Iowahawk is a National Treasure -- except without that faggot Nicholas Cage and his fucked up teeth. Jesus, you’re a movie star and cousin or some shit of some famous director, or something. You’d think Nick could afford a decent dental plan?
Anyway, Iowahawk has more talent than Cage, and better teeth, so read him every goddamned day.
Anyhoo, here's Iowahawk taking the Clint Eastwood "pro-Obama" Super Bowl ad to task. Enjoy.
Showing posts with label Commercials. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Commercials. Show all posts
Thursday, February 09, 2012
Friday, June 10, 2011
The Sexiest Woman in America...
Flo the Progressive Insurance chick is, without a doubt, the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. This is both exciting and a crying shame…and maybe a little disturbing, too.
Maybe it’s just me, but there’s something about that perky, quirky babe in her 1960’s up do, and 1950’s eye makeup, but if you’re a red-blooded ‘merican male, after a while you start to wonder just what is underneath that hospital-white apron and the ‘tricked-out nametag’, and what the Unicorns and Glitter girl just might be like in the sack.
And herein...ahem... lay (sorry) the genius behind Flo: She’s cute. She’s lovable. She’s so goddamned girly. And a far cry from what's available to the Average American Male.
It’s a pity that in Modern America most women fall into a category somewhere between ‘rabid piranha’ and ‘wounded wolverine with cramps’. Nearly fifty years of feminism has made your average babe about as approachable as a bear trap with a hair trigger. Women today are nasty. They are suspicious. They have a chip on their shoulder that causes a good many to consider anything with a beard and testicles to be a rape just waiting to happen. Where feminism hasn’t destroyed the natural affinity between Men and Women, it has fed the Modern Female with a great deal of other nonsense with which to clutter their brains; a Woman, they say, can do anything a Man can do, only better. And maybe this is true under certain circumstances, unless, of course, it requires brute strength, an ability to whizz standing up, or squashing spiders. It has also created a mindset wherein Men are often seen as dangerous, unnecessary, or, at best, an accessory.
Feminism has also dictated that wherever possible a woman should feign to think and behave as Men do, which is kind of a screwy idea since no Woman can think and behave as a Man does, if only for the simple fact that they’re not Men. Instead, women get their ideas of how they believe Men Think and Behave from the worst possible sources – the media, some book written by a half-baked therapist, or Cosmo, and until recently, Oprah. Nothing like getting advice on how to act like a Dude from another Chick. This has produced what I like to privately call “The Bruno”; a woman who goes out of her way to behave in a most unladylike manner, usually laboring under the deluded belief that she's ‘liberating’ herself. This sort of woman is combative, she uses foul language casually, has tattoos, tells dirty jokes that might even make me blush; she probably takes up a trade that once was the sole domain of Men (usually something to do with power tools, because they are a symbol of masculinity, and in a pinch, vibrate a lot).
Bruno doesn’t want you to come near her. You can tell from her demeanor, and the puss on her face that could curdle used motor oil. She bares her fangs and threatens to kick your ass if you do come near her, and if she decides that she will, indeed, have you, she reserves the right to be the aggressor. She's learned the Art of Wooing Men from watching re-runs of Oz. If you ever try to turn the tables on her, or can't figure out her convoluted system of when to treat her like a woman, and when to treat her as whatever the fuck she wants to be treated like at this very second, she gets pissed and tells you to fuck off.
That’s when you don't find one from the other end of the spectrum: the complete, sperm-burping sluts who never met an STD they didn’t enjoy passing on, usually out of spite or stupidity.
Flo, on the other hand, seems infinitely approachable. She seems friendly. She’s so naturally feminine. If you aren’t turned on by that then there’s something wrong with you, Homeboy.
But, alas, Flo isn’t real. She’s the invention of an advertising agency and a rather talented comedic actress. I’m almost positive that a ‘real’ Flo must exist somewhere in America (there had to be a role model, after all), but I have yet to find her. This is the greatest tragedy of all…for Men all over America.
If there were a million Flo’s, there’d be a million more happily married couples, I should think.
Why, if Anthony Weiner had had a Flo to go home to he wouldn’t have to momentarily stop rubbing one out to type “Baby, that feels sooooo good…” into his Blackberry, and trying exceptionally hard (shit,I had to go there, didn't I?) to make it sound convincing, and perhaps never daring to put his Congressional career at risk. If Arnold had a Flo to go home to, he wouldn’t be banging hideously ugly domestics…or hideously ugly Kennedys (sorry, that’s redundant), either, for that matter.
And before someone (usually some frigid, trailer-trash, diesel-dyke-bitch with a Community College Sociology Degree) starts accusing me of harboring some sick male fantasy of wanting to return to the ghastly days of the pre-sexual revolution, when Women were mere kitchen slaves and baby-makers, mere objects to be put upon a pedestal and fawned upon, I want you to think about just how liberated Flo truly is:
She has an important job. One, incidentally, she seems to enjoy immensely, and one in which she appears to have a great deal of responsibility. One gets the impression that Flo runs the entire operation there at the Progressive Store, and in some of the commercials she’s seen training her male colleagues in the in’s-and-out’s of the insurance business (oops, shouldn’t say ‘in-and-out’ in reference to Flo, someone might get the wrong idea), and sometimes giving them orders and directions. She’s obviously the leader of All Things Progressive Store.
Flo dances to the beat of her own drummer. She can be flighty, but is always serious about the business of insurance. She’s funny and witty, and in her own way, as sharp as a tack. She appears to be one of those ‘people persons’ I keep hearing about but never seem to actually encounter. Flo talks to everyone in the same friendly and helpful manner, regardless of race or sex. She doesn’t seem to notice such petty distinctions in any way whatsoever. Flo is never judgmental, she’s never harsh, and you can never imagine a four-letter invective flying out of her mouth.
One almost believes that Flo never uses a bathroom; when she has to answer Nature’s Call, you imagine a flock of snow-white doves and little pink elves descending from the skies to take it away for her.She's sweet, she's pure, you could never in a million years attribute anything dirty, unseemly, or disgusting to her.
But Flo has a rebellious side, too, you know; She knows and loves her motorcycles (she rides a 950 V-twin, in case you’ve forgotten), and yet somehow she always manages to pull that helmet off with her exquisite and meticulous hairstyle completely unruffled, with nary a bug in her teeth, her make-up undisturbed, and her virgin-white apron showing proudly beneath her leather jacket.
Flo is simply an awesome chick, in all respects. If all THAT isn’t the true Feminist Ideal – without the perpetual and figurative water retention – then I don’t know just what the fuck is. No man in his right mind would even dream of cheating on Flo. If there were more Flos, there'd probably be fewer homosexuals, too, and if not, then they could at least share eyeshadow.
You can keep your Miss Americas; you can have your surgically-enhanced “Real Housewives”; you can forget every Supermodel (except Kathy Ireland or Brooklyn Decker, maybe?) that has ever graced the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Editions, and I’ll take Flo over them every goddamned time, hand’s down, and twice on Sundays.
One of these days, when the Japanese finally perfect the Companion Robot, they could do far worse than to use Flo as their template and then mass produce the shit out of the sucker. The American Market for a robot that’s based upon a facsimile of a fictional woman that is far more appealing than most real live ones is a guaranteed money maker.
It might even save the Japanese economy.
You couldn’t produce a Flo Robot in this country, primarily because the Indian and Chinese Engineers we’d have to import know jack shit about Sex and girls, but mostly because the mere suggestion of it would send some Femzilla into a hissy fit for the ages (mostly out of jealousy), complete with lawsuits, boycotts, crying, and the withholding of sex….from someone….assuming someone would want any from a woman like that.
I’d like to see that potential Feminazi Champion hop right up on her Menstrual Cycle and challenge Flo to a bike race, if only to see Flo leave the bitch in the dust.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Douchebag of the Week (6/8/10): Tony Hayward...
Yes, it has been a long hiatus for the DOW Award, but that was due to more than just simple apathy on my part; there have been far too many candidates to choose from. There were no truly Epic Douches, defined as those who stood head-and-shoulders above the field, to single out for special recognition. How to choose when the field is so full?
The sad fact of American Life is that the phenomenon of Douchebaggery has become so common is that it takes an industrial disaster of epic proportions to make the distinction between the huddled masses of workaday douchebags, and those who have ascended to the mystic and exalted heights of Mount Douchebottle -- the Olympus of Douchedom -- on their way to cosmic douchebag immortality, to burn brightly in the sky in the Galaxy We Call The Douchey Way.
Tony Hayward, the CEO of British Petroleum (BP) has made the arduous journey from ordinary douche (obnoxious businessman) to become the four-star General, the George S. Patton, if you will, of Douchedom.
Hayward's company has poisoned the Gulf of Mexico -- perhaps for generations -- with an oil spill that began 5,000 feet below the surface of the ocean, at the very limits of technological and engineering capabilities. BP has allegedly co-opted the very regulators (and politicians) who are supposed to ensure that a) BP doesn't make the mistakes that lead to an uncontrollable oil spill, and b) has a a plan and the wherewithal to clean up after those mistakes, with campaign contributions and a cozy relationship with the regulators that involves the promise of future employment.
It does this all the while running commercials, for years, about it's commitment to a cleaner environment and the Energy of Tomorrow.
BP has, despite protestations to the contrary, done little to protect the Gulf Coast, or to actually clean up after itself. It has lawyered up (and granted, the Obamatards stepped in right way with the threat of Federal lawsuits -- talk about putting carts before horses!) it has fudged the numbers on the size of the spill, the amount of oil leaking, the effects of it's counter-spill efforts, even the number and amount of claims it has paid to local fishermen. It has been aided and abetted by the Obama Administration it has bought and paid for, while all the while giving that same bunch of lame-ass morons both a plausible excuse for their piss-poor reaction (BP is responsible, not us!), and the excuse to further rape the American consumer and Taxpayer (tighter regulations and restrictions on the Energy Industry, as well as new taxes, are on the way).
BP is front-and-center in an environmental disaster that makes the Exxon Valdez look like a cup of coffee spilled in a bathtub. The scope and scale of this disaster, and the difficulty involved in shutting off the flow of oil, makes a Chernobyl-like explosion appear to be an acceptable risk in terms of making nuclear power a more-viable alternative to oil.
Yet, through it all -- all the ruined fisheries, the devastated local economies, the now-sure-to-be-cancelled tourist season, the dead pelicans and otters, the frightening imagery of an uncontrollable undersea volcano of black sludge -- Tony Hawyard feels picked on. He "wants his life back". He wants the media spotlight off his company, and him personally.
Poor baby.
You see, Tony, this is not about you, inasmuch as you have gotten the attention solely because you happen to be the man in charge. You're the CEO, you get the salary, and it's your job, frankly, to be the lightning rod in the shitstorm -- it's why you're overpaid in the first place. If it bothers you that much, then don't whine, just fucking quit. We couldn't possibly think any less of you, anyway. What this is really about is the millions of Americans whose lives are now going to be affected, perhaps for decades, because of this disaster. How do they get their lives back, Shithead?
And yet, Mr. Hayward, already regarded in this country as something slightly-less popular than Cholera, thinks he can make people forget that BP has destroyed their beaches and livelihoods, and that all his douchey tomfoolery over personalizing the effects can be erased by a propaganda campaign, a series of commercials and public service announcements about what BP is doing to help clean up the Gulf and make things right.
That sort of rehabilitate-the-image crap works for democratic party politicians, Mr. Hayward (mostly because their supporters are dumber than dogshit), but we're talking about people's wallets and health, now. Most Americans can be counted upon to misunderstand "complicated" issues like politics, but they certainly understand money and upset stomachs. And when some foreigner-with-a-bad-attitude insults them by pretending as if they don't matter (because Tony wants HIS life back, ignoring the lives his company has probably destroyed), Americans get angry and no amount of PR will douse the fires. Just ask George III what happens when Americans feel ignored, marginalized and ripped off by uppity British assholes.
If you think you can brazen this out after making your true feelings known, Mr. Hayward, you're in a sorrier position than Barack Obama, and probably in as thick a bubble, too. Commercials aside, even you can't be dumb enough to believe your own bullshit.
For being a total Douchebag above and beyond the call of duty -- for daring to think that you could brazen your way out of an ecological disaster of this magnitude, for displaying an intense conceit that is only explainable in psychological terms, for poisoning an entire sea, and finally, for giving the opportunistic and overreaching Obama Administration another excuse to practice their craft and destroy the American Energy Industry (and why not? They've already destroyed the Health Care Industry, the Auto Industry, the Real Estate Industry and the Banking Industry) -- Cap and Trade is on it's way, along with a bewildering array of new taxes, restrictions, regulations and so forth -- Tony Hayward becomes the first-ever recipient of the Douchebag of the Week Award With Oak Leaf Clusters.
And I know of a really big hole that you CAN plug with those clusters, Mr. Hayward.
The sad fact of American Life is that the phenomenon of Douchebaggery has become so common is that it takes an industrial disaster of epic proportions to make the distinction between the huddled masses of workaday douchebags, and those who have ascended to the mystic and exalted heights of Mount Douchebottle -- the Olympus of Douchedom -- on their way to cosmic douchebag immortality, to burn brightly in the sky in the Galaxy We Call The Douchey Way.
Tony Hayward, the CEO of British Petroleum (BP) has made the arduous journey from ordinary douche (obnoxious businessman) to become the four-star General, the George S. Patton, if you will, of Douchedom.
Hayward's company has poisoned the Gulf of Mexico -- perhaps for generations -- with an oil spill that began 5,000 feet below the surface of the ocean, at the very limits of technological and engineering capabilities. BP has allegedly co-opted the very regulators (and politicians) who are supposed to ensure that a) BP doesn't make the mistakes that lead to an uncontrollable oil spill, and b) has a a plan and the wherewithal to clean up after those mistakes, with campaign contributions and a cozy relationship with the regulators that involves the promise of future employment.
It does this all the while running commercials, for years, about it's commitment to a cleaner environment and the Energy of Tomorrow.
BP has, despite protestations to the contrary, done little to protect the Gulf Coast, or to actually clean up after itself. It has lawyered up (and granted, the Obamatards stepped in right way with the threat of Federal lawsuits -- talk about putting carts before horses!) it has fudged the numbers on the size of the spill, the amount of oil leaking, the effects of it's counter-spill efforts, even the number and amount of claims it has paid to local fishermen. It has been aided and abetted by the Obama Administration it has bought and paid for, while all the while giving that same bunch of lame-ass morons both a plausible excuse for their piss-poor reaction (BP is responsible, not us!), and the excuse to further rape the American consumer and Taxpayer (tighter regulations and restrictions on the Energy Industry, as well as new taxes, are on the way).
BP is front-and-center in an environmental disaster that makes the Exxon Valdez look like a cup of coffee spilled in a bathtub. The scope and scale of this disaster, and the difficulty involved in shutting off the flow of oil, makes a Chernobyl-like explosion appear to be an acceptable risk in terms of making nuclear power a more-viable alternative to oil.
Yet, through it all -- all the ruined fisheries, the devastated local economies, the now-sure-to-be-cancelled tourist season, the dead pelicans and otters, the frightening imagery of an uncontrollable undersea volcano of black sludge -- Tony Hawyard feels picked on. He "wants his life back". He wants the media spotlight off his company, and him personally.
Poor baby.
You see, Tony, this is not about you, inasmuch as you have gotten the attention solely because you happen to be the man in charge. You're the CEO, you get the salary, and it's your job, frankly, to be the lightning rod in the shitstorm -- it's why you're overpaid in the first place. If it bothers you that much, then don't whine, just fucking quit. We couldn't possibly think any less of you, anyway. What this is really about is the millions of Americans whose lives are now going to be affected, perhaps for decades, because of this disaster. How do they get their lives back, Shithead?
And yet, Mr. Hayward, already regarded in this country as something slightly-less popular than Cholera, thinks he can make people forget that BP has destroyed their beaches and livelihoods, and that all his douchey tomfoolery over personalizing the effects can be erased by a propaganda campaign, a series of commercials and public service announcements about what BP is doing to help clean up the Gulf and make things right.
That sort of rehabilitate-the-image crap works for democratic party politicians, Mr. Hayward (mostly because their supporters are dumber than dogshit), but we're talking about people's wallets and health, now. Most Americans can be counted upon to misunderstand "complicated" issues like politics, but they certainly understand money and upset stomachs. And when some foreigner-with-a-bad-attitude insults them by pretending as if they don't matter (because Tony wants HIS life back, ignoring the lives his company has probably destroyed), Americans get angry and no amount of PR will douse the fires. Just ask George III what happens when Americans feel ignored, marginalized and ripped off by uppity British assholes.
If you think you can brazen this out after making your true feelings known, Mr. Hayward, you're in a sorrier position than Barack Obama, and probably in as thick a bubble, too. Commercials aside, even you can't be dumb enough to believe your own bullshit.
For being a total Douchebag above and beyond the call of duty -- for daring to think that you could brazen your way out of an ecological disaster of this magnitude, for displaying an intense conceit that is only explainable in psychological terms, for poisoning an entire sea, and finally, for giving the opportunistic and overreaching Obama Administration another excuse to practice their craft and destroy the American Energy Industry (and why not? They've already destroyed the Health Care Industry, the Auto Industry, the Real Estate Industry and the Banking Industry) -- Cap and Trade is on it's way, along with a bewildering array of new taxes, restrictions, regulations and so forth -- Tony Hayward becomes the first-ever recipient of the Douchebag of the Week Award With Oak Leaf Clusters.
And I know of a really big hole that you CAN plug with those clusters, Mr. Hayward.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Capitalism LIVES!
The winning combination of silly product and Gilbert Gottfried results in an extremely funny commercial -- and most-assuredly -- financial success.
This commercial, at the very least, should become a Pop-culture phenom. Right up there with "Where's the Beef?" and "I've fallen and I can't get up!"
Do take notice of the physically-challenged, but amazingly-well-preserved Baby-Boomers at whom this commercial is so-obviously aimed.
This commercial, at the very least, should become a Pop-culture phenom. Right up there with "Where's the Beef?" and "I've fallen and I can't get up!"
Do take notice of the physically-challenged, but amazingly-well-preserved Baby-Boomers at whom this commercial is so-obviously aimed.
Monday, November 02, 2009
Troof in Advertising...
I use Google-AdSense on this page, as some of you may have noticed. The ads are apparently chosen at random by some software feature which parses words out out of my blog, and then projects advertisements related to them.
Only sometimes, it doesn't work so well. Because software, being what it is, cannot always divine intent.
So, I guess I shouldn't be surprised when I see a great big Michael Bloomberg campaign ad on my site, despite the fact that I hold the man in slightly less regard than I do dysentery. Please note that just because an ad appears on this page advertising "Pedophile Secrets of the Koran Revealed!", or "Earn a Degree in Transgendered-Hispanic-Dwarf Literature", and the ads appear next to a screed in opposition to those concepts, that it isn't my fault! It's the software.
So, I can assure you that if you ever come across a "Maureen Dowd Can't Even Get Butchy Lesbians with Scrofula to Have Sex With Her" post, know that I'm not advocating that you purchase the Maureen Dowd books for sale in the Amazon.com ad...
Only sometimes, it doesn't work so well. Because software, being what it is, cannot always divine intent.
So, I guess I shouldn't be surprised when I see a great big Michael Bloomberg campaign ad on my site, despite the fact that I hold the man in slightly less regard than I do dysentery. Please note that just because an ad appears on this page advertising "Pedophile Secrets of the Koran Revealed!", or "Earn a Degree in Transgendered-Hispanic-Dwarf Literature", and the ads appear next to a screed in opposition to those concepts, that it isn't my fault! It's the software.
So, I can assure you that if you ever come across a "Maureen Dowd Can't Even Get Butchy Lesbians with Scrofula to Have Sex With Her" post, know that I'm not advocating that you purchase the Maureen Dowd books for sale in the Amazon.com ad...
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Cheap, Overpriced Crap you Don't Need...Now in HD!
Something that truly troubles me; this morning, the local Cable TV monopoly ran an advertisement from the Home Shopping Network, in which a perky little nymphette with a presumably-empty head, and an annoying, Irish-setter-like enthusiasm, simply gushed with manufactured excitement over the fact that viewers can now get the Home Shopping Network in fabulous hi-definition!
Because, you know, Diamonique looks so much more authentic in HD. But I digress...
High-Definition Shopping. The mind recoils at the very thought. I'm also wondering what marketing genius got a great big raise for stepping forward in a meeting and saying "You know, we should really push this Hi-Def thing, and let people know we're the most innovative, hi-tech and modern purveyor of cheap crap no one needs at ridiculously high prices."
And worse, someone actually though that was a good idea, and ordered that it be made so.
Even more ridiculous, someone at the Cable Company decided that they should run advertisements trumpeting the fact that you can buy knick-knacks on TV in Hi-Definition, and spinning it as yet another reason why Cable TV is just so gosh darn superior to those satellite folks.
You know that the apocalypse is upon us when someone decides that the general public is really stupid enough to fall for something as obviously retarded as Home Shopping Network, and then dumber still to swallow it in HD.
Sport in HD? Yes. Porn in HD? Hell yeah! But the Snuggie....?
Because, you know, Diamonique looks so much more authentic in HD. But I digress...
High-Definition Shopping. The mind recoils at the very thought. I'm also wondering what marketing genius got a great big raise for stepping forward in a meeting and saying "You know, we should really push this Hi-Def thing, and let people know we're the most innovative, hi-tech and modern purveyor of cheap crap no one needs at ridiculously high prices."
And worse, someone actually though that was a good idea, and ordered that it be made so.
Even more ridiculous, someone at the Cable Company decided that they should run advertisements trumpeting the fact that you can buy knick-knacks on TV in Hi-Definition, and spinning it as yet another reason why Cable TV is just so gosh darn superior to those satellite folks.
You know that the apocalypse is upon us when someone decides that the general public is really stupid enough to fall for something as obviously retarded as Home Shopping Network, and then dumber still to swallow it in HD.
Sport in HD? Yes. Porn in HD? Hell yeah! But the Snuggie....?
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Why I Hate Chris From Broadview Security...
And I don't even know the guy.
I'm referring to the commercials that have been popping up with greater frequency on the television these days. I don't have a beef with a private security company advertising their alarm systems and other services, I just have a problem in the way they sell them.
The commercial invariably begins like this:
Lone woman, or worse, with child, alone in the house. They're typically going about their routine, cleaning, working out, cooking, tending to their kids. Cut to scene of rough-looking hooligan, lurking outside the house, peering between the branches of the shrubbery, through the window, watching, watching, watching...
Then, the window or door is broken violently, and the Stalker has invaded the poor woman's personal space, ready to do all sorts of god-awful things to her...except that the alarm she set just before entering the shower has now been activated, warbling like a humpback with hemorrhoids, alerting everyone in the neighborhood to her plight. The woman is taken by surprise; she stands there is silent horror, or screaming, or trying to retreat in a panic.
And then...it happens. The phone rings.
It's Chris from Broadview Security, calling to see if our burglar-alarm version of Penelope Pitstop is being raped, or beaten unconscious, or perhaps flayed alive. Maybe all three at once.
Despite the fear, state of panic, adrenaline and the instant realization that someone dangerous has just gotten thisclose to possibly robbing and killing her, our heroine reaches for the phone. Exactly what I would be doing at exactly that particular moment, yes indeed! And it's Chris (or Roger, or Egbert or Vincenzo, the exact name doesn't matter) from Broadview Security. He wants to know if our heroine is alright, as in presumably un-raped, un-robbed, and un-flayed. And of course, she is. The alarm went off and chased the dude off, you dummy!
I wonder what happens when a burglar is undeterred by the alarm, and still decides to do whatever nastiness he has in heart. Does Chris still call, get no answer, and only then dispatch emergency services?
Anyways, here are the issues I have with the general thrust of these commercials;
1) The Stranger Lurking in the Bushes is always white. You don't see a black guy, a Puerto Rican. No Crips, no Bloods. He almost always follows a certain archetype, with minor differences from commercial to commercial; he's bald, dressed in military surplus, needs a shave, and is always over 6' tall and built like a linebacker, and you know the guy who portrays him was probably modeling underwear or managing a hedge fund before he got this gig. Because, you know, all home invaders actually look that way. Without the costume and the setting, he's not all that scary, truthfully. If you're going to get someone to play a criminal, get someone who looks like a goddamned criminal, at least.
2) The "Woman Home Alone" scenario is played out. And why is it that these women, who presumably know they live in a dangerous world (after all, they did have a burglar alarm installed, and activated it just before the scene was set) insist on bathing/working out in front of huge picture windows covered by just enough shrubbery to provide concealment to a stalker, but which still allows someone to peer in and invade their privacy so easily?
3) How come no one has a dog? A good dog would start barking long before the window or door got bashed in. Oh, right, forgot; some people are allergic. Those of you with pet allergies are especially in danger; Great Big-Unshaven-Bald-ex-Portfolio-Manager-in-Military-Surplus-Fake-Criminal-Man roams the neighborhood looking for people just like you!
4) The attempt to frighten people, especially women, into springing for an alarm system is transparent. I've also noticed that these commercials run in cycles; in good economic times, you see fewer of them, and the subject matter is not so much criminals as it is your grandmother falling and breaking her hip and needing assistance. When the economy tanks, we're suddenly all going to be fodder for violent criminals without the protection provided by a siren monitored by a guy who will at least call if it goes off. Hey ladies; unlike all the other men in your life, Chris will actually call you! I mean, that's his job, but still...
I know, I'm nitpicking. I'm bored.
I'm referring to the commercials that have been popping up with greater frequency on the television these days. I don't have a beef with a private security company advertising their alarm systems and other services, I just have a problem in the way they sell them.
The commercial invariably begins like this:
Lone woman, or worse, with child, alone in the house. They're typically going about their routine, cleaning, working out, cooking, tending to their kids. Cut to scene of rough-looking hooligan, lurking outside the house, peering between the branches of the shrubbery, through the window, watching, watching, watching...
Then, the window or door is broken violently, and the Stalker has invaded the poor woman's personal space, ready to do all sorts of god-awful things to her...except that the alarm she set just before entering the shower has now been activated, warbling like a humpback with hemorrhoids, alerting everyone in the neighborhood to her plight. The woman is taken by surprise; she stands there is silent horror, or screaming, or trying to retreat in a panic.
And then...it happens. The phone rings.
It's Chris from Broadview Security, calling to see if our burglar-alarm version of Penelope Pitstop is being raped, or beaten unconscious, or perhaps flayed alive. Maybe all three at once.
Despite the fear, state of panic, adrenaline and the instant realization that someone dangerous has just gotten thisclose to possibly robbing and killing her, our heroine reaches for the phone. Exactly what I would be doing at exactly that particular moment, yes indeed! And it's Chris (or Roger, or Egbert or Vincenzo, the exact name doesn't matter) from Broadview Security. He wants to know if our heroine is alright, as in presumably un-raped, un-robbed, and un-flayed. And of course, she is. The alarm went off and chased the dude off, you dummy!
I wonder what happens when a burglar is undeterred by the alarm, and still decides to do whatever nastiness he has in heart. Does Chris still call, get no answer, and only then dispatch emergency services?
Anyways, here are the issues I have with the general thrust of these commercials;
1) The Stranger Lurking in the Bushes is always white. You don't see a black guy, a Puerto Rican. No Crips, no Bloods. He almost always follows a certain archetype, with minor differences from commercial to commercial; he's bald, dressed in military surplus, needs a shave, and is always over 6' tall and built like a linebacker, and you know the guy who portrays him was probably modeling underwear or managing a hedge fund before he got this gig. Because, you know, all home invaders actually look that way. Without the costume and the setting, he's not all that scary, truthfully. If you're going to get someone to play a criminal, get someone who looks like a goddamned criminal, at least.
2) The "Woman Home Alone" scenario is played out. And why is it that these women, who presumably know they live in a dangerous world (after all, they did have a burglar alarm installed, and activated it just before the scene was set) insist on bathing/working out in front of huge picture windows covered by just enough shrubbery to provide concealment to a stalker, but which still allows someone to peer in and invade their privacy so easily?
3) How come no one has a dog? A good dog would start barking long before the window or door got bashed in. Oh, right, forgot; some people are allergic. Those of you with pet allergies are especially in danger; Great Big-Unshaven-Bald-ex-Portfolio-Manager-in-Military-Surplus-Fake-Criminal-Man roams the neighborhood looking for people just like you!
4) The attempt to frighten people, especially women, into springing for an alarm system is transparent. I've also noticed that these commercials run in cycles; in good economic times, you see fewer of them, and the subject matter is not so much criminals as it is your grandmother falling and breaking her hip and needing assistance. When the economy tanks, we're suddenly all going to be fodder for violent criminals without the protection provided by a siren monitored by a guy who will at least call if it goes off. Hey ladies; unlike all the other men in your life, Chris will actually call you! I mean, that's his job, but still...
I know, I'm nitpicking. I'm bored.
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