Congratulations Bud Light, you made a beverage that technically is drinkable. (slow clap)
Let’s not waste any time debating whether or not Bud Light is, in fact, drinkable. Clearly it is not. It’s one small step above poison and one giant leap below walrus diarrhea. Instead, I would like to discuss the saddest tag line in the history of advertising.
Bud Light is essentially saying to you “Hey, at least you can drink it without dying.” Let me ask you this tough guy, would you feel confident eating at a restaurant who proudly boasted “Jimbo’s Pizza, it’s edible.” How about “Potato Town, our food can safely be crammed down your throat.” Perhaps you would buy a car from Ford if they proclaimed “Basically it pretty much drives.”
The real question is, what the fuck are you doing drinking Bud Light in the first place? Why bother drinking at that point? I’m embarrassed for you, broski.
I’m not sure how many other cities have these electronic bus ads so this post might be meaningless to most people. Here goes anyway…
I was parked at a red light tonight, minding my own business, trying to decide if I should pop in my Nickelback or my Creed CD into the stereo, when all of a sudden my car filled with blue light. I thought a UFO had landed next to me so I figured I might as well pull down my pants and bend over for the inevitable probing. So there I was on a busy Chicago street bent over with my pants around my ankles, waiting for a little gray man to stick his E.T. finger up my butt. Well, turns out I really had egg on my face when I realized it was just an obnoxiously bright LED ad on the side of a CTA bus that pulled up next to me. I really felt like a first class stinker head!
These ads are fucking dangerous! I was literally blinded by a tampon ad when I casually looked out my car window. Do you know how pissed I would be if the last thing I saw on this earth was a 4 foot glowing tampon?
Oh, in case you were wondering, I decided to put both the Nickelback CD AND the Creed CD in at the same time. I had to eject them after only a few seconds though because blood and feces began to shoot out of the speakers.
Hold on a second, I’m getting a text… What’s that? Meet at Monica’s pool? Bring Smirnoff Ice, turntables, foam cushions and an ironic hat? What are my crazy friends up to now?!?
You know why none of these wacky commercials featuring hipsters organizing and pulling off crazy magical stunts make any sense? Because douchebag hipsters lack the ability to get off their dirty asses to do anything, unless it involves 10 speed bikes and/or skinny jeans. If real hipsters were to attempt to fill a pool with foam and jump into it, I can guarantee the local emergency room would be filled with ironic mustaches and body odor that night.
Much like the world’s most ridiculous appropriation of “youth culture” for advertising purposes, these commercials ask you to believe the world is filled with twenty-somethings dressed in thrift store clothes who spend their days doing awesome secret stuff. The kind of stuff that you remember the rest of your life, like eating fake mayonnaise on a roof! Sounds KILLER dude!
Hey, let’s steal some cushions, ruin a pool and share our lice!
Hey, let’s steal lifesaving fire extinguishers and vandalize a gas station!
Hey, let’s wreck a highway and then put our smelly heads close together while driving on it, as if leaning over helps you hear better, you dicks!
Hey, let’s break into a cemetery and wreck it with our body odor!
Right now you are correctly asking yourself, “What is this ‘Shack’ that all my friends are constantly talking about? Is it the latest trendy nightclub? Is it a sexually transmitted disease?” You idiot! It’s the god damn, motherfucking Radio Shack, bitch!
Much like Miracle Whip, Radio Shack is about to dial up their attitude and punch you in the face with their dick, and if you don’t like it you can kiss their ass right through their skinny jeans. I’m sure you’ve been on the subway and overheard a couple young hipsters in Flaming Lips T-shirts talking about cruisin’ on down to The Shack to pick up some 4700µF 35V 20% Axial-Lead Electrolytic Capacitors before going to the liquor store to pick up a sixy of PBRs. BOOYAH!
I was just at Lollapalooza and all I heard in the audience was “Shack this” and “Shack that.” In fact, Snoop Dogg spent half of his set giving shout-outs like “Where my bitches at? Where my 20A 250V Ceramic Fuses at? Raise your 4A, 400V Full-Wave Bridge Rectifiers in the motherfucking air, and wave ’em like they are rated 4-amps, with 400 Peak Inverse Voltage!”
What the fuck?!? God is on a killing spree and for once in my life I am happy I’m NOT a famous. Assuming God likes to kill celebrities in 3’s, I guess we should be prepared to lose 2 more this week for a total of 6 in about a week! Who knows if he will even stop there, he might clear out all of Hollywood, which would be a disaster for this guy’s career. What did Billy Mays ever do to you, God? What is up your holy ass?
I loved Billy Mays, and I don’t mean that in a mocking way. For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated with pitchmen (not the show, the profession). In college I even video taped my favorite infomercial (carnauba car wax) so I could watch it over and over. Yeah, I was THAT cool in college.
A good pitchman can literally hypnotize you into thinking you are an idiot for not already owning kitchen knives that can cut a car in half. Billy Mays was one of my all-time favorites and I’m sad we will no longer be treated to his trademark “Hi, Billy Mays here…” yelled at a volume loud enough to make your hair move a little. And the beard, fuck, I’m going to miss that beard.
UPDATE: God had a busy weekend but he found time to also kill Fred Travalena.
Wilford Brimley scares the shit out of me. Actual shit comes out of me when I see him.
Why is he SO angry all the time? Although I am not elderly and do not have “diabeetus,” I still called Liberty Medical and ordered 5 years’ worth of supplies just because Wilford looked like he was going to jump out of the TV and wipe that smile off my face, punk. I probably got diabetes from all the fucking Quaker oatmeal the son-of-a-bitch instructed me to eat in the 80s. OK, I don’t think excessive amounts of oatmeal gives you diabetes, but Jesus Christ, Wilford Brimley has some sort of creepy control over me. I feel like my dad is yelling at me when I see one of his commercials.
I will admit that Wilford was a total bad-ass in John Carpenter’s remake of “The Thing.” Of course he was playing a scary old man, so it wasn’t much of a leap for him.
Wilford Brimley doing what he does best… yelling at you to buy things.
Buy some crap, and GET OFF MY LAWN!
“This little shit eats peaches & cream every blessed, god damned morning.”
“We will not be quiet!
We will not try to blend in!
We will not disappear in the background or play second fiddle!
We’re not like the others, we won’t ever try to be!”
You might think this battle cry was overheard at a recent gay marriage rally but NO, you stupid idiot, that’s your mayonnaise talking, bitch!
Fuck you world, I love Miracle Whip and if you don’t like it you can eat my creamy, white shit. Don’t try and tell ME and MY generation what condiments we should eat. Take your old man sandwich spread and shove it up your old man ass because guess what motherfucker, I’m going to eat Miracle Whip with a spoon while getting a mohawk. Look dude, I don’t care if I spill a little M-Whip on my Ron Paul poster, because that’s the way it goes man when you are fucking vibing on a jar of the Whip! Now if you will excuse me, I have to comb my ironic mustache and down a little Whip before going to my bike messenger job. Jealous?
You can have my Miracle Whip when you pry it from my COLD, DEAD, FAT HAND!
