This woman's universe is in ruins for several seconds, until she remembers she has Clorox

Another commercial featuring a woman standing in the middle of a gleaming-white kitchen/auditorium (seriously, check out the acoustics!) which is considerably larger than my apartment, complaining because Oh Look There's a Brown Spot Which Totally Distracts from the Retina-Destroying Whiteness of My Enormous White Kitchen.  Thank goodness for Clorox, because with a few squirts of a toxic chemical, her life can go back to being Impossibly Clean and White in just a few moments.

Yes, all praise to Clorox, which bleaches our world back to the way it's Supposed To Be.  I suspect this woman did not read the Not To Be Taken Internally disclaimer.

I bet this guy won't come in on Thanksgiving, either. Talk about ungrateful!

"When did leaving work on time become an act of courage?"  Well, it started during the 1980s, when the gutting of the Middle Class became Job No. 1 for our "representative" government, which basically represents the Lords of Capitalism and no one else.   But since that's not really the message of this commercial....

Clearly this guy IS the only worker in the city who actually leaves work on time, because he's got every street to himself.  He's literally the ONLY person on the road.  So everyone works until 6 PM now?  Suddenly I appreciate my job even more than I already did.

And as long as everyone else in the city is just going to stare at his car as he drives home to his Suburban McMansion to catch his wife nailing the guy who drives the ice cream truck because she didn't expect Hubby to be home so early, why don't they just go home?  They aren't getting any work done anyway.

Were you expecting Kate Upton?

Well, sorry, boys (and I do mean BOYS.)  You don't get a commercial starring Kate Upton's breasts this time.  Instead, you get Mariah Carey.  Call her the Budget Kate Upton.

Or better yet, take this commercial as the message echoing in your head that you've been ignoring for years that keeps telling you to grow the f-- up, put away your stupid video games, and join the world of adults, fresh air and sunshine.  There are lakes to swim, mountains to climb, and actual friends to talk to out there (and by "talk to," I mean actually TALK TO- texting and tweeting don't count, sorry.)

In short, it's time to stop being an incurable adolescent and move on.  Enough with the "mature" time-suckers in which you pretend to be a spy, soldier, barbarian, knight or wizard.  Playtime is over.  Take your dog for a walk.  Get reacquainted with that woman you somehow conned into marrying your sorry, pathetic ass.  Get a life.  Believe me, it's time.

Just a thought, T-Mobile...

Maybe I'd be sold on buying one of your stupid phones if every single one of your commercials did not feature idiot twentysomethings prancing around like they just won the freaking lottery or otherwise have discovered OMIGOD LIFE IS AMAZING CAUSE CHECK OUT MY PHONE and not actually doing anything with their best friends--err, cell phones--as they jump in the air, run down alleys, perform live on stage or all the other things people do THAT HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH PHONES.

Oh, and what does T-Mobile have against Montana?  I mean, that's different from what everyone else has against Montana?

Now made with 30% less lead

"When the temperature starts falling and the air starts to turn nice and crisp, that's when I know Fall* Has Arrived."

"I am not an actress, as you can probably tell by my ridiculously stilted speech.  I am the designer of Pioneer Woman, a set of dishes, flatware and garishly decorated other crap women with no taste can use to add clashing colors to the place where they spend pretty much all of their lives while the children are at school, the kitchen."

"Because my brain is stuck permanently in the 1950s, I know that what women want most is to stay in that room and bake cakes and pies and cassaroles and then serve them to the Men and Children who make up the center of their universe.  This guady crap, made in some of the nicest factories in China, makes the whole situation just that much more fun."

"What any of this sexist retro bs has to do with a 'Pioneer Woman,' well don't ask me, I'm just a girl!  Which reminds me, I think my cookies are done!"

("Fall" not available in all areas.)

These DraftKings Commercials are getting longer, and sadder

(Not shown: the 99.9% of players who lost their cash.  Hmm, I guess DraftKings didn't have quite enough cameras available to be trained on them.  Just enough to be ready to coincidentally capture the "spontaneous" moment the other one-thousandth of one percent when they realized they would be able to pay rent- and continue to play DraftKings- for a while longer before finding another way to part with their money.)

I thought about posting the TEN MINUTE VERSION of this ad for commentary, but I decided that I have few enough regular visitors to this blog.   Plus, I couldn't get through it- way too depressing- so why would I ask anyone else to?

"Compete against your friends, compete against your family..." yes, that's a great idea.  Get everyone you know and love sharing your pathetic gambling addiction.  That way they'll understand why you always seem so distracted, angry, upset, and in need of a few bucks to tide you over until next payday.  Of course, they'll be in the same boat, so maybe it's not such a great idea to sell them on the idea of DraftKings.  You'll have to borrow from someone, after all- so you'll want as many financially solvent people in your lives as possible.

This is especially true when you realize that the thrill of Talkin' Smack (ugh, is every guy in the United States a perpetual teenager?) isn't really all it's cracked up to be when your wallet is always empty.  At some point  you're going to want those people you bored out of their minds with your addiction to give a damn about you (they are also going to figure out pretty quick that there are only two versions of you- the Talkin' Smack version, which shows up every few weeks when you've managed to win a little money, and the Quiet Subdued version, which is the Default You because hey, moron, you are going to lose a LOT more often than you win.

Listening to these pathetic losers talk about how exciting DraftKings makes football (which of course used to be soooo boring with all the hanging out with friends eating junk food, drinking beer, and cheering and screaming and crying at the tv set) really puts a damper on actually WATCHING football.  Commercials for this "product" (with it's virtually-invisible "play responsibly" disclaimer) are as ubiquitous as any car or cellphone ad.  I think I'd rather see some self-satisfied douche with four-days growth cruising around in his Audi than this; at least he wasted his money on something that lets him show well to his fellow douche friends.*

*I'd love to see a study which shows the average yearly income of people who participate in DraftKigns.  I'm guessing it's around $35,000 and like all gambling, it's generally being done by the people who can least afford to be stupid with money.  There really ought to be a law.

(BTW, I heard a new commercial for Powerball the other day.  The tagline was "OMG someone has to win- who has a better chance than you?"  I wish I were kidding.)

This Edward Jones guy has space issues

This guy's Edward Jones broker knew that one of his clients was going to visit a prospective college with his daughter.

Not only that, but he also knows there's a list of colleges they are considering.*

Did Dad really call his broker from campus to ask if it's ok if he's considering sending his daughter to a particular college?  Seriously?

I can so relate to this.  The other day I called by Voya broker, who used to be my ING broker and before that was my Edward Jones broker- to sheepishly suggest to her that I was strongly considering ordering takeout at a chinese restaurant.  I just kind of wanted reassurance that I wasn't getting in over my head concerning my currrent retirement fund status.

She told me to put the menu down and walk out.

*Once Dad replied "you remembered that, too" I thought there's no way this call ends without Dad telling his broker "love you" before hanging up.