Invented too late to save Howard Hughes...

In short, as long as you are forced to live IN A WORLD where every single other person on Earth is a clueless, thoughtless, disgusting, germ-infested rodent/sub-species of homo sapiens, you will need this product to save you from all those other barely-people who are determined to kill you with their loathsome, germ-spreading behavior.

I could not watch more than a few seconds of this nonsense- I didn't even get to the name of the item being sold- but I'm sure whatever it is, using it involves letting everyone around you know that you are a germaphobe/sociopath who feels entitled to live in a plastic bubble and finds having to be in proximity with Others not only incredibly distasteful, but downright Dangerous.  And since the thoughtless, disease-spreading airlines won't accommodate you with your own pre-sterilized cabin, this is what you are going to have to do to "protect" yourself from Ebola, the Bubonic Plague, and all the other nasty diseases People are trying to kill you with.

Or, you know, you could just stay home and watch the Big Scary World of Invisible Death from your window.  Believe me, you will NOT be missed. 

With McDonald's just around the corner, you never have to go anywhere else

From the people who brought us Shamrock Shakes and McLobster Sandwiches comes a new atrocity which encourages Americans to never really move away from their dietary comfort zone:  the "Southern" spicy bacon cheddar onion Faux Exotic Somethingburger (I'm not watching this again to get the actual name of this Stack of Bland Crap on Bread- I'll probably see it in the description once it posts.  That's how many f--ks I have to give.)

Why would anyone travel when you can get country-fried steak at the Cracker Barrel, Authentic Italian Cuisine at the Olive Garden, seafood like your Parents Never Ate at Red Lobster, and Pizza Just Like Back in the Old Country at Dominos (oh my god, I just commit heresy like four times in one sentence?)

So save your money and the hassle of travel.  All the awesome Home Cookin' is right down the street being served up by the nearest of several thousand carbon copy franchises.  And you didn't even need a passport!

Another terrible Next Gen Stats commercial

These ads are all so unintentionally hysterical.  The narrator is always so nasally enthusiastic as he attempts to convince his audience that we are about to relive a truly unbelievable moment in sports- and that truly unbelievable moment in sports is always just a good catch by a guy who has been making good catches since he was in High School thrown by a guy who has been making good throws for the same amount of time.

And the lame attempts to be a dramatic wordsmith always fall flatter than last week's Bud Light- just check out today's version of OMIGOD THIS IS AWESOME AND WE'VE GOT PROOF ITS AWESOME by Next Gen Stats:

"...the only thing coming for Russell is an 800-lb PAIN BRIGADE!"  Yeah, and if that "Pain Brigade" hits Russell hard enough to muss his hair, we're going to see a flag and an automatic first down.  Unless Russell stops backing up to pass and becomes a runner instead, I don't think that "Pain Brigade" is going to be inflicting all that much pain..."

"He has to scramble like eggs in the morning...." Um, eggs don't scramble.  They get scrambled.  Stop doing this.  Please.

"Nobody is open, catch probability is under 25 percent..." first, where does this stat come from?  We are never told, and nobody I know who understands stats can tell me where it COULD come from.  Second, you are telling us that even using your BS non-stats, there's a one in four chance that the catch will be made.  How does this justify your breathless hype-fest?

And why we're at it- how does this prove that Russell Wilson is "fearless," again?

And when the catch is made, the narrator roars like he didn't expect it to happen- hell, didn't think it was even POSSIBLE, and tells us "Russell Wilson is a monster" because....he connected with his receiver, which YOU just told us he had a one in four chance of doing.  Seriously, calm down, you freaking idiot.  I mean, if that's even possible.

Then we get the "cutesy" conclusion, where Wilson is shown at a tea party presumably being put on by one of his children.  You do a quick search and find a seriously damaged dunce who takes great offense to this part, but I think it's the commercial's only saving grace myself.  Unfortunately it comes too late to save my eardrums from being assaulted by the ridiculously easily impressed loon who narrates the first 90% of this crap.

Fisher Investments: Because Paternalism

What.  The Actual F.  Is happening in this ad?

Well, we see two middle-aged people sitting on stools like obedient children while a middle-aged white male stands behind them and a narrator tells us about the differences between money managers who "only call when they want you to buy something," and others who call you constantly to ask how you're doing, with the strong implication being that you should prefer a money manager who is constantly calling to shoot the breeze.

Then we are told that a lot of money managers try to put all their clients into "cookie cutter" investment fund portfolios, and this is bad and wrong- never mind that whole Safety in Numbers thing, and never mind that spreading money out among many, many different investment strategies just makes sense.  Fisher Investment choads don't do this- they "tailor" your investments to something that matches your specific goals.  Uh huh.  Because the goals of middle-aged people are so very different:

Some (lets call them Group A) want to invest their money in a way which allows them to comfortably retire when they are sick of working.

Others (lets call them Group B) have other ideas for their money....like....ok, turns out that the population of Group B is zero.  Unless you include all those imaginary guys from Life Insurance Commercials who are planning to die fairly young and leave everything to that vampire wife and kids....

And then we reach the end of this ad, where I get seriously triggered when the middle-aged money manager puts what I guess is supposed to be a reassuring hand on his client's shoulder.  Again, What. The Actual.  F.  Is that??  I get we are probably supposed to see this as a friendly gesture, kind of like "I'm with you all the way" or something.  But I read it more like "you're stupid with money, but don't worry, I'm your daddy, I love you, I'll take care of you, trust me."  That's weird but ok until that hand shows up.  If I were the client, I'd respond by telling that guy to take his hand off my g-d d--ned shoulder.  You're not my spouse, you're not my father, and you just crossed a line, creep.

Unless, of course, he takes my paltry monthly investments and turns them into a few million dollars.  Do that first, then we'll talk about broker-client privileges. Until then, I don't trust you to stand behind me while I sit on a stool because your track record of respecting boundaries really sucks.

So can you cash your Unemployment checks at Golden Corral?

Somewhere out there in 'Merica, this is the perfect idea for lunch: "Endless" entrees, "Vegas-style" deserts, and basically just a gigantic carb and sugar overload which (for some people*) is just absolutely ideal for.....a middle-of-the-day meal.

*So....who exactly ARE these people who are looking for a huge amount of bland, fatty food to interrupt their weekday routine?  They can't be employed, can they?  I mean, who the heck notices that the clock indicates time for a meal break and thinks "I'm going out to gorge myself, that's the perfect solution to get me through the rest of my busy day?"  No, I can't imagine anyone who has ONE HOUR for lunch and who must clock FOUR MORE HOURS of productivity afterwards intentionally scarfing down 5,000+ calories before rolling on back to the office.   

Now, if your afternoon plans include nothing more taxing than a nap or binge-watching Game of Thrones on Netflix before slipping into a calorie-induced coma, maybe this makes sense.  But if your workday DOESN'T end at noon, well.....I'm just not seeing it.

When your Treatment is a Comfort Dog, it's time to panic

"Sigh....more treatment...."

"Nope- today, we're going to try something different.  A dog!"

"Yay, I love dogs...wait, what?  I have a serious disease.  We aren't trying new Meds?  Maybe radiation?"

"Nope, a dog!  Isn't he cute?  His name is Max!"

"Yeah but...I have this serious illness.  I mean, I've got this rubber tube in my arm, and this machine is beeping.  I'm a Sick Kid from Central Casting.  What ideas do you have to make me better?"

"Scratch him behind the ears.  He LOVES that."

"Can I get a second opinion?"

"Ok, here it is- we can't do anything for you, but this is a great opportunity for Pedigree to manipulate the rubes into buying dog food by somehow connecting it to the idea of Comfort Dogs.  I think the tagline is 'Pedigree makes Dog Food, and if you don't feed your dog, it will die."

iPhone's "Slofies." I don't want to be here anymore.

Several times over the last few years, I've snarked on iPhone and their penchant for making commercials encouraging people to be totally self-absorbed douchenozzles and buy the latest update because it has a slightly better camera which will allow the owner to spend huge amounts of time lovingly editing self-portraits for "sharing."

I should have figured this was coming.  Now you don't have to settle for taking selfies and hitting Image Editor for the next hour or so.  In fact, still shots of yourself have suddenly become very retro, if not downright quaint.  Get the iPhone XI and you can make "Slofies" (shoot me now, please) because it's definitely what everyone you know has been waiting for- slow-motion video of you staring at the Lucky To Know You or at least Follow you on Twitter recipient and otherwise doing absolutely nothing. 

Because nobody is doing anything anyway.  There are no books to read, essays to write, or jobs to do.  There is no actual human interaction to be had.  After all if there was, you would not have been spending all that time taking Selfies.  So here's something else you can do all by yourself to kill whatever time you have left until this thing we used to call Life is over.  And all you need is a $700 device the old-timers once used to make calls.

Let's wrap this up by appreciating how much the girl in this ad absolutely adores herself.  Wow.