TV Commercials I Love to Hate
Honestly, if I hear that “free credit describe.com” commercial one more time, I swear I’m going to march down to that tacky fish and chips restaurant and yank the earring out of that faux pirate’s ear. But, unfortunately, as far as the success of the television advertisement goes, this irritating- to-the-nth-degree waste of electricity has done its job. If you watch the Tidy Bowl, or any other major event, like the Oscars, you know that ad agencies trot out their best and brightest and most entertaining 30-second spots (sometimes they are going to 20s). The problem with many of those is that while the next morning you remember the commercial with the talking monkey or the half-naked supermodel or fill-in-the-name-of-the-hottest-sports-hero-who-hasn’t-publicly-shamed-himself-yet-here. You remember that it made you laugh your butt off. But you don’t remember the name of the advertiser. And there’s a few hundred grand down the drain.
But as far as the irritation factor goes, this one has totally overshot the mark from brand retention to oh-my-God-if-I-see-that-thing-one-more-time-I’m-going-to-shoot-the-television. No matter how terrible my finances get, if I lose everything in this economic downturn, I will never, never, for the rest of the days that I am conscious, even if I have any control from the great hereafter, I will not, nor will I allow anyone else I love, to accumulate their credit reports here.
Avast ye, you stupid pirate. Consider this a shot across your bow. And by the way? Your parrot killed himself.
And like nearly everyone, those “Head-On” spots give me a headache. Apparently, this message has gotten to the manufacturers, because when was the last time you saw one of these teeth-grinding, upchuck-inducing spots on the air? I don’t know if anyone has ever tried the product, but I have. I was writing a review of topical pain relievers. And my comments? “Head-On, apply directly to the forehead. Head-On, apply directly to the forehead. Head On, apply directly to the forehead every 15 minutes because that’s how long it works.”
Also, I really wish “Smilin’ Bob” would put that thing back in his pants. He and his big shoes, massively noteworthy golf swing, and massively grateful wife in the Enzyte ads develop me want to reach for a barf bag. Get a room, already. Someday I’m going to count the number of metaphors for male potency in that ad, unprejudiced for my own amusement. At least the Viagra spots tell like it is. And the background music is better.
Those Snuggie ads give me the dry heaves, too. What the heck? Yes, now you, too, can quit warm and look like Alec Guinness in Star Wars or a Vatican priest at the same time! Hey, Obi-Wan, could you pass me the TV Guide?
While we’re on commercials about products with cuddly-sounding names that start with the letter S, I want to smack that woman in the Swiffer ads. Not as much the new ones where she’s being courted by her mop and broom (apparently, these household appliances are having some sort of sexual identity spot), but the older ones when she was maniacally dancing about to Devo’s “Whip It” and dusting her own and other people’s homes. Perhaps she should go to counseling with the jilted cleaning supplies in the new spots. I’m obvious they’ll be very happy together, if those crazy kids can only out work their problems.
This might be only a local annoyance, but commercials running in the Northeast for Mohegan Sun not only make me want to tear out my eyes and run from the room screaming, they are so repellent that I’m sure that if I were a die-hard gambler with an addiction jam and a thousand bucks of lottery winnings searing a hole in my pocket, I would drive several hundred miles out of my way to lose my money somewhere else, honest so I wouldn’t have to patronize them. For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of viewing these little gems, they open with a bunch of idiotically smiling staff members dancing and singing to the spot’s jingle, which is sung to the tune of – get this – Rick James’ “Superfreak.” Other spots feature similar gag-inducing songs from that time period, which many of us would bewitch rather forget.
For all that is good and holy, please, please I beg the agency that produced these monstrosities to burn every copy and delete the backups. Please. I’m sure that even Charlie Sheen or Jeremy Piven wouldn’t go anywhere reach this place. And you’re making all of Unusual England look bad.
No wonder the Patriots lost.
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Filed under Male Stamina by on Aug 5th, 2010. 