More Problems in Advertising

I’m aware of the value of product packaging. Even with my strive to see through advertisements and their insane efforts (The latest annoyance? A stampable toilet cleaning puck that keeps your bowl clean a WHOLE WEEK!! Wow! Packaging!), I can still see why someone might want their bottle of handsoap to smell pretty and kinda match the decor. Guests and whatever.

But sometimes it goes a little far, such as with this repackaging of Scope.

Old Scope. I'm squat and ugly, please hide me in the cabinet and forget about me.

New Scope. Why yes, I do look like a decanter. Leave me out as almost-decoration on that fancy shelf you installed in the bathroom - and remember every day: Sssscope!

Clever, but unfortunately crosses the line of subtle image shifting to full out obvious gimmick, too blatantly suggesting that purchase of this product is an important stepping stone in your shift from a Just Anyone with mismatched furnishings and a regular toothbrush to a financially cozy, stylish, good looking, whiter teethed One of Them.

Feeling like this?

Buy some of this!

You'll feel like this!

Nice try Scope, but I’m sticking with that fun stuff that makes the crap in your teeth turn bright blue in the sink.

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A Collection of Oddities

If I didn’t have a tendency and honest love of living in itty bitty spaces requiring hyper-organization and detachment from cluttering trinkets, I’d probably hang onto a lot more of the oddities I’ve stumbled upon in my days.

A couple of years ago I worked in a bubblegum factory. That isn’t relevant to anything, but people often find it amusing. Anyways, I was leaving the factory early one morning, a bit dreary after my twelve-hour shift under fluorescent lighting, weaving down the sidewalk towards the bus stop. I cursed this bus stop as I went. My downtown address had acclimatized me to instant transportation, and I was not at all thrilled to have to schlep my way out to bus-only land to work a night job. By the time I reached my stop though, I was glad to have been working overnight and not amongst the car pieces still scattered all over the road. The accident must have been early in the night because there was no sign of anyone, or even the car itself. No crime tape, no cruisers, no investigation, no nothing.

So I picked up a few of the remnants; a bolt here, a bulb there, a piece of taillight and scraps of acrylic whatnot. I cleaned them and kept them in a jar, thinking they might be good for an art project. A year later while in school for professional makeup, I glued them to a girls face for an edgy applique look – and promptly forgot to take pictures. It turned out pretty good, even though my instructor didn’t always approve of my tastes (he preferred ‘pretty’ looks) and assumed the weight of the objects would peel them right off her face before I could finish. Good thing for that surgical adhesive is all I can say.

Then there was that deformed single-serve creamer that fell out of the box as I refilled the tray in the kitchen a few months ago. It’s intact foil-sealed lid covered not a hollow pocket for liquid, but rather gave way to an odd corkscrew of plastic. Clearly churned out of the machine on the quality inspectors day off, this thing looked vaguely inappropriate in about six different inexplicable ways. Talea and I studied it, flipping it over on the desk and poking at the foil, not speaking our individual hypothesis as to its potential uses for fear that each of us had a far dirtier mind than the other suspected. Instead we settled for a rounding fifteen minutes of Beavis-and-Butthead style snickering.

It might still be at the bottom of one of her desk drawers somewhere, but if I had a trinket box it would definitely go in.

weird plastic deformed possible sex toy thing?

Uhh...wait, what?

Since work is where I spend most of my time these days, it would follow that most of the oddities I’ve discovered recently have been happened upon at the office. None have been so exciting as car pieces or possibly-sexy dairy products, but there’s been a few head-scratchers.

There was that blue sucker I found stuck to one of the picture frames, back when we had a rowdy group of hoodlums calling themselves clients wandering around and making a shit hole out of my kitchen. (It may be the corporation’s office, but I’m the one fist deep in their ungrateful dishes, that is MY goddamned kitchen.) I peeled it off, wiped the goo, and marveled at it for a bit before chucking it in the trash. Fascinating in its irreverence for common decency, and historical in that it’s probably the grossest and saliva-iest thing I’ve ever had to peel off anything (keep in mind I used to work in a daycare, and even those tots had more sense of where to keep body fluids), I still wouldn’t want to keep it in a trinket box.

Mmm...sticky.

(Couldn’t find a pic of blue lollipops, but found this from bakerella.com. I’m sure they’re delicious and not at all saliva-ey.)

Today’s discovery was surprisingly less gross despite it’s vast, VAST amounts of thankfully untapped gross potential. The only reason it remains lower than the lollipop on the yuck-scale is because it was found still in its original packaging. A relieving fact at first, but later leading me to hope that its intended wearer also remained in his original packaging, as well as untapped, at least while on the premises.

Yep, just casually wandered into the kitchen this morning, chatting it up with clients and coworkers, none of whom seemed to acknowledge the strangely commonplace yet clearly out of place object nonchalantly placed on the table. I likewise ignored it, and then quickly snatched it up as soon as the room was empty, lest other innocent passerby stumble upon it and be forced to play the same game of ‘I don’t see that, do you?’

So far nobody has brought it up or asked about it, and I’m pretty glad. Because I, like them, haven’t a clue as to where it came from. And really wouldn’t want to know.

Definitely not one for the trinket box.

An Assortment of Late Night Thoughts

– The phrase “It feels great, the hair feels amazing!” Should never be uttered on late night television. Somehow, the fact that it is uttered in an ad for “shake on hair” (technical term: hair loss concealer, I’m not even making this up) somehow only makes it worse.

– What is wrong with Jay Leno’s chin? And David Letterman’s teeth? And Conan O’Brien’s hair? Is that why Jimmy Kimmel will never be as popular? Because he doesn’t have some weird physical abnormality?

– Josh is right, that was a crepe I was making in that pic, not french toast. Breakfast cognition: fail.

– I really regret getting rid of my magic bullet blender. I’m still convinced that I’d use it. I never used it. I blame the fact that I never looked at the recipe book that came with it.

– I want to be that person who gets to choose classical music clips for cartoons. They probably have a better search process for finding vague pieces than googling ‘that fluttery song they play when its sunrise.’

– Is that a spider on the wall or just a shadow? Should I get up and try to smoosh it? Or will that result in an unfortunate 2am fire since I’m incapable of squishing things and must instead torch them with hairspray and a lighter?

– Why the hell don’t they display the comedian’s name at the end of the segment when I’ve decided whether or not to pay attention? By the time I care, I don’t know who I want to Google.

– Shakespearean improv troupes should not be allowed on Just For Laughs.

– Disney is solely responsible for my choice in hair colour and crushed expectations of impossible volume.

Suck it Disney. This hair is not possible.

 

– Why are odd numbered groups of items considered more aesthetically pleasing? Like the number of flowers in a fancy hair style, or food arrangements, like spring rolls. They always give you three spring rolls…that doesn’t work for sharing!

– Is there something wrong with me for enjoying foreign documentaries so much or is it just the product of having no cable for too long? And for that matter, when did Ed Burtinsky go from photography to narrating documentaries on other photographers?

– Ok, so what the hell is ‘Dadaism’?

– What is Angela Bowie’s problem?

– Sometimes I feel like I’m the only twenty-something office peon who can spend the morning discussing supply chains and market research, and then hide in the admin office for lunch, flapping my black pashmina around and yelling ‘I AM THE BATMAN!”

– Goddamn, I want some perogies…

– Does Lysol really care how much bacteria is on my counter, or are they just trying to make money?

– Why on earth would any food-vending company think that “secret sauce” sounds at all appealing? Maybe in the more innocent days of yore, but not in these perverted times.

– You know it’s gone from ‘late night’ to ‘early morning’ when every damn station tells me either how dirty my house is, how inefficient my vegetable chopping is, or 80% of the time – how fat I am. Can you see me, television? How the hell do you know about my hip jigglage?

– Maybe I do need a Sham-Wow. Or anything else that Vince guy is selling. I wonder if he’s secretly glad that Billy Mays is out of the picture…

– If ‘bagel bites’ now contain real cheese, what the hell ass were they using before? And for that matter, what’s in those little Ritz Bitz cracker dealios?

– They should have a cereal called ‘Dealios.” I’d buy it.

– Can my houseplants think?

– Pros to being vegetarian: no chicken-head mcnuggets.

– Dammit, it’s 3am. Am I never going to fall asl-

– Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..

“Funny Little Quirks” or: A Brief Glimpse into my Crippling Neuroses

Ever notice little things about yourself that are a bit odd? Not necessarily quite ‘strange’ or ‘unusual’, but just funny little details that help you set yourself apart from the rest of the herd on those depressing Monday mornings when you realize those cute shoes you bought are about as unique as the fake Louis Vuitton purses sported by the frumpy office moms who apparently also thought that sensible ballet flats were special and different this year?

*pause for breath*

Ugh. Nothing I love more than the constant reminder that to the average onlooker, I’m just part of the flock. I put on pants nice enough to qualify as ‘business’, avoid open toed shoes or tops that leave my shoulders bare.  But in reality, I fall into the category of apathetic gen-Y office dweller. I’m not quite the post high-school slacker just working hard enough to not get fired, uselessly pushing the dress code with black sneakers and nailpolish. I’m not the razor sharp, well dressed, killer heeled Career Woman with expensive accessories. I’m not a Frazzled Office Mom with a mismatched pantsuit and the wrong sandwich in my knockoff purse that isn’t fooling anyone. I don’ t have a kid and/or mortgage, and I’m not stuck here doing my frantic best to make it through to retirement, realizing that one day I’m going to wake up amidst sit-com reruns, wondering where my youth went.

No, I’m just paying my rent, happy enough that I usually like my job and get to work with my best friend, before secretly running away to live in the south and save up for a trailor.

This last option actually kind of terrifies me. No, no, not the trailor thing. I mean, that’s scary, but crazy exciting. No, it’s turning into a Frazzled Office Mom that scares me. Because Slacker Girl won’t be able to pay bills, but at least she’s hip and cares not for ‘the man’. Career Woman may not have her looks forever, but for now she kicks a lot of ass. But Frazzled Office Mom? There’s plenty of  ladies sporting kids and bellies and mortgages wandering around my office looking lovely and ridiculously pulled together, but somehow I don’t think I’d be able to pull this off. I’m already flying around by the seat of my pants without throwing kids and “caring about my career” in there. And I seriously do not want to turn into my cubicle dwelling mother, shouting at the kids to hurry the hell up and get in the minivan, poking my eyes with mascara at stoplights and hating every minute of it.

And so this is why my morning arrival into the elevator banks is often nothing short of a brief, dizzying bout of introspective crisis. If I see in my fellow ascenders enough terrifying glimpses into the possible future to remind me that it’s a slippery slope from ‘just paying the bills’ to ‘stuck here for life’, it makes me want to throw down my latte and run, shrieking “I’m not one of you! I just have to wear these pants!”

Unfortunately, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea since while waiting to eventually say “Screw this noise!” and run away to the wilderness, I happen to enjoy at least electricity and a roof over my head. So I wear my pants and drink my latte and remind myself that aside from my crippling neuroses, I’ve got a few other traits that, at least internally, set me apart from the herd:

– I used to have eight barbells in the back of my neck. I didn’t take them out for my job, I took them out because it turned out I’m allergic to nickle and it would have cost an assload to have them plated in titanium and put back in (see: cost of roof and electricity). I still have the jewelery though – just in case.

– I get a sick kick knowing that even when I’m pushing the ‘doors close’ button on the elevator, it looks to the rushing fat guy that I’m pressing ‘doors open.’ The elevators are lined with mirrors, perfect for displaying the vaguely frantic expression of  ‘oh, so close!’

– I value my sleep enough that I’d rather show up with wet hair, put my makeup on at work and greet my clients blotchy-faced and blurry-eyed than show up looking professional and have someone ask me for stuff before 9am.

– Somehow, my ‘desk job’ involves an awful lot of ‘moving desks.’ Not sure how that happened. In fact, my ‘white collar’ job is actually about 25% blue collar. I feel this gives me the right to scratch and burp in a manner that would otherwise be deemed inappropriate for an office environment.

– At least once a day I belch fairly loudly at Talea. She usually belches back.

– I can pretend to give a shit in four different versions of engrish.

– While Josh enjoys my occasionally sexy corporate wear, he really wishes I’d dress like Joy from ‘My Name Is Earl.’ Secretly (in that ‘I just said it on the internet’ kind of way), I think I could pull it off.

– I get ridiculously annoyed at bathroom dwellers, like that ugly chick from across the hall who stands in front of the mirrors for upwards of ten excruciating minutes, morosely adjusting her ill-fitted clothes. I hate her. Yanking on your shirt will not make it fit, get out and let me pee in private!

– I consider corner cutting to be an efficient skill worthy of honing. Sort of along the same lines of “If you ignore it long enough, it will fix itself.” I’m also of the belief that sometimes, violence is the answer – particularly in relation to the Xerox machine.

– I sent one of my superiors the so NSFW links to ‘Like a Boss’, ‘I’m on a Boat’, ‘Powerthirst’ and ‘Powerthirst2’ because I felt he was not adequately in the cool kids club. I like my bosses to know when I’m making fun of them, or at least understand the humour of being ‘uncomfortably energetic’.

– Freaking out about something completely unnecessary is a part of my balanced breakfast.

There you have it. A little bit of me, myself and my brain. I hope this has been an enlightening or at least amusing adventure. At the very least, if any of you have the good fortune of meeting me in person, particularly at work, you may be less perturbed when I suddenly bust out with The Lonely Island. Because, you see, it’s very important to my peace of mind. So until I can kick this creased-pant habit and start wearing slutty tank tops, I’ll be here, drinking my latte, directing workflow.

(Like a boss.)

A New Improved Way to Get Your Kids Off Your Back

Hey everybody!

It’s time for some great parenting advice from an obnoxious twenty something who doesn’t have kids!

Not sure what to do when your kids are out of control? Are they screaming in the back seat for the eleventh hour in a row en route to Aunt Ethel’s for that family dinner you’d rather not be at anyways? Do they have an annoying habit of yanking on the phone cord for your attention until they disconnect you from your long lost best friend in Alberquerque?

Well then, I’m sure it comes as no surprise that in the days of yore there were those of the opinion (probably including Aunt Ethel herself) that a quick shot of silly juice was enough to soothe just about any toddler ailment from teething pain to pesky bed time meandering.

Nowadays, we know better. Letting our children have booze is a bad idea. Letting our children have peanuts is a bad idea. Letting our children have milk products is a bad idea. As is sunlight, tap water, synthetic fibre and bubblegum. Not to mention letting them loose in a playground with outrageous gravel, now that we have brightly coloured squares of ubersafe chopped up former tire bits to cushion their feeble, feeble knees. And if you have the nerve to cover a boo-boo with any sort of non-antiseptic bandaid, or dare leave your counters bare of their daily recomended dose of Lysol, well then! You’re headed straight to the stocks, you bad parent you. At least if you believe those Brand Power commercials (because those no-name granola bars tell your kids you don’t care.)

Thankfully, the two modern worlds of over-sanitizing the crap out of kids and the occasional need to get said kids to shut the hell up have collided ad last. Yes, it’s true, kids are getting snockered on hand sanitizer. Now of course like most products designed to improve your child’s overall health, hand sanitizer should be guarded carefully to avoid overdosage. You know, kind of like Flintstones vitamins.

Look, I've got shoes! How toxic can I be?

But at least now you can enjoy the comfort of knowing that while your energetic little one is contentedly dazed, he or she is also being protected from all the scary germs out there by way of licking chemicals off of their clean little paws.

Of course, I guess you could also use soap….or even make use of this ‘immune system’ thingie. But hey, that’s just me.

except probably not

 

And the Academy Award Goes to Me.

Greetings everyone! I have received this lovely award from JavaQueen. It’s not the Academy Award, but it’s still quite awesome. She herself is also quite awesome, I highly recommend you give her a look-see. Anyhoo, I am passing it along!

untitled

The “Let’s Be Friends” Award:

These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this written text into the body of their award.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Seriously, the internet is the best place ever to meet friends. It’s also the best place ever to meet sketchy characters selling assorted body parts out of the trunks of cars, but I guess that depends on where you look. As for me, I found love! So that’s where I’ll start.

Sprinting to Hell: This is Josh’s main blog, although he technically co-writes 800 Miles with me. My first impressions of him were at STH where he often lets loose a hilarious tirade against the man, the machine, the world at large. At other times it’s a who’s-who of awesome sights and sounds, of corners of the internet you would rarely otherwise brave, and if nothing else a brief glimpse into how rad a boyfriend I’ve got. Thanks, internet, for leading me to Mr. Right. Totally Fucking Badass Awesome Right. I probably wouldn’t have found him without your help, given the ridiculous distance and all. The next round is on me.

And now for some real life friends (other than Josh that is, who is obviously my friend as well.)

No Really, It’s Just My Face: This is Talea’s blog. Talea is snarky, hilarious, and unapologetic. In real life, she is my best bud, at my hip damn near 24-7 and less than 20 feet away from me at the office. Technically she’s my boss I guess, but whatever. We belch a lot. When either of us leave the city (which is rare, as we both adore Toronto and all its oddities), the other is always left dazed, confused, and more than a little pissed. Nobody is more excited about me staying in Toronto than Talea.

Except for maybe these two awesome ladies who are both very thrilled that I am staying, and equally thrilled that Josh is moving on up!

So Very Domestic: This is my friend May’s blog. May is what you would get if Bif Naked beat the hell-ass out of Martha Stewart and ran the outcome through the internet about eleventy-seven times. Like, hardcore.  She added another wee one to her growing brood very recently, and within a week was up baking, knitting, and sewing together little skull-and-crossbone diapers. Seriously. Don’t cross her in an alley – she could beat you up if she wanted, and then make you feel bad about it when she bakes 3 pies the next day.

Romi: If you haven’t met Romi, you are missing out. She was the first real-life friend I met on the blogosphere, after Talea and I coerced her into meeting us for a birthday related night of drunken debauchery, cupcakes, candy, and an ill-advised venture into the gastro-instestinal distress that is the combination of cheeze-whiz and jam. The latter, I assure you, was not Romi’s idea. Either way, she is fantastic, in blog world and 3D world. Go read her stuff right now. She used to promise cake in exchange for readership, but this is no longer. Now you have to read her blog or endure beat-downs from yours truly.

And for my remaining four choices, some terrific people who may not be my friends in 3D, but are sure awesome nonetheless.

Praying to Darwin: Ginny is cool as shit. Ginny seems like the kind of gal I’d really like to hang around with, or maybe at the office while Talea and I act like morons. She seems like she’d be down. I’d totally be her bud in 3D if I wasn’t scared away by the million miles of snow, wheatfields and oilsands I’d have to traverse (or, you know, whatever is outside of Ontario – in my head it’s all snow, wheatfields and oilsands. And mountains and junk, but they’re past her block.)  She’s flippin’ hilarious and has good taste in flooring. Because these things matter to me. Go read her stuff. Like, right now. I’ll wait.

Joan Harvest: Joan gives me the warm fuzzies all over. Every time she calls someone a dumbass, I want to hug her and tell her she’s awesome. Joan, you’re awesome! She has one of the coolest little houses I’ve ever seen, (I’m in love with her porch) and all sorts of great stories, many of which revolve around broken asses and the art of self defense with a cane. She’s the kind of lady you want to have around, you never know when cane-fu might come in handy!

Birdpress: Ok, so you know how I’m all madly in love with a guy named Josh, who I met over a vast distance and am now trying to bring into my permanent 3D world? Yeah, she pretty much did too! And now she’s married to her Josh, so clearly these things work! 😉 She’s also the rad chick who sent those five questions to me that I finally got around to answering with my Josh (sorry it took so long, and thanks! They were super fun.) Good times, good times. Get reading!

VeggieMacabre: I’m all about people who have the guts to just up and move hundreds of miles, and then do stuff like fight fires, avoid death, sew balls on reindeer sweaters, and other fun activities. Always a good read. If Will happened to stop by our general vicinity, I’m pretty sure Josh and I would have bitchin’ fun times going out for beer with this dude. Cheers Will!

Alrighty folks, that’s all for me at the moment. But if you’re still craving more, you have plenty of me-approved reading to keep you occupied. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go finish packing for the trip that’s still over a month away, and then nibble at my cuticles while the clock ticks.

Tick…

Tick…

Tick…

Ugh!

Leaving on a Jet Plane, Suckers!

As you may recall, Josh and I celebrated our one-year anniversary of dating on March 11th. Unfortunately, the cosmos conspired against us to mark the occasion with frustration and general technological fuck-uppery as opposed to flowery romance. In fact, we have still yet to exchange our cute little love-projects. This displeases me greatly. I’m generally speaking more the kind of gal who appreciates a good trip to the liquor and/or candy store (please, somebody combine the two!) or a night in cuddling on the couch to celebrate such occasions, rather than the whole dinner and flowers shebang. But even that’s hard to do when you’re 800 miles apart and the damn sentient videophone picks the worst days of the week to frankly, fuck with your shit.

Fine then universe, you want to play that game? Do you? Oh yeah? Well you may have screwed up March 11th, but there’s another significant date coming up very shortly. I won’t tell you what date specifically for fear you’ll mess that up too, but the general time frame is mid-June.

Last June, after having been madly in love for some time already, Josh and I finally met face-to-face. And yes, it was awesome. And yes, it was very difficult to leave. It still blows my mind to think back and go ‘holy shit, that was a year ago!’ One year! What the hell???

Unfortunately, that also means it’s been about a year since we’ve gotten some good and proper bedroom action. Too much info? Well, sorry. If you’ve been following along here, you know Josh and I live far apart – so in terms of sexy times, there’s really only one logical conclusion: it’s hard to get some from across the room never mind across the border. This will not do! Poor Josh! Poor me! If you haven’t been following along and this happens to be your first glance at this page…well, now you know.

So in light of the gods-of-tech being general wankers as of late, I’d really rather not leave this particular upcoming anniversary to chance. I’m getting on a damn plane and getting my ass down there. That’s right, it’s vacation time again! One whole year! It’s time, people.

(may not be flying on this actual plane)

(may not be flying on this actual plane)

Wooooo!!!!! Naturally, there will be many more exciting details to share as we get closer to the date, like accomodations, places to go, people to see, and etc. After last years adventure with failing luggage, I think the first thing I’m going to do is buy myself a nice pink manhandling-resistance suitcase, and maybe a matching dress.

Look out America, I’m coming to get you! Or at least one of you 😉

Weird Advertising Tags

Do you ever hear an ad once in a while that makes you stop and go “wait, what?” I do. All the time. I am fascinated with advertising in that it’s really no more than a brilliant, manipulative – almost brainwashing, really – tactic to push our dollars around the world. There are days when I think I should have gone into advertising, but then there are days when I’m pretty sure I could be an expert sculptor.

I love good advertisements and will go out of my way to reward good advertising. Shit, I’ve got buy some type of kitchen cleaner. And you can’t test them out like you can with makeup (like the back of my hand looks anything like my face, thanks). Might as well try the one that made you think “Ha! That is awesome!”

But in my constant quest for good ads, I seem to hear a lot of those usually underbudgeted weird ads with the weird slogan, or tag, or whatever you call that last little punchline. Like that jeweller by the Buffalo airport, where a diamond won’t cost you “an arm and a leg” (mannequin limbs jostled merrily towards the camera) Really? Limbs? That’s your…that’s your selling point, eh? Okay, just checking. You sure? You’re sticking with it? Alright then.

“Garaga – a choice you’ll never regret.” Garaga does garage doors, did you guess? It’s not really weird so much as…well it’s sort of like starting your resume with “I ain’t never been to jail.” (And yes, I’ve seen that resume, on Craigslist.) Yeah, sure, they’ll probably want to know your history at some point, but is that really what you want to focus on here? You won’t regret us, honest! Now just…just give us your wallet.

There’s a dentist’s office that advertises on the subway. Apparently they specialize in kids, and I can see how you would want to emphasize that. A mother wants to know, when choosing a doctor for little Johnny’s diseased molars, if the waiting room will have fun fuzzy toys or an ominous, massive fish tank that her kids will get yelled at for tapping. But their slogan was “We like kids and they love us.” Totally great and innocent until my brain comes along and starts wondering “Why the difference, the specific choice of love vs. like? Do you not enjoy the children as much as they appreciate you? Are you being swamped with little tots that you really think are just kind of – meh – okay?” And you’ve got to be careful when talking about your affection for children, what with pedophiles lurking around every corner. Or at least pedophile jokes. No, not the dentist for me.

This last one wasn’t so much of a punchline as a general idea. It was for one of those men’s de-grayifier “we swear you’re not just dying your hair” dealios. This slightly older gentleman is sitting in a well-appointed living room for a charming afternoon of reading or whatever. And these two somewhat adorable girls appear with great purpose and say “Dad, it’s time! You’ll make a really good catch for someone!” And they wave a box of de-grayifier at him.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Are you serious? Wow, what a market. Widowers CLEARLY in need of a babysitter – how the hell did those girls get a hold of that shit without his knowledge? Did they leave the house unattended at get it from the store? Did they swipe it from the shelves while he was buying their Barbie Bubblegum toothpaste? Klepto bastards! And hi, um, maybe it’s a little weird that your eight year old is suddenly super interested in your extra-curricular activities.

And finally, a commercial that while lacking in bizarre tags, certainly lends itself an air of “you can’t be serious.”

Terrific. Terrrrrrific.