparing for The Most Important Day of Her Life when a wizened old woman, representing the Specter of Death, tells her that she's "about to lose everything." In another room, the anxious groom obsesses with his receding hairline and is told by a male version of the vulture freaking out his bride that he, too, is "about to lose everything."

It all sounds very creepy, very ominous, especially with the eerie background music (which the YouTube losers have instantly fallen in love with and OMIGOD MUST IDENTIFY AND POSSESS RIGHT NOW LOL.) Oddly, despite the dire warnings of impending disaster, Bride and Groom go on with the ceremony, only to have it interrupted by a slovenly, stupid dick who bursts into the church roaring "you're going to lose your files!"

Oh, horrors. The new couple, having silly, non-file related stuff like Weddings and Planning for a Life Together on their minds, have totally forgotten the importance of backing up their Suddenly More Important Than Anything Ever stored information "off-site" (perhaps In The Cloud? Have I mentioned lately how much I hate this century?)

Thankfully, we aren't shown their reaction- I have this sick feeling that they would have broken off the nuptials to call Carbonite and get signed up at the Low Low Rate of $55 per year. Because you can get married any time. Do you realize how hard it is to get bookmarks back?

"You're going to lose Everything." "Everything" just isn't as all-encompassing as it used to be, is it? Except that crap like this seems perfectly acceptable to "liberal" and "conservative" yakkers alike, it's kind of hard to see the point.

I guess it's a good thing I don't work for "Five Star"

First, let me say that I feel really bad making fun of John Walsh, but....sir? You've made quite a career out of channeling your rage for the better part of a quarter-century now. Television shows, commercial opportunities...maybe it's time for you to pocket your cash and seek some therapy? I know it doesn't pay as well as peddling fear and paranoia, but...

Well, I just thought I would throw that in.

On to this "service" you are selling us today. I'm pretty sure that I'm not the type of person you'd hire to be one of your operators. I don't think I have the proper bedside manner. This is how I see it unfolding:

Lost Kid: "I can't find my mom."

Me: "What, were you busy playing with your stupid phone instead of paying attention when she told you to keep up with her? BTW, why don't you have a phone? Don't you watch commercials? Why are you such a loser?"

Lost Kid: "I don't know where she is."

Me: "Oh, and I do? Jeeeeshhh...I was just about to go on my break. Look, if she wants to find YOU, she will. My guess is, she isn't trying. I'm sure it was fun to have a mom for a while. Why don't you move on now?" Click.

Alleged Grown-Up who Fears Being in a Strange Neighborhood: "Can you stay with me until I get to my car?"

Me: "Is that a joke? What, are there scary non-white people around? What the hell is the matter with you? Why are you wasting my time- don't you know I've got some stupid lost kid on the other line?"

AGUWFBIASN: "But I can't find my car..."

Me: "Gee, guess you don't have an 'App' for that, huh? See, this is called 'trained helplessness.' You've got this 'service,' and it's turned you into a quivering, scared idiot the moment you face a situation which is at all unfamiliar. I'm going to hang up on you now and leave you to find your car on your own. Trust me, you'll thank me later."

Old Guy: "I don't feel well."

Me: "Well, welcome the real world, dope. You sound like you are around eighty, and you are off hiking by yourself, and you don't feel well? Hey, I'm in my forties, do you think I feel well? Who am I supposed to call and bitch at?"

Old Guy: "I may be suffering a heart attack."

Me: "Oh, here comes the Guilt Trip. You 'may' be having a heart attack, so now the burden is on ME to do something about it? WHY are you out by yourself anyway? Don't you have any kids or grand kids you could be sharing this outdoor experience with?"

Old Guy: "I'm not sure I want to call 9/11..."

Me: "No, of course not. It's just their JOB to deal with calls like you. You don't want to be a burden to the emergency squad. You don't want to be a burden to your family. You just want to be a burden to a total freaking stranger on the phone. BTW, are you aware that I've got a stupid lost kid and a scared alleged grown-up hanging on the line? Could you just make a decision, Mr. Great Outdoors Oh No I Don't Need A Companion To Hike With? Do you need help or not?"

I wonder how we ever got to 2012, considering that this type of technology has only been with us for the past few years. It's looking less and less likely that we are going to see 2112, however. At least, not in our current form; the way we are going, by then we'll all be walking around with chips embedded into our skulls which allow us to consult a disembodied voice every few seconds about that Scary Little Twinge in our necks or that Unfamiliar Person at the bus stop. Thank God, I'll be dead by then.

What, Kraft? What?

"I've been skimming Mac'n Cheese for 75 years" says the old man at the table who I guess is best known as Grampa, or Dad.

So you've been a gross, disgusting pig for 75 years? Good to know. Even more good to know- someone can actually live to be an old man despite the fact that he's spent his whole life eating this fatty garbage.

Then comes the "funny" punchline: Son says "but I'm only forty-five years old."

Old Man: "I have another family."

Awkward Pause. Old Man: "What?" (as in "What? I'm an old man. No act of betrayal or cruelty to you or your mom matters now, because I'm an old man.") Son: "What?" (As in "Are you saying you've been living a lie for decades? What do you mean, you have another family? Why are you saying this to me, now, in front of your grandson?")

Cut to trademarked cartoon music which wraps of all of these ads. Because this is FUNNY, right?

This is funny in some universe I've never visited. In a sane world, it's disgusting, cruel, intensely stupid, mean-spirited rubbish. After years of watching commercials get dumber and less interested in maintaining even the slightest level of decency, I'm still stunned at the utter tastelessness exhibited here.

Come on, people- where is the humor in a situation which can only end in tears, anger and (if I were this old man's son) a kick in the pants followed by this creep being deposited on the sidewalk with an order to never, ever try to contact THIS grandson again.

I've often joked that it seems that little or no thought goes into writing scripts for commercials these days. I can't joke about that anymore, because the only possible defense of this horrible lump of a very, very bad idea is that no thought went into it. I want the guy who wrote it to come before a bank of cameras and give me a sad story about how he has been having trouble at home and was given the job of writing this commercial on a ten minute deadline while worried about one of his kids, who is in intensive care with lupus. In such a contingency I might find it in my heart to forgive him for creating this travesty, which can only lead to children all over the country turning to their parents and asking "what does he mean, 'Another Family?'"

The company that isn't satisfied with mass-marketing yellow sludge as food, but must poison the airwaves with sad, ugly junk like this weird advertisement? Kraft will have to find forgiveness somewhere else. Sorry.

"I have another family." Ick. There's the door, Grampa. Get on the phone with your Other Family, which is now your Only Family. I'll be busy trying to clean up this mess with my son.

And if you come near my house again, I'll have you arrested, you two-legged rodent, and I don't give a flying crap HOW old you are or HOW long you've been "skimming the Mac 'n Cheese," whatever the hell that REALLY means.

You've come a long way, Baby. Or have you?

Carol had better get her coffee-making act together, or next time this cup of hot, undrinkable mud is going right in her face. Followed by a fist.

Ah, the good old days- when a man could berate his wife about the quality of her coffee (or anything else, for that matter,) sneering at her total lack of cooking skills while throwing said coffee into her flower garden or comparing it unfavorably to the stuff he can get at the mess hall Back at the Base. When a wife would stand slightly behind her husband, hands crossed behind her back, in hopeful expectation that THIS time, she managed to get it right, for ONCE. When a man felt perfectly comfortable inflicting a psychological death by a thousand cuts with constant little reminders that I Could Have Made Anyone Mrs. John Smith You Know, You'd Better Get Your Act Together If You Don't Want To Get Hurt, If It Weren't For Me You'd Be an Old Maid And Don't You Forget It.

When the Little Missus would respond to nasty "you can't do ANYTHING right, can you?" remarks by the Man of the House by rushing off to the grocery store to consult with another man for tips on how to save her rocky marriage, and track down one Wise in the Ways of Coffee conveniently unpacking the stuff (and even more conveniently being the possessor of a PhD in All Things Coffee- oh wait, I forgot- in the 1950s, men were experts in EVERYTHING that didn't involve cooking, cleaning or changing diapers.)

"No, Carol you silly dim bulb, this is NEW Folger's Crystals!" Not only is Carol incapable of making coffee superior to INSTANT, but she can't manage to process the "new" part of the label without extra prodding from Wise, Helpful Old Male. Later Carol will need to be taught the concept of a "mountain" through hand signals. Carol isn't the brightest bulb on the tree, a fact reinforced by her "look what I learned today, honey" repeat of the International Symbol for "mountain" when she gets home and finally makes Hubby a decent cup of coffee. Hubby thinks this is adorable, and who wouldn't?

Guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses, after all.

Thank goodness those days are over, don't you agree? We'd never see ads like this now. Women in commercials today are too busy serving up beer while wearing super-tight tank tops and cut-off jeans. They are strong, independent types who live to obsess over diapers, laundry soap, minivans, and their Relationship Status on Facebook. They don't live in anguish over hubby's reaction to their coffee- way too busy dishing up Hamburger Helper and reaching for the Bounty towels for that. They wouldn't be caught dead wringing their hands over their inability to add hot water to ground beans- not when there's weight to be lost through a diet of Progresso Soup and Multigrain Cheerios.

Sexist pig husbands? No woman would tolerate such a thing today- unless, of course, he went to Jared. Chocolate Diamonds are awfully pretty, after all.

Suzie's in the 1%, thanks to Verizon

Deleted Scenes:

Suzie's Lemonade becomes a division of Beatrice Foods, sparing Suzie the need to hire her own lobbyists to push for Lemon and Sugar Subsidies.

Suzie throws a fit when her accountants tell her that "the effective tax rate was way off." Because she's In the Know, she goes with BDO.

Suzie discovers that she can save another $40 million by dumping sugar as an ingredient in her lemonade and substituting High Fructose Corn Syrup instead. Not to mention the addicts this creates, which also helps the bottom line for her investments in Big Pharma.

Suzie ruthlessly crushes repeated attempts by her employees to create a Union. Payoff: No one who works for Suzie makes more than $8 per hour, unpaid overtime is mandatory, and they can forget about health benefits.

Suzie starts her own adorable SuperPac and proceeds to hedge her bets by raising money in equal amounts for Mitt Romney, Rick Santorum and Barack Obama. Why not Newt Gingrich? Hey, she didn't get where she is today without having some math skills.

Suzie takes advantage of massive government tax incentives to fire her entire staff and move the whole operation to the Marianas Islands. Thanks to our corporate-owned Congress, she may continue to advertise her Lemonade as "Made in the USA."

Suzie lands a regular guest spot on the Fox Business Network to bleat how important it is that government both "stay out of the way" and also "encourage the most productive." Sean Hannity makes her a regular on his program.

Suzie runs for the US Senate from California, spending $80 million of her own money, each penny painstakingly raised through years of sacrifice. Not Suzie's sacrifice, mind you.

That stupid, frozen, "I Love Money" smile of hers becomes a favorite Halloween Mask and dartboard decoration. And everyone involved in this commercial, including Suzie, end up being buried in massive mausoleums jammed to the seams with money. Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.

State Farm: Useful even if Hank defies your expectations, and lives

I've actually had this commercial stashed in my bookmarks list for quite some time now, trying to figure out just the right angle to use on it. Sometimes ads are just so mean-spirited, so willing to tickle that crass side of society which thinks that anything hurtful or cruel is "funny," they defy snark. But I want to get this one done before it leaves the airwaves (any time would be fine, really) so I will just settle for telling my audience exactly what I think of this thirty seconds of nastiness from State Farm.

We open with blurry, wobbly "home movies" and still photographs featuring "Hank" and his family, as his widow(?) waxes poetic about how much he cared about his family. How much did Hank care? Why, enough to make sure that she and the kids could stay in the house he provided for them in life, once he went to his reward (and by the time this ad is over, we can certainly appreciate the idea that dying was the best reward that Hank could have hoped for.)

The narrator tells us that if she could tell Hank anything, it would be "thank you." Aww, that's both sweet and sad at the same time. We all have people no longer in our lives that we wish we could thank. Once they are gone, they are gone, and we are left with the regret that inevitably comes from lost opportunities. We know exactly what this woman is saying. Show appreciation while the person who means so much to you is there to accept it. Message received.

Except, no. See, here's the hilarious punchline- Hank is STILL ALIVE! He's RIGHT THERE! He's walking through the living room, and he's overheard his wife's dreamy fantasy that he's dead, and he replies "you're welcome" (better do it now, Hank- God Knows this woman is never going to say it outright, to you. She's saving it for the eulogy.)

Suddenly Not-Widow mutters "Hey, Hank" with an undeniable, disgusted "oh damn I forgot, you are still taking up space here, thanks for interrupting my daily Hank is Dead daydream."

"Now do me a favor and just walk away, so I can go back to wishing I had had the opportunity to say thank you. Because I clearly have no intention of ever doing that. I am, however, looking forward to the day when I can finally regret not thanking you because it really is too late."

Of course, there are morons out there who think that this is funny- one YouTube dope thinks it should have been a Super Bowl ad. (Well, it's certainly tasteless, so it does qualify.) But remember that others think the E-trade babies and Bud Lite "NFL experience" ads are funny, too. There's no displeasing some people.

Eddie Murphy, reduced to picking up scripts dumped in the trash by Jim Carrey?

You know the film is really going to suck when the leaden "moral" is handed to you like a rotting plate of cabbage during the freaking TRAILER.

You also know the film is going to be a stunning waste of your time and money when it's easy to substitute the poor schlub playing the main character with Jim Carrey. (Seriously, tell me that this film doesn't have "written for Carrey but he was too busy negotiating Ace Ventura III to return our calls" written all over it.)

And you know for SURE that this film is from the Tweak this line, tear out a few pages here, adjust Scene II and substitute black actors for white ones dustbin of Overused Ideas when it involves some magical spell dropping the Sledgehammer of Change Your Ways Or Else on a guy better known for comedy than Straight To Hallmark Video "message" films. I mean, tell me how this plate of Been There Done That is any different from Bruce Almighty, Evan Almighty, Liar Liar, The Tooth Fairy, etc. etc. ETC. Principle Male Character is a total ass. Principle Male Character gets visit from Supernatural Being who for some reason, never fully explained, is taking time off from dealing with world hunger, disease, and poverty to Teach Principle Male Character A Valuable Lesson. Lesson Ultimately Learned, making the World a Better Place for Approximately Six People. Well, thank goodness.

It sure doesn't help my mood that this warmed-over dreck "stars" Eddie Murphy. It was only a few years ago that Murphy was up for a Best Actor Award for his role in Dreamgirls. Apparently Murphy has decided that awards are all well and good, but he's still in this for the money, after all. Carrey I think got the same idea after The Truman Show and The Majestic- that it's fun to be taken seriously for a while, but slapstick garbage is where the big bucks are- so it was on to The Grinch and the aforementioned Liar Liar. Aim low and keep the dough rolling in, I guess. But it won't be any of MY money, I can promise you that. Because movies cost upwards of $10 nowadays, and one has to be choosy concerning which cheesy, manipulative garbage one throws that kind of money, and a perfectly good Saturday night, at. This cliche-fest doesn't make the cut, sorry.