Coming Next: A Force Field Which Throws me five hundred feet into a pit of broken glass

Well, here's something to be grateful for.  Maybe someday I'll be in a horrible accident which takes my life, because I drive a 10-year old Honda Civic (as befits my station.)  I can live with that.

What I can't live with is the idea that my accident might also cause injury or even death to people who are far, far better than I am, like this beautiful couple cruising around in their Infiniti.  I were ever responsible for even causing a dent or scratch on their lovely car, or inconveniencing them in any way, I would HOPE that my accident was a fatal one, because I would not be able to live with myself.

So I am so very glad that these Far Superior people can afford a car which protects them from the kind of event on the highway which, in a Just World, should only threaten inferior proles like myself.  It makes me feel better about having the audacity to share the road with them.  I'm still quite certain I don't deserve the honor, but at least I know I'm a lot less likely to damage their grilles with my stupid ugly face.

It also makes me feel good to know that scientists are relentless in their pursuit of new innovations which will allow the very rich among us to live longer lives despite the fact that they are constantly surrounded by trolls like me.   If it makes you feel any better, Very Rich People, we aren't breeding as fast as we used to, and more and more of us have been reduced to using public transportation.  But until we are out of your way altogether, Infiniti will be there for you.  Thank God.

Reality Check: You are an easily-manipulated Addict

Something dies in my soul every time I watch these pathetic douchenozzles basically explain to me that they realized that their lives were not worth living when they noticed that some of their friends had cooler, flashier electronic toys.

"I couldn't get email, I couldn't steam movies, I couldn't upload any videos..." oh boo f--ing hoo, you poor deprived suffering ones.  Here are two big pieces of wood, some nails and a hammer; build yourself a cross and attach yourself to it, if you can manage the project without finding a YouTube video with step by step instructions.

Seriously, I am so damned sick of these commercials and their attempts to convince me that I'm living in the f--ing stone age if I can't watch movies on my phone or take photos and instantly upload them (or is it download them?) to for all the world to see (or not.)  I wish Verizon, AT&T and the rest would just admit that they are not selling anything vital, and that more "connectivity" and "faster speeds" really means nothing more than "crap, faster."

But who am I kidding?  Just look at these people, especially the one woman who sounds like she's risking complete social isolation from her friends if she doesn't upgrade.  These idiots are all hooked, and never mind that what they consider blindingly fast today they'll call agonizingly slow next year.  Losers.

"Don't like it? Well, you know where the kitchen is, make your own damn breakfast!"

For all the stupid grins and satisfied looks, I'll put real down real money that what this guy is actually thinking is "Jesus, this is why you insisted on the $10,000 kitchen makeover?  So you could send me off to work with an f---ng McMuffin?  Two dollars worth of garbage from the McDonalds down the street before I spend ten hours in an office while you spend the day watching soaps and shopping on Haute Look.com?"

"Well, at least I can finally say I've eaten a decent breakfast in this apartment."

And that the woman here is thinking is "you think you own me?  You think I'm your f--ng handmaiden and I'm going to just cook and clean for you, Mr. Career Guy?  Well here's what I think of that- while you were spending an hour getting ready for another day in your exciting World Outside This Apartment, I got the doorman to run over to McDonalds to buy you exactly two dollars worth of crap- a muffin and a coffee.  Because that's what you're worth."

I don't remember grandma having a Chocolate Wonderfall, but I'm sure she did.

Who's got comfort food like grandma used to make?  Who's got food like people used to actually cook before they got pathetically lazy like us?  Why, the answer is America's Favorite Feeding Trough, Golden Corral, of course!

Remember when your grandma used to serve up endless piles of pot roast, fried chicken, orange macaroni and cheese?  Remember the mountains of tasteless mashed potatoes and sludge gravy?  And remember how every Thanksgiving she'd put out a vat of drumsticks and another of sliced rubbery cranberry sauce?  Remember that?

Remember how you'd eat so many rolls, using the last couple to sop up that gravy- you'd have to unbutton your pants?  That was awesome.  How can we get those days back?  What's the matter, being morbidly obese effect your hearing?  I told you already- Golden Corral!

And this is even better than grandma's place- here you can end your night of binge eating by sticking marshmallows, cookies and your fingers into Hershey's chocolate syrup and give yourself a nice little energy boost (you'll need it to prevent your slipping into a diabetic coma, fine at grandma's but kind of hard when people expect you to drive home later) by shoving your hand into a cotton candy machine!!  You'll feel like a kid again- a big, fat, disgusting kid with no pride, dignity or common sense!

And when you are finally done shoving all the greasy, cheap warm food which kind of reminds you of the stuff grandma used to make (please don't say so out loud, we don't need grandma spinning in her grave or coming back to haunt you for desecrating her memory) down your cake hole, you'll feel Comfortable knowing that while your night of Comfort food did plenty of unseen damage to your internal organs, it went pretty light on the wallet.  Around ten bucks- awesome!  We don't have to make this an annual thing, kids!  We can gorge ourselves on meat loaf, fried shrimp (is there any other kind?) and macaroons on a regular basis!

And here's another Comforting thought- back when you went to grandma's place, you followed dinner with a lot of dish-washing and maybe some yard work or a game of touch football or a walk in the park.  Now you can just go home and get back to your Netflix account or catch up on what was recorded on your DVR.  Like I said before- Better than a trip to Grandmas!

Add "Camping" to the list of things McDonalds has no idea how to portray in its ads

This commercial is entitled "camp," but when I see it I don't find myself thinking "camp." More like "trailer park."

Because after all, it's kind of hard for me to imagine that not only did these people decide to go "camping" in the middle of a gravel pit using ugly 1960s-era campers (the most god-awful uncomfortable things ever invented, believe me) but that they think that a quick trip to the McDonalds drive-thru to stock up on dollar menu items somehow goes along with "camping."

On the other hand, sending someone from the trailer park to grab a bag of warm grease after scrounging up a few bucks works very well with me.  If I ignore the "camp" title, this commercial is perfectly logical.  I'll even excuse the lack of screaming, half-naked children and the fact that everyone in this ad seems to have plenty of teeth.

Even ignoring the "camp" title, I still want to sock every single person featured here right in the mouth.  I don't know why- maybe it's the stupid slow-motion bit.  Or the fact that they are all gaping at each other like they've never seen other human life forms before this moment.  Or that this group is so obviously balanced in terms of race and sexuality but (as usual) not age. Or maybe subconsciously I really can't ignore that McDonalds wants us to think these people are camping.  There's just no figuring some things, I guess.

Know who forgot that the house and security came with this guy? This girl.

1.  Hey, lady?  That's a pretty nice house you've got there.  Looks spotless, too- and there you are, sitting in a gleaming living room on a comfy couch while hubby is driving home from work.  He brags incessantly about the great deal he got on a Jetta?  I'd buy some earplugs.  After all...

2.  You already put up with that stupid three-days-growth beard and the fact that he thinks that scoring a great deal on a freaking VOLKSWAGEN is something to brag about.  Did I mention the nice house?  But if all else fails, you can....

3.  Build yourself a time machine, go back a few years, and decide that your soul wasn't really worth the nice house and guy who makes enough money to buy you stuff if the guy who makes enough money to buy you stuff is an obnoxious braggart who is so f--ing full of himself that he apparently spent several WEEKS telling everyone in his contact list about his new car, in exactly the same words, from the comfort of his living room. Because if that parrot learned this entirely from hubby's conversations with YOU about the car-- well, AGAIN- you wanted this, you got it.

4.  If all else fails, that parrot would probably look just fine on a bed of rice.  And I'm sure hubby's expecting dinner on the table when he walks in from the driveway and his precious Jetta.

Does it have room for my gun rack, free weights and chewin' tobacco?

Raise your hand if you are sick of being buried by the horseshit which permeates every single commercial for ever single truck (but is ESPECIALLY noxious and overbearing in Ford commercials.)

Each one of these horrible, suffocating blankets of  faux-patriotic steaming garbage reaches out of the television to grab American males by the....err...neck....and pummel into us the message that if we really want to be considered something more than females with penises, we'd better have a three-day growth of beard, dirty hands, and a big-ass truck to haul junk around in.  We'd better live on a ranch which has easy access to suburbs and contains big bales of hay to throw around, fences that need fixin', women who need lovin' and calves that need findin' and savin'.  We'd better master our silent, strong, confident stares, and everything we do must be done in a totally natural, Matter-of-Fact, "get 'er done 'cause it's what we do" manner.

And they all leave me with the feeling that Ford does not consider me as even living in the same UNIVERSE with it's target audience.  I don't have a big house, and haven't loved the same woman all my life, I don't rope steers or milk cows or stack hay or ride fences on the weekends and I can't remember the last time I had the opportunity to haul anything with massive heavy chains.  You couldn't set my life to a cloying country music song. Hell, I even shave on days off.

Ford seems pretty determined to convince us that their trucks ought to be added to the freaking flag, or at the very least be inserted into what I guess is our new National Anthem, "God Bless America."*  And to convince those of us who aren't interested in owning one of these monstrosities (because, not living on ranches and having white-collar jobs, we really don't need them) that we are pathetic wussies who don't really deserve to live in this great open country with all of it's haul-able rocks and hay bales just waiting to be stacked and creeks which need to be crashed through and let's not forget those fence posts which aren't going to sink themselves...well, you can just bite me, Ford.  I'm not buying one of these f---ing things, no matter how many country music artists you employ in your attempts to separate me from my money.

*At Major League Baseball parks, the universal signal to use the restroom or grab another beer before sales are cut off at the end of the 7th inning.