Coming next year, Domino's phases out taking cash. Because that's more convenient for...um...the customers.

In other words, "we are pretty stupid here at Domino's- it's because we really only hire high school dropouts to answer the phone.  Oddly enough, they are really bad at it, though truth be told if they had just spent a little less time on the phone when they were supposed to be concentrating on their studies, they probably wouldn't be working here."

"Anyway, because we are so damned incompetent, you people with good internet connections can just skip the phone and order online.  It's a lot easier for us to get your order online, so we are going to do our best to convince you that it's a lot easier for you, too.  Don't have good internet access?  Well, of course you can still order by phone- but it's really kind of a hassle, why can't you just invest in decent internet access?"

"And if you do order by phone, don't say we didn't warn you- you can expect crap like you see in this ad- people failing to get your name right, your order right, your address right- and we couldn't figure out a way to portray the guy taking your call's total inability to ask legible questions or repeat your order back to you in a language which in any way resembles English without appearing deeply racist, but you can expect that, too.  Hey, it's just going to be a mess.  Chances are you aren't going to get your pizza if you try to phone in your order.  If you get it, it probably won't be the pizza you ordered.  It will probably come very late.  It will definitely be cold."

"Let's cut to the chase.  We really want to phase out phone orders.  We know this means that we won't be providing a service to our poorer customers, but we are willing to sacrifice them because our studies show they don't order much pizza anyway, and we'll more than make up for the lost business in online orders from wealthier customers with that good internet access we've been urging you to get.  Basically, order online or do without.  Because in six months when you try to call in, you are just going to get a busy signal.  You've been warned."

What do all these people have in common?

No, it's not that they are all vapid, techno-obsessed dweebs.  Good guess though.

It's that not one of them- not ONE- is paying the slightest bit of attention to what their kids are doing on stage.  To each and every one, it's far more important to record the action than to actually view it.  And my guess is that all this recording will then lead to sharing and posting and tweeting, and very little (if any) actual watching.

Oh, and every one of them is the parent of a very, very disappointed little kid who would much rather be looking at Mommy and Daddy's proud faces than their stupid-ass phones and tablets.

As my Father-in-Law used to remind me, "Pigs won't eat it"

So you've gotten all the credentials you'll ever need to keep a job with "the company" for twenty years.  And your hair has grown thin and gray, and your eyes dim.  You look back upon your life, and you see the accumulation of money as the standard by which your success will be measured.

Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring.  What is your life?  For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes.*

Oh, I suppose your money-obsessed corpse will be dressed up in a nicer suit and displayed in a flashier casket and handled by a more prestigious funeral home and buried under a more impressive block of marble.  Do you really think you'll lay more comfortably in your opulent little box?  Or maybe you think that in your final moments of life, you'll be grateful for all the hours you put into trying to squeeze every dollar out of it.

I bet you never even considered this little nugget of advice:

Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven....for where your treasure is, there your heart will be
also.**

Naw, I'm sure you were too busy blathering away with your Money Managers, sweating over every quarter-point and every dime.  Hope you enjoyed yourself.  Doesn't sound that much fun to me.  Oh, but you don't know me.  Let me introduce myself- I'm the guy who is going to die someday, just like you.  I won't leave a pile of gold, and I'm sure as hell not going to be placed under a monument to myself and my ego.  I'm going to be scattered to the wind while you wait to be eaten by worms.  What do we have in common?  Like I said, we are both going to be dead someday.

And that's about it.  I don't care about money, except that for it's use as a way to bring a few moments of happiness to someone else.  Maybe I'll get lucky and die rich.  More likely I'll die poor.  You seem to see a big difference.  I don't see any, except that I'm not spending five minutes a day worrying about my money.  As long as I have enough to buy someone a bagel and someone else a bag of candy now and then, I have more than enough.

And you?  All your money won't another minute buy.***

*James 4:14

**Matthew 6:19-21

***Kansas

Mixing Sauces? That's the least of your problems, lady

Because really- there is so much more to focus on here.

How about, "hey, I suddenly realized that I'm a very cute girl who has been spending every Sunday afternoon with an ugly, unshaven slob with a stupid face and no table manners.  I can do SO MUCH BETTER than you."

Or how about "I'm getting really sick of just sitting here, decorating a table at this dive, watching you stuff your blank, moron face with junk.  Why I am here, besides the fact that I help you show well for your equally worthless friends?"

Or "why do you always have to act as if you have not eaten for three days, or that if you don't clean out the basket of wings inside of three minutes, it will be taken from you?  Is there something in your childhood you'd like to talk about (to someone who cares- not me?")

Or maybe "is it really necessary for you to consume three beers per glass while chomping down these wings?  Just once, I'd like you to be the designated driver so I can have a beer.  Is that a possibility for the near future?"

Or hey- if you really want to focus on the whole mixing-sauces  thing- "I'm just curious- did it ever even occur to your disgustingly self-centered brain that I might like to use some of the sauce before you slopped it all over the table, not to mention considering that I might not want to eat sauce that has your saliva mixed it in, you ridiculous, revolting overgrown child?"

It will do you good, you spoiled fat doofus

I love to take very long walks.  It's my favorite form of exercise.  It helps me unwind and unpack my thoughts.  It's a good time to re-evaluate my life, and then pull out my XM radio and listen to music until I forget all the things that popped into my brain when I made the mistake of re-evaluating my life.

My record for a single, one-day walk- set last month- is 25 miles.  I hope to break that this spring by walking the Mount Vernon Trail in Virginia.  Get it?  I love walking.

Anyway, I figured out a while back that I live only 4.5 miles from my school, and only 1.5 miles from a Metrorail station which will take me to that school in about nine minutes.  And yet, I was paying through the nose for gas and insurance and upkeep for a car I simply didn't need.  So a month ago tomorrow, I sold my car and I've been a happy hiker (and, when it's dark or rainy, a consumer of mass transit) ever since.  Haven't regretted my decision at all.  Not even once.  Not even for a moment.

So this commercial really irritates me.  Hey idiot- I understand that when you are used to dropping your lard-infused butt into a seat and rolling to work and golf and everywhere else, suddenly being inconvenienced can be kind of a pain.  But I think it's kind of sad that you aren't taking this opportunity to re-evaluate YOUR life.  If you weren't so obsessed with the idea that you MUST have your own wheels and you MUST drive everywhere, you might do a little research and notice exactly how far things are away from your little suburban palace.  I bet you'd find that many of your favorite haunts are really not that far from your house.  Maybe you could walk to work, at least sometimes.  Failing that, I bet there are transit buses available.  You could at least find out.  I promise you that if I'm right, you'd save a heck of a lot of money.  And your daughter would be able to keep her own car.

And who knows?  Maybe you'd figure out that owning a car is really overrated.  Maybe you'd drop some weight and find that you enjoy moving around on your own power.  Maybe you'd discover that you don't really miss $3.80 gasoline and insurance bills and flat tires and traffic jams.

Just a few thoughts from someone who knew he wouldn't miss his car, and wonder why so many people are convinced that they can't live without one.  And oh, BTW- if driving a pink car shamed you so, maybe you could have just skipped your little golf outing.  Or asked one of your friends for a freaking ride.  I mean, jeesh.

I was going to make a pun about pork, but I decided that would be a bit too much

The Family Budget Act.

Because Golden Corral believes that the people who can't afford the Olive Garden but are really too wealthy to be seen with their entire families ordering from the McDonalds Dollar Menu have a god-given right to all the fried junk and cheap meat and fiber-and-nutrient-deficient warm mush they can shove down their cake holes in one sitting.

In August of 2011 I actually dropped by Glenn Beck's "Restoring Honor" rally on the National Mall  (curiosity may not actually kill the cat, but it sure can kill an otherwise perfectly good afternoon.)  When I saw the thousands of old, fat, pasty-white idiots sprawled like toads on their straining beach chairs listening (with their mouths) to their favorite Tea Party Prophet, I should have realized that the Family Budget Act was not far from becoming written in the books of the Law.  I mean, the deficit is a disgrace and a crime (and has been since January 20, 2009) and the Kenyan in the White House is a SocialistMarxistMuslimBlack-
LiberationChurch Fascist with a fake birth certificate, but what they really wanted to know was where could they go after the speech to get a trough of orange mac'n cheese and a handful of cotton candy?

I'm pretty sure that when Obama signed this bill, he cut the legs right out from under his opposition and assured his re-election.  "Hey, look- not only am I not including preventative care as part of health reform, but I'm assuring a regular supply of heart patients for the next generation of doctors!"

And thanks to the Affordable Care Act, being a regular at Golden Corral can no longer be counted as a Pre-Existing Condition.

His next question for Google: "How Do I Start A Conversation With An Actual Human Being?"

I guess this commercial would be kind of cute except that

1.  I wonder why this kid is being raised by an electronic box.  When I needed advice, I knew I could ask friends, my parents and grandparents, a librarian, a teacher, or any number of other people in my life.  At no point do we see this kid consult any human beings for help.  In fact, the only evidence we see that this kid even HAS parents is a text from his mother and a quick shot of her gently putting away his security blanket----errr, cell phone.

2.  If kids at this school are free to carry around their fully-connected devices from class to class, my guess is that this particular boy is worried over nothing, because nobody is listening to him.

3.  Times certainly have changed.  When I was a kid, cute girls didn't act like they wanted to jump boys just because they were smart and articulate.  Damn it.

4.  At the conclusion of this ad, the vicious cycle of the kid's life continues.  He has another problem, so it's back to consulting the Google God That Knows All.   Sorry, but this is pretty damned depressing.