Badvertisements II

I'd like to see the commercial for when that baby comes out black.

I’d like to see the commercial for when that baby comes out black.

 

Some phenomenons are rarer than others, like when one identical twin takes a shit and the other one feels like he has to wipe his ass, or an Amish black guy.  Even rarer is a commercial that doesn’t suck hairy scrotums.  The following are no exception:

 

Veronica Scars – Am I the only one mystified as to why former hot chick with a beach ball under her shirt Kristen Bell keeps poisoning my television screen with her allegedly famous husband or whoever the hell he is?  I can’t watch TV for five minutes without this pair of nuisances popping up to beat me over the head with how insufferably cute of a couple they are.  A couple of assholes.  My eyes have been permanently scarred by their insipid lovebird baloney.  Does anyone know what these retarded friggin commercials are even for?  Near as I can tell it’s just two semi-celebrities granting a fake glimpse into their phony private lives that no one ever wanted, and for a holiday that no one ever needed advertised.  Oh how adorable, pregnant Veronica Mars and her sperm donor are wearing Cosby’s old rape sweaters and hanging Christmas ornaments.  Who gives a fuck?  Anybody that desperate to shout to an indifferent world about their meaningless relationship is as doomed to fail as their future careers.  Mark my words, these two holiday whores will be divorced in five years tops.

 

Jingle Balls – The most annoying song since “MmmBop” has got to be the ditty for the new Doohickey 5000 or whatever it’s called.  Either way, it’s the Chinese water torture of jingles.  A buncha off-camera nincompoops Christmas Carol their selling points in particularly irritating fashion, as the camera swoops in to make love to some goddamn calculator-looking thing like it’s supposed to be impressive.  It seems like every week they’re coming out with some new kind of half-assed minature lap top with a bunch of useless extra features.  Who can keep up with all these things?  They’re busy making the Gizmo, then the Doodad, and now finally the Doohickey, and meanwhile I’ve still got to buy the new Thingamabob.  Don’t get me wrong, all of these completely pointless inventions look perfectly capable of doing the most important thing a lap top can do, watch porn, but I’ll stick to my old-fashioned regular lap top, thank you.  For one thing, in a manner of speaking we share DNA, and even more importantly, it’s a lot heavier than any Whatchamacallit, so it will be much more satisfying when I inevitably smash it’s turtle-speed ass to smithereens.  Honestly, I haven’t wanted to smash anything this bad since I had Mrs. Sexington in the fifth grade.

 

Salt N Fatta – One of the most shocking cases of what endorinologists refer to as, “Turning into a big fat-ass” has got to be former fuckable female turned lard-filled balloon Salt (or Pepper, I could never tell which ingredient was which) since the last bunch of years before the whorish group faded from relevance.  I mean putting on a little extra poundage is one thing, but this bitch looks like she ate Spinderella.  Forget about salt and pepper, that broad’s clearly all about butter.  The ad’s theme is to have the dumpy has-beens reprise their famous song “Push It”  while the only thing that water buffalo needs to be pushing is the plate away from her fat face.  Pushing the fork into her mouth so much is what got her into this mess.  Disillusioned fans should have known better though, because after enough time even seasoning eventually goes bad.

 

 

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