It's true. And I should know - I'm me.
For those of you keeping score at home (granted you exist (which is frankly more philosophy than I wish to get into at the moment)) I have been on a brief hiatus this week. Not to go into too much detail, but let me put it this way: You know how they say John Wayne had something like 40 pounds of undigested meat in his colon at death? Yeah, I really doubt I would have that kind of problem should I wind up on the slab tomorrow (which felt like a very real possibility at times, let me tell you).
The best the M.E. could hope for is maybe some dust and a shred of toast. I'd be amazed if there wasn't a giant whooshing noise like a vacuum when they put the knife to me. The NAFTA of autopsies, if you will.
So, long story short, I've been locked up in this cramped room for three days with nothing to occupy my time but television (reading made me seasick). During this time, I got to see a lot, and I mean a lot, of commercials during the periods I was conscious. (Fever dreams, by the way, are awesome. I highly recommend some. I swear there were, like, a dozen POWs from 1968 being marched through my room Thursday night. Insane.)
Anyway. Commercials. Right. I love commercials. Bill Hicks had this whole bit about marketing and if you ever hear it, immediately go to a television set and turn it on. Just see how he nails it.
Like, did you know there's a diet where you get online, point, click, and lose weight? Then have I got a bridge for you! But that doesn't matter, it's the opening of this commercial that I love, which is a close-up of fresh Romaine lettuce stocks being snapped in half with a voiceover saying, "Finally!"
Finally what? Lettuce? You've already confused me and we haven't even gotten to your nonsensical product yet. As per usual, the lettuce was just oozing water, which is the rule for fruits and veggies - they must always be launched through the air, or bounced off something, but this is key: they must always be accompanied by their best friend, water. Vegophiles probably love Papa John's commercials.
Oh, and if you like sports, there is something wrong with you, sexually. That was a message that came through loud and clear. Either your jingle won't jangle, as Tom Waits put it, or you are positively riddled with STDs. On the upside, if you are riddled with STDs, chances are you're also riding a motorcycle cross-country, or kayaking, or live on the beach. Also, you're quite slim and attractive, so...I don't know, I guess it's a trade off.
To clarify, every kiss does not begin with "k." It begins with "e."
And the Whopper people. Oh GOD these people. "I want a WHOPPER!" they all scream, as though a burger would somehow help assuage whatever terrible life choices they had made that landed them in a Burger King in the first place.
Now, these are supposed to be actual customers ranting like a pile of misguided Christians at a Marilyn Manson concert because, heaven forefend, they can't have their Whopper. And these are not people who should get their blood pressure up, obviously, if they're that upset about not getting a sandwich that 5 minutes ago would have been a frozen chunk of "beef" unceremoniously snatched out of a freezer by Jimmy, the 16-year-old troubled youth from the wrong side of the tracks trying to figure out again why he isn't slinging rock on the corner while Mr. and Mrs. Octupel Bypass gibber incoherently about how they want to see a manager because "I wants me a WHOPPER!"
By the way, here's how the UNtelevised versions of that commercial went.
"Oh, um. Hmm. Ok, I guess I'll just have a double cheeseburger then."
OR:
"All right then, gimmee a chickeny ... sandwichy ... thingy."
OR:
"Well, what else do you have?"
Things exactly like the Whopper that are not named "Whopper," is the answer to that query.
I'm willing to bet that's how most of those interactions went, granted these are not actors. Which I have a hard time believing anyway because, you know, it's a Whopper. Do you understand what I'm saying here? It's a Whopper. Pick your battles and just let this one go.
All this talk of commercials just reminded me of one of my favorites. I haven't seen it for a while, possibly because it was removed from the market, but it was for some nasal inhaler for allergies called Veramyst, I think. It looked and sounded like a perfectly normal allergy drug commercial - you know, people flailing picnic blankets, running with dogs, some shots of flowers or dust cloths or something - but in tiny print at the bottom of the screen, this message appears: "The way Veramyst works is not entirely understood."
Not entirely understood? Not entirely understood? Then here's an idea - and please, just hear me out on this - maybe ... well ... I'm just saying, you know, mmmmmmaybe ... some more testing is in order? Yeah? Ohohohokay, then.
Anyway. I'm getting the "wrap it up" signal from my producer, so I'll cut this one short, but stay tuned for my thoughts on China, food, and the GDP.
Props to Martin for remembering the word "autopsy." I couldn't have done it without him. Thank you and goodnight.