A few pointers for this ugly Pepsi Commercial Dork

1.  It's perfectly fine with me if no one ever, ever lets you forget that you made a total ass of yourself for a few moments of TV "fame" in a Pepsi Commercial.  You asked for it, after all.

2.  In real life, you get to pull crap like this for exactly as long as it takes to be appreciated by the Jumbotron, and then by the crowd.  When you try to extend your moment beyond that by starting your pathetic begging for attention all over again, it's just super-cringey and the crowd stops rooting for you, and starts feeling sorry for you instead.

In other words....you aren't why we bought our tickets.  Sit the f--- down.  Shut the f--- up.  And for this guy in particular:  see a doctor about that massive growth between your mouth and your forehead before it applies for freaking Statehood.

Peloton hits a few racist buttons with this ad

1.  Props for finally featuring a black person in one of these ads.

2.  Props for finally showing a person who doesn't live in a ridiculous house or apartment in one of these ads.  Kind of odd, though, that you waited until you were ready to feature a black person before you decided to feature a less-than-ridiculous house/apartment.

3.  I agree with the YouTubers who overwhelmingly find this ad to be annoying and insulting.  The kid hears his dad singing along to the Peloton workout person all the way in the other room, which means he's being really loud about it (oh, and this is the first time we've seen one of these commercials where the person doing the exercising is singing- strike three, Peloton.  Seriously, what the hell are you trying to tell us about your view of black people here?)

4.  If you can sing while you're working out, you aren't working out hard enough, sorry.  I thought these spinning sessions were supposed to be grueling, exhausting, challenging, etc.  Not if you can sing during them, no.

Why does anyone care about this "fight?"

Four years ago, Colin McGregor was the "hottest thing" in that joke non-sport called MMA which features non-talented non-athletes kicking and punching each other in a cage.  Then he made a really, really dumb mistake that exposed MMA for the fraud it is and would have lead to its instant demise in any country not populated by white male Trump enthusiasts:  He challenged an actual boxer- an over-the hill, light-hitting but fast and talented boxer- to a fight.

The result was almost laughably predictable- so predictable, in fact, that even mouth-breathing MMA fans just assumed it would come off exactly as it did.  Floyd Mayweather Jr, who couldn't punch his way out of a wet paper bag in his prime, fighting for the first time in two years, dominated McGregor and stopped him in the ninth round of what was much more of a Show than a legitimate sporting event.

So any question as to the seriousness of MMA as a sport and its participants as athletes was answered, then and there- no, it's not and no, they are not.  The very best MMA fighter was beaten silly by an elderly, rusty boxer and even KNOCKED OUT by a guy who can't knock out anyone in his own sport.  Case closed.  Fraud exposed. 

Did MMA fold?  Nope.  Heck, even McGREGOR's career escaped unscathed.  He's several years older, sports a record (21-4) which is pedestrian in boxing but worthy of a "superstar" in the MMA, and is about to step into the ring with someone called "Cowboy" whose own trial-horse record of 36-13 is apparently also good enough to rake in big bucks on PPV.

Well, hope you enjoy the spectacle, you idiots. Just don't call it a sport.  That was settled years ago.  You didn't care to notice, I guess because you've got $50 burning a hole in your pocket and absolutely no taste between your ears.  Must be nice.  Just stop voting, ok?

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.