For the other 19 hours, I suggest Espresso and Red Bull

I guess it was inevitable that in a country drowning in high-fructose corn syrup, white flour and red meat-- a country that no longer believes in regular exercise that does not include shooting digital terrorists on a flat screen tv-- we'd see commercials encouraging us to swig two-ounce bottles of caffeine whenever we "hit the wall" during the work day.

"When do you take Five Hour Energy?" When I don't feel like staying in shape. When I eat crap which weighs me down and makes me tired. When I spike my blood sugar with candy, or the other stimulants- like that premium cup of coffee which has the same amount of caffeine that Five Hour Energy has- wears off.

When I want a quick fix to mask the fact that my diet is shot to hell, I'm being forced to work too damned hard, and I need to mask the symptoms of my body begging me to take it easy because The Boss can replace me in fifteen minutes flat if I try to sit down for a few moments from time to time.

What an awesome, Brave New World we live in. Don't worry about getting enough vitamins and fluids to keep yourself functioning properly. Don't worry about getting enough sleep. Just chug one of these little beauties whenever you need to push yourself just a little bit harder. I'm sure your body will thank you later.

And if it behaves as if you've done it some harm, I'm sure there's another two-gulp cure sitting on the same shelf down at 7-11, a store which used to specialize in heat lamp dogs and weak coffee but is now, apparently, set to be viewed as the pharmacy of the 21st century. Because it's all about Productivity and the Quick Fix, all the time. Down that little bottle of Whatever It Is. And get back to work.

Is this a commercial FOR or AGAINST DirectTV?

You're sitting at home, wasting your life looking for something good on television. Because you just have cable, there's basically never anything on worth watching, ever. And then it gets worse- your Nothing On Anyway cable goes out.

In despair, you pull your sorry ass off the couch and head down to the local watering hole. Somehow, having a few drinks in the company of fellow human beings instead of sitting all by yourself at home equates to being "up for anything." So now you transport your suddenly adventurous self off to a Turkish Bath (this is the most "adventurous" thing that the elderly Baptists who make commercials for DirectTV could think of.)

So far, I can't see any reason why you should be regretting your failure to get DirectTV. But I have faith. I'm sure it's coming.

At the Turkish Bath, you run into Charlie Sheen. And the next thing you know, you are such close buds that you find yourself back at Sheen's pad, re-enacting scenes from Platoon. Is this where you are supposed to wish you had DirectTV, because if your choice of television were better, you could have avoided all this and stayed at home?

Being Charlie Sheen's new best friend, I'm sure, totally sucks for you. Besides re-enacting scenes from his old movies, it probably involves meeting Sheen's glamorous friends, including a lot of hot girls. Well, you sure don't want that, do you? Better get DirectTV, and fast.

Message of this ad: If you don't have DirectTV, you might have to go outside. If you go outside, you might start having a life.

Don't start having a life.

Get DirectTV.

What am I missing here?

If it's Just for Men, what is that Baby doing there????

A scene re-enacted in every ad agency, all over the country: A group of idea-deficient writers huddle at a conference table to discuss the latest project, to produce a commercial which will fill 31 seconds of air time and convince Americans to buy whatever is being offered.

The first item brainstormed by the brilliant ad team: "Ok, how do we get a baby into this spot?"

Seriously, what the hell is going on here? Is it impossible to make a commercial which does not attempt to use babies or toddlers to sell products these days? It used to be that if you saw a baby in an advertisement, you knew immediately that the product must be....you know....somehow related to babies. Diapers. Body powder. Car seats. Creamed carrots in jars. Umm....

I guess that's about it. Babies don't need anything else, right?

Nowadays, we have babies selling us stock management services, Italian cars, insurance for those cars, and chemicals to remove gray from men's hair. And this one makes even less sense than most. Every other Just for Men commercial features the guy getting the girl (or the job) because he's successfully hidden the fact that he's ewww old by tinting his gray hair. Babies don't need to get the girl or the job- and they don't have gray hair to tint- so what the hell is this commercial all about? Ah, of course- it's all about digitally imposing a baby's head on an adult's body and making it do "funny" things that, with any luck, will distract you from noticing how nonsensical this all is.

It actually would be pretty funny- even clever- if I thought for a moment that this commercial was a piece of clever snark directed at the other companies which exploit parents eager to exploit their offspring by putting them into stupid situations for the benefit of eTrade, Fiat, Geico, etc. But I don't believe that. This looks more like piling on- "look, as long as babies don't have to actually relate to the product being offered, we can use them too, so here you are- a baby with a beard taking a hot woman out on the town, driving a sportscar. Now look, we can make him dance too! Sure it's creepy and weird and makes no sense, but who cares! It's a baby! Buy this!"

(BTW, is the concept of a hot woman attracted to a baby sporting a beard really any weirder than the concept of a hot woman attracted to Jim Belushi, Rob Schneider, or any of the Doofus Idiot Fat Guys Married To Beautiful, Smart Women sitcoms which pollute prime time television? Just a thought.)

Let's return to our opening scene. The first idea brainstormed is "Ok, how can we get a baby into this spot?" I want one of three things to happen next:

A) The head of the ad agency, listening in, responds "we can't. This is a product targeted toward men with graying hair. It's clear to me that you have no ideas, but just want to poach off of a current, intensely stupid, trend. You are fired."

B) The other ad men respond "you want to use a baby in this ad? Jeeesh, that is SO forty-two seconds ago! Let's think up something new, people!"

C) A comet crashes into the room, killing everyone in it. And somehow killing the guy who came up with the baby "idea" twice. The rest of the advertising world takes this as a sign, and swears off putting babies in non-baby related commercials forever.

The next day, the word is out on the street: "it's back to chimpanzees, people!"

I've got your "Italian" right here, Fiat

Yes, I'm one quarter Italian. But I was offended by this stupid eTrade Baby ripoff long before the kid pulls a modern version of "It's a Spicy Meata Ball" for no particular reason in the final scene.

First off, what's this "it was girls night out" crap? You know, nobody thinks to wonder why a WOMAN is hanging out with a child. But despite the fact that last time I checked it was the year 2012, the sight of a man with a baby still draws curious looks and a demand for an explanation. What the hell?

"Girls night out?" How nice. Mommy is taking a break from HER job- raising the kid I guess she had ALL BY HERSELF, so Daddy is "pitching in" by giving mom a "break" and making this huge sacrifice (chuckle, snort, boy he looks stupid, he must think he's a girl or something) by- get this- actually spending time with his own child! Mom's going to owe him for this, big time!

Second, this is some seriously reckless driving, considering the fact that there's a freaking BABY in the back seat. "We're going to miss the whole thing" is the "explanation" we are given for the fact that the driver is acting as if he's trying to qualify for the Indy 500. We hear the engine roar. We see this little piece of tin on wheels weave in and out of traffic. Well, why not- it's been clear that this isn't the driver's kid, after all.

Third- what's with the face on that old guy? Who looks at a baby like that? Even if he's ticked because he's been cut off by a Fiat being driven by a reckless doofus, shouldn't he be saving that angry glance for one of the ADULTS?

Oh wait, I get it- the old guy is puzzled to see a baby in the back seat of a car driven by two men. Probably thinks the kid must have been kidnapped or something. I mean, come on- a baby in the company of two men, and no women? What is that all about? That's like seeing a fish riding a bicycle, isn't it?

And finally, the LOL So Funny Never Gets Old Baby Acting Like an Adult moment, which is more like Baby Acting Like an Italian Stereotype Which I Thought Had Been Shown the Exit back in the 1970s. This gets eaten up by the knuckle-dragging glue-sniffers over at YouTube, but I don't see how it's the slightest bit funny. Let alone effective in getting me interested in owning a Fiat.

Thanks anyway, but I don't need to "get my Italian on" by purchasing a car from a company which thinks that equal parts sexism and bigotry are good ingredients in a commercial. I have to admit, though, that I can't imagine buying one of these ugly things under any circumstances, so you haven't really lost anything, Fiat. Except perhaps a modicum of self-respect. And a possible future lawsuit to eTrade.

Chevy runs deep- to reveal this family's emotional scars

Imagine being this guy's son. Dad's "Chevy was his baby, he loved it..." sure, people talk like that about their cars (or at least they did, when cars might have been worth treasuring.) But calling a car your "baby" that you "love"- that's just a figure of speech. Of course, a guy with a wife and family doesn't really "love" his car. He loves his wife, his children, and the life they have together.

Right?

Well, maybe not. This particular dad's love for his Chevy was so deep, so all-consuming, that when his kids became adults, they launched a five-year search for the very car he once had to part with (we aren't told why. Or maybe we are, and I just wasn't paying attention. I'm not paid to do this, you know.)

And when Never Quite Good Enough To Take The Place of a Fucking Car children finally locate Dad's God Damn Chevy Which Was Always More Important Than Our Baseball Games and deliver it to the aging patriarch, well...Dad's reaction is everything they could have hoped for. The guy actually breaks down. He's crying. He's holding his heart, like his fondest wish has been fulfilled. Deborah saying "I love you too" and "yes, I'll marry you?" That was ok. Birth of first child? Meh. Grandchildren? Whatever.

But present dad with his old Chevy- and the old guy crumbles into a teary, visibly moved and shaken bowl of jello. THIS is what occupied his every free moment until that horrible moment of parting, so many years back. And THIS is what is going to be filling what had once been a huge cavity in his heart from now on. Dad takes a few moments to tell his kids how much he's missed the Love of his Life, before heading off for a drive.

The sad, pathetic efforts of his children to earn a modicum of Dad's love has reached a new level here. In another scenario, they bitterly hunt down that Piece of Shit Chevy Dad Would Never Let Us Come Near Let Alone Drive, buy it, and have it crushed into a cube, earning a pat on the head from the family therapist. In another scenario, these kids would trace their lack of self-esteem and their inability to hold a relationship together to their emotionally absent dad and his Freaking Precious Why Don't You Just Marry It Already You Know You Love It More than You Ever Loved Mom car, and finally have it out with the stunted old idiot at the Christmas table when they simply can't deal with another telling of the How My Life Fell Apart The Day I Had To Sell That Car saga dad pulls out of his ass every holiday. Either one would make a better commercial than this weird pile of crud.

Meet John

Hey, check out John. John dresses like a slob and doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands when the camera is trained on him. John moves in weird, jerky motions which suggest he has some kind of muscular disorder which has probably turned off- or frightened- several First Dates, which despite showing promise always seem to turn out to be Last Dates.

After years of fruitless, frustrating One-Nighters (and those are the SUCCESSFUL dates,) John's got a pretty good idea of what he is looking for in a girl- someone who will tolerate whatever it is he does that prevents him from establishing relationships with the women he meets in the normal, Non Online-dating world. Because the route people who aren't sad, isolated losers take- meeting through mutual friends, by joining clubs etc.--- for some reason, this just isn't working for John. What John really needs is another pathetic, desperate, Out of Ideas But Not Money dope who has also been rejected by the population of Normals. John would probably look pretty good- or at least passable- to someone who is one step away from writing guys in prison.

Speaking of desperate- hey, here's Jennifer. Jennifer is going to help John "go deeper."

No, I'm not going there. I know kids who read this blog.

Speaking of Zombies, look what else is back from the dead!

One of my very first posts on this blog- in January, 2009- pointed an accusatory finger at the scam artists of Tronix Country, who preyed on people with credit so poor that they couldn't even get Aaron's to rent them a laptop with a 500% markup. All you needed was a job and an active checking account, and this wonderful philanthropic "you deserve a second chance" company would set you up with that laptop- AND a printer, AND a flat screen tv, AND a digital camera "with your paid order." In other words, you got all that cool extra stuff if and when you finished getting soaked on the $600 laptop you'd ultimately pay $2000 for, in "easy" installments of $29.99 a week.

Well, I thought Tronix Country had gone the way of Blue Hippo (same deal, currently out of business, under investigation by various Attorneys General,) but it turns out I was very wrong. This commercial appeared during Wolfgang Mac's Chiller Drive in Theater (which I only watch on those RARE occasions when I don't have a date Saturday night, so no snide remarks please.) The message has been tweaked slightly- now you are told to pay for the flat screen tv, and the LAPTOP is the "free gift." But other than this slight adjustment, it's the same old scam.

I love the way the guy tells us that he "didn't know what he was missing" before he got his awesome high-definition tv from Tronix Country. Well, I imagine you are still missing a lot of stuff, buddy. Like anything resembling decent credit. Or a bank willing to give you a loan for anything larger than a Big Gulp. Or a clue when it comes to finances. But you enjoy your life-enhancing flat screen tv- at least, until the cable company shuts you down for non-payment of your monthly bill.

Except, this jackass is probably a regular customer at CashStop too, handing over his car title for a few hundred bucks to "tide him over" (pay the cable bill, plus the rental on the X box Aaron's DID agree to let him walk out the door with.) Yeah, this guy really needs a flat screen tv. Much more than he needed that $120 per month. Because the landlady's kind of a bitch anyway, right? Not to mention that Ramen noodles are still really cheap and veggies are way overrated.

I can tell you this much- I don't want to hear any whining from the people "victimized" by these bloodsucking predators. There's been more than enough information out there telling anyone willing to pay attention exposing these frauds as lying, manipulative slimeballs interested in nothing other than getting access to the bank accounts of people just struggling to get by. At some point, you just have to let fools say goodbye to their money in the way they see fit, and serve as an object lesson to the next generation of suckers. The only thing I have to say to the pigeons who call the convenient toll-free number and happily read off their checking account numbers to the operator over at Tronix Country is: Serves You Right, Morons.