Most believable part of this ad: Daughter is going to share a picture of her Eggo

The snark about the phone obsession is just too easy, so I'll go a different route.  I've done more than enough People Being Slaves To Their Phones posts, after all.  So here's a lighter take-

1.  Is there only one Eggo left in the house?  If not, why is it that everyone at that table wants an Eggo, but there's only one being warmed in a toaster which clearly has two slots?  And if so, why does a family which clearly enjoys eating these mass-produced bland waffles let itself get down to only one left?

2.  Assuming that the toaster doesn't magically get pregnant with Eggos, shouldn't the one toasting be the property of the person who inserted it?  I mean, that's how it works in the real world, isn't it?  One of these people put the waffle in the toaster.  Three others are claiming it- how?  What am I missing here?

3.  These people don't love Eggo waffles.  They love COLD Eggo waffles.  When the thing finally pops up, none of them seem particularly interested in taking it.  If Predictably Privileged Little Girl didn't suddenly show up and take the waffle (gee, didn't see that coming, what a twist, awesome writing, Eggo) how long would the family have let it sit there while they continued to engage in a stupid battle of texts?

Ooops, sorry, I said I wasn't going to go there.  Never mind that last part.

Kevin Hart "Borrowed" ad just brings the rage

OH SERIOUSLY KID ARE YOU F--ING KIDDING ME?

Your dad is Kevin f--ng Hart.

You live in a freaking gleaming mansion of excess.

If he wants to borrow your freaking sweatshirt, HE GETS TO BORROW YOUR SWEATSHIRT.

Now, go to your section of the palace....um, I mean, your room!  And don't you even THINK about ever rolling your eyes again, you stupid spoiled shmuck!

(BTW, how pathetic is it that Kevin Hart is a comedian?  Is there anything remotely funny about any of this?  I can't even understand most of the dialogue here.  And what I can't understand, I don't normally find funny.)

Rejected Script for the Lactaid Cow

"Hey, human woman!  You look like you enjoy drinking milk, but you often just walk past the dairy section because your tummy has a hard time dealing with lactose."

"Well, here's the answer to your problem- Lactaid!  It's made from real milk, and after all I should know, being a strange animated blue cow who lives in a grocery store cooler and is spending what few days I have left urging you hominids to drink what I produce after spending 99 percent of my 'life'- no, let's call it 'existence'- in a cage too narrow to turn around in, hooked up to machines which stuff me full of hormones and vitamins and steroids designed to turn me into less of a mammal and more of a milk-producing machine with a freakish, artificially-huge udder that would not allow me to stroll around fields like my ancestors did, even if I wanted to--- and man, do I want to...."

"Of course, even if I COULD wander about without my back snapping in half under the weight of my enormous milk sacs, what would I do with that ability other than search for the calves I have not seen since the day I birthed them- calves I never fed with my own milk, and which have probably all been processed and consumed by you in a thousand other forms.  So, are you a hamburger girl, or more into steak? Doesn't matter to me, any more than it mattered to my calves.  All that mattered was that you got to gorge your sensitive tum-tom, right?"

"So here you go- Lactaid is real milk, without that nasty lactose stuff they haven't quite managed to drug out of me yet.  Costs a bit more than my natural milk, but I'm sure you'll find it worth it.  Please let me know the next time you visit, I'm really dying to know.  But please hurry- don't have much of a lifespan, and wouldn't even if I DIDN'T live in this cooler."

At Tysons, it's all about the effort

This commercial would have been so much better if that kid's "thank you for going all out on reheating pre-cooked fried chicken parts" speech had been snark.  Little sister could have added "and the Pillsbury canned biscuits really put an accent on the love, mom!"

Then dad could have stopped playing piano long enough to throw in with "hey, that looks like actual salad she's serving up, too!  That must have taken upwards of two minutes to get out of the bag into the bowl, and who do you think put the dressing on the table?  We should all give Mom a big round of applause for using the spacious, well-equipped kitchen she has with such awesome effect!  Way to go, Mom!"

Then mom could have given her whole family the middle finger before announcing "screw all this, I'm going back to school!  Kids- the piano man can do the cooking from now on.  Get ready for a steady menu of Stouffer's Pot Pies and Hot Pockets."

Then the children who, after all, simply don't know any better having been raised by these two jackasses, give eachother high-fives and suggest that dad eases into his new role slowly by ordering online at PapaJohns tomorrow night.  Hey, we can try that new pizza-sized chocolate chip cookie while we're at it!

Panera: Food for Rich White People

"Clean Pairings."  Did you hear that noise?  That was my soul dying under the weight of the narrator's self-satisfaction.

Ugh, the pretention!  It BURNS!

Seriously, though- the entire message of this heaping, steaming pile of bilge is "when you've got money, you don't eat prole food- you don't go to KFC or McDonald's or Burger King or even Subway.  You go to twee designer bread places like Panera, where you can get 'dirty' salads with 'clean' dressing, $5 cups of Low-Fat Vegetarian Garden Vegetable Soup with Pesto  sprinkled ever so gently with organic garlic, and $4 pitas to dip into it.  You bring all this stuff home to your Not Very Appreciative kids, all of whom would just kill to see a bucket of fried chicken or a sack of White Castle burgers just once, if only you asked them.  But you'll never ask them."

So, to all you "progressive" posers-- please, continue to bring this overpriced junk home and dissapoint your kids, time and time again.  Don't be too surprised when they begin to find reasons to not be home for dinner, coming home later with grease on their faces and empty Quick Wipe packets in their designer jeans.  Because believe me, there are only so many dirty salads one can eat, and there are only so many ways to disguise tasteless lumps of warm bread.

Here's a better idea- buy some rolls and salad (buy them at Whole Foods Market and make sure they are 'organic,' if you insist) and a can of soup, throw it together yourself in your kitchen,  Send the money you saved to Oxfam, you awful pretentious twats.

Two Pieces of Bad News For Flo

1.  Progressive Insurance is using an animated talking box to sell its insurance in this recent commercial (and several others playing during news and NFL playoff games.)

2.  The box is totally out-acting Flo.

Don't let the door hit you on the way out, Flo.  Man, was that a long and painful run.  You will not be missed (and if anyone out there wants to write in and tell me that they will, in fact, miss Flo as the Progressive Insurance spokeschoad- please don't.  You are too sad for me to want to know about.)

The three moments in this Chevy ad that make me want to really hurt someone. Or several someones.

1.  When one of these zombies actually says "this reminds me of my first Lexus."  Did you buy it right after you came back from your 14th trip to Europe, you little twat?

2.  When another woman responds to the car's map capabilities with "this car gets me."  That's nice.  It's still just a freaking car, loser.

3.  When one of the guys here bleats "this is a game changer."*

So congratulations, Chevy. You've created a commercial that makes me want to inflict damage on THREE people, instead of your usual one.  Great job.

*this hackneyed cliche needs to be put to bed, right now.  No, not bed- it needs to be buried underneath thirty feet of cement, where it will never bother anyone, ever again.  Enough already.