Sonic: this is how you die young, fat and boring

I've often wondered why Sonic commercials always feature two guys sitting in their cars holding food instead of consuming it in the--- ahem-- "restaurant."  I've never been to a Sonic- are they intensely filthy places?  Are they Golden Corral-ugly, with Golden Corral-like sweaty pigs ruining any sensible person's appetite shoveling greasy crap down their cake holes in between slurping thick gum-based milkshakes?

I mean, if you aren't in a hurry- and the guys in these commercials never seem to be, as they skirt around their sexual identity issues by obsessing over the fat and carb delivery systems they've just shelled out for at the drive-thru- why would you sit in your hot, cramped car to eat this crap instead of in a booth where you can spread out, loosen your belt, and most of all dump the paper and plastic the stuff came wrapped in right there instead of tossing it in the back of your automobile to attract bugs?

But I'm willing to continue to wonder about all that, if someone can explain to me-- Cheesecake bites?  Really?  Cheesecake bites?  Look, my life isn't exactly what I hoped it would be.  I'm lonely a lot of the time.   If it weren't for my students, I'd have a hard time some days getting up in the morning.  Sometimes I still have a hard time.  But I've never been so depressed, so disgusted with my existence, so devoid of interest in my future (such as it is) that I would consider ingesting something called "Cheesecake bites."  Things are going to have to get a lot worse than that.

The flatmelt sandwiches look pretty good though.  Ah, the power of television.

Nutella presents another episode of "How She Uses her MRS Degree"

Thank goodness for MommyWife and her ability to hold what is left of her soul and her brain together to be of regular service to her family!

In between singing the praises of Nutella, MommyWife astonishes one kid with her quick recital of the capital of West Virginia.  We aren't told why exactly Daughter needs to know the capital of West Virginia at this moment- we don't see her write it down, and God Forbid she reply with a "thank you."  And bubble-headed MommyWife, half her brain cells burned out of her skull by ammonia fumes and boredom, doesn't know why she has that nugget of information jingling around in her practically-empty cranium (some teacher probably taught it to her once, when she was a little girl and had some dream that did not involve chirpily spreading not-peanut butter on toast and bleating random factoids to idiot spawn.)  Daughter just gives Other Daughter a look which probably means "Told you Mom would know that," and MommyWife can add "knows state capitals" to "can spread Nutella on bread" and "am fertile" to her list of assets.

Another kid wants his backpack.  Naturally, MommyWife knows where that is.  She doesn't know where those old dreams are, she doesn't know where her soul is, and she hasn't been out of the house except to go shopping or to cart someone to soccer practice or swimming lessons in eight years, but she knows where the backpack is.

And here's the guy who made All This Possible, providing MommyWife with a suburban palace to keep clean, a new washer and dryer every few years, a different last name and a big SUV to park in the driveway in exchange for her personality and youth.  He's somehow managed to find the kitchen (probably followed the singsong voices of people asking about West Virginia and backpacks) long enough to get the lowdown on all the things he's forgotten because it's just so much easier to let MommyWife remember things for him these days (that's what she's there for, after all.)  MommyWife hands him his own slice of bread and Nutella, and the whole crew is off to do fun and interesting and educational things, leaving MommyWife to her Tide detergent and Swiffer.  We kind of hope that she goes running for the shelter of mother's little helper now and then, because at least that would be evidence that there's an actual human being somewhere behind that frozen smile and those zombie eyes.

And what a great message- "Say No to Sharing." Inspiring!

Ok, so apparently the intensely ugly little knob of a commercial featuring the intensely ugly, nasty family of an intensely helpless dickwad dad was such a hit with some focus group which needs to burn in hell forever that it's been turned into a series.  Lucky us.

Now that we've gotten the pilot out of the way, we move to Zany Sitcom Situation Number Two- Dad, who has already proven totally incapable and even more totally uninterested in being an actual Parent, has hired a "Data Coach" to follow the people living in the same house with him ( I don't think that the word "family" really works here) and order them to stop using their phones foolishly.

Naturally, Data Coach proceeds to stalk the kids, barking at them to shut their fucking phones (which they do not pay for)  off.  He catches mom hiding in the car, trying to get off a quick text to her lover without Mean Husband and his Data Cost Obsession breathing down her neck.  And he interrupts absolutely nothing by walking into Husband and Wife's bedroom to yell at Hubby to put his phone away.

It's all supposed to be very funny, but comes off as really pointless and stupid and a sad commentary on this "family's"  total failure to show even the slightest modicum of respect or understanding for each other.  The Dad acknowledges that there is this problem with high data charges.  Mom is pissed that Dad keeps bringing it up instead of just taking an extra shift at work to pay for them.  Son and Daughter don't give a flying damn how much it costs to use these phones, because as I noted before, it's not their money and they would rather die than stop texting and tweeting and talking and downloading and streaming.  (I'd rather they die, too.)  So Dad's answer is to bring in a total stranger to act as Surrogate Enforcer, accomplishing nothing except making him appear even more the unreasonable heavy- and even more a clueless douchebag who exists to ruin everyone's lives with his penny pinching.

As I've noted before- I don't have kids, so maybe I'm just out of line commenting on these ads, but....is it really so impossible for parents to work together to establish simple ground rules when it comes to the family budget?  Is it really inconceivable that the answer to high phone bills might be something other than Unlimited Data Plans?  I can't even imagine enabling my kids to use their phones nonstop like this- hell, I can't even imagine buying my kids cell phones that could do anything but actually CALL people.  (Oh, and if this makes them show poorly for their friends, let me demonstrate my tiny violin-playing skills. And hand them the Want Ads.)

Anyway, I really hope that this series gets the axe now, because I don't want to see what Dad tries next, I really don't.  And I don't want to keep getting told that the "solution" is Unlimited Data, and not a badly-needed lesson in moderation and budgeting.  But I'm nothing if not a realist, and I'm smart enough to know that this is probably going to get even worse, and will continue the downward slide until the people in these ads are happily gazing at their phones 24/7 with glazed-over eyes and drool dripping down their chins.

Oh and by the way, if you live in an Apartment, you must want the terrorists to win

Along with the treacly National Association of Realtors commercials which show happy, well-adjusted kids who will succeed in life because Mommy and Daddy did their duty and signed up for 30 years of payments to the local Megabank downtown (which sold the mortgage before their signatures were dry, but never mind,) here's another Real Americans Own Suburban Palaces ad.  Yay.

The message is blindingly obvious:  If you care about your country, if you care about putting people back to work, and if you care about maintaining the veneer of Middle-Class happiness symbolized by leaf-littered lawns, giggling children, Big Wheels, Speed Bumps and Lawn Sales, you'll get your ass down to the credit union and sign half of your next 3000 paychecks away in exchange for four walls, a garage and lifetime membership to the Home Depot Herbicide of the Month Club.

After all, Home Ownership is what being an American is all about.  That, and feeling permanently locked into your cubicle because hey, those mortgage payments are just going to keep coming for what feels like forever.  And nobody promised you (in writing) that the biggest purchase of your life was going to increase in value, or even stay stable.  So when you don't get a raise for the third year in a row- just zip it, House Monkey.

Hey, at least the kids are happy, even though they don't know why.  And speaking of whom, better get yourself some term life insurance.  Because it never, ever ends, this Being a Good American thing.   I'll have to try it myself someday.

SelectQuote presents: The most boring family in America!

I've been looking for this commercial for a long time.  A few months ago I actually gave up trying to find it, and instead referred to it in a post featuring another SelectQuote Commercial.

But now, at last, here it is:  Jim and Diedre and their Three Great Kids, sitting on the grass, doing....something.

What ARE Jim and Diedre and their Three Great Kids doing?  Well, Jim is smiling appreciatively as one of his Great Kids tosses a plastic hoop on to a plastic peg, which MAY be as much as 18 inches away.  This is so much fun that when Jim removes the plastic hoops and gives them back to the kid, the kid doesn't grimace and turn away, but goes right back to tossing the hoops.

Wait, it gets better.  Jim's daughter, who actually appears to be OLDER than the little boy who seems to be enjoying this mind-numbingly dumb, incredibly age-inappropriate, non-stimulative dreck of an activity, actually wants to join in on the "fun."  She quickly gets her share of plastic hoops and proceeds to lean forward slightly so she can drop them on the plastic peg.

Good lord, Jim.  Maybe you and Diedre should reconsider feeding your Three Great Kids exclusively on paint chips.

And what is Diedre doing with the third of the Three Great Kids (the only kid who looks young enough to actually get something out of the "put the plastic rings on the plastic hoops game?)  She's tossing a ball with him/her (how many times do you expect me to watch this?)  That ball is being tossed roughly the same distance as the plastic hoops.  Somehow, this is delightful fun to Diedre and her kid.  Good lord, what is going on with these people?

Anyone else think this looks a lot more like "keep smiling for a few more seconds, the photographer from White Christian Family Today Magazine will be done in a moment and then you can do whatever you want" than an actual family having an actual picnic?  Do the people at SelectQuote really know families that it any way resemble these chuckleheads?

Anyway,  Jim decided one day that all this was worth insuring.  Diedre the fertile idiot and their three pathetically uninteresting children.  Yes, we must make sure that if something happens to Jim, All This gets preserved.

After all, someone has to catch that ball, and someone has to take the plastic hoops off the ring so the game can start all.....over.....again.  Zzzzzzzz.

My kid with crappy eating habits can beat up your kid with crappy eating habits

A lot of YouTube posters watched this ad and thought the same thing I did- "why isn't this pompous, smug idiot's kid playing soccer wearing a Pediasure costume?"

I mean, if "you are what you eat," and if that fact turns her kid's fellow soccer players into french fries and donuts, why isn't her daughter a jug of milk, water, and sand?

That being a question that is not going to be answered by the good people at Pediasure, I'll ask this one instead- why isn't Pediasure Princess getting her ass handed to her by another little girl who started her day with oatmeal or whole grain cereal and a glass of orange juice?  Because in real life, that Pediasure would leave the spawn of My Child Doesn't Need Fiber gasping for breath by halftime.

You lost me at "Hello"

It all started in that high school football game when you accidentally avoided a tackle and some choad with a video phone caught it and responded by bleating "Hello," which I guess is the modern American version of "Wow."  I liked "Wow" better.

Then the moron decided to post your stunt on to YouTube- no doubt under the Uber-Clever title of "Hello," and it, umm, "went viral."  To speakers of the English language, that means it was shared all over the world.  In modern parlance, it "got a lot of hits."  I really hate the century I'm living in, but now is not the time for that particular rant, so I'll just go on.

Eventually, a scout for some Big Ten school caught your act on YouTube, and sent a recruiter to meet with you after a game (maybe the same game.  Why not? I think the idea is that AT&T makes these things happen really quickly.

And  before you knew it, you had agreed to accept a scholarship to come to the recruiter's college, pretend to take a few classes now and then, and play a lot of football.  When you accepted the scholarship, you agreed that it could be cancelled after the first year, the second year, or the third year, so you'd better have a few more "Hello" moves left in you.  You also agreed to that the school now owned your name, which it would plaster on everything from $5 sports drink bottles to $175 jerseys in the gift shop.  You also agreed that the NCAA now owned your image, which it would use in video games for the next several years without handing over one dime in residuals to you.  By the way, if you accept a free movie ticket or a discounted ride home for the holidays from a booster, you'll find yourself stripped of that scholarship and ineligible for the pro  draft- must protect the sanctity of the scholar-athlete ideal, you know.

When it's all over, if you've been very careful and allowed the NCAA and your---umm,  "school" to make big bucks off your sweat until both decided you were disposable, you have a roughly 1 percent chance of landing with an NFL team.  Which means you have a 99 percent chance of being on the unemployment line until an assistant coaching job at the local high school opens up.  Then you get to say Hello to life on a $19,000 annual salary.

But hey, awesome move in that game.  You can check it out on YouTube.