When Preserve the 80s was first launched, this jar of relish was 15 years old. At the time, it seemed like quite a feat for a jar of relish to hang around for so long. As the years have gone by, the jar of relish has been there for me through all of the slings and arrows life has thrown. Now fully legal at the age of 21, the relish is old enough to drink. That’s probably good, as it’s nearly pure liquid now and quite possibly fermented.
You might notice that I’m holding the relish jar with a plastic bag wrapped around my hand. Unfortunately, it’s become a bit grimy as I haven’t washed it in a while and this fills me with great shame. In 2019 when the relish turns 25, it will be as shiny as Isabella Rossini’s ass after a thorough oiling. If you don’t know who Isabella Rossini is or why I want to oil her ass, I submit the following:
Isabella Rossini – owner of the world’s hottest ass, even topping Vida Guerra. Image courtesy of CelebrityBottoms.com
You can’t get too many pictures of her (there’s one youtube video) unless you subscribe to Naked News. It’s cheap and well worth it. If I can afford a subscription, so can you.
Unless you’re lucky enough not to know any, (I’m not – several of my friends are Deadheads) you’ve by no doubt been having your Facebook feeds and conversations filled up the past few days by Grateful Dead fans going apeshit over the fact that their beloved band is finally calling it quits. Thank fuck they are, because that’s just about the only positive thing that’s happened so far this year. They’re one of the most overrated bands of all time. Actually, they go beyond just being an overrated band, because their shitty brain cell killing music has created an entire subculture of “deadheads” who never shut the fuck up about them. They base their entire lives around a band whose collective musical talent equals that of a profoundly retarded swan.
It boggles the mind how the Grateful Dead have managed to last so long and have such enduring popularity. Not only does their music blow, but every one of their songs sounds almost exactly the same. Every song is an eternity of whining, high pitched guitar riffs that don’t go anywhere, accompanied by a virtually non-existent contribution from bass and percussion. Actually there is some percussion involvement, but never really when the guitarists are playing.
The Grateful Dead often employ two drummers, which I always hate. The only band that was ever able to make that work was the Butthole Surfers, who are an infinitely better band. The only time the drummers in the Grateful Dead do anything is when they have annoying drum solos that just prove how ill-fitting drum solos are in the jam band genre.
Sometimes there’s a lame attempt at a bluesy keyboard line, but it always falls pathetically short. For a brief time, the music goes down a notch so that a jumble of meaningless lyrics can be spouted off. It’s the kind of shit that seems profound and inspirational when you’re stoned off your ass, kind of like looking at a sheet of aluminum foil. Once you sober up you want to ram your own balls through a salad shooter for having listened to it.
A few of my friends are self-proclaimed deadheads and their entire existence revolves around shitty music and multi-day Dead festivals which are pretty much hell on Earth. All of their social media posts are Dead quotes, pictures of themselves at Dead performances, or YouTube videos of the Dead. Many of them have tattoos with those fucking Grateful Dead bears accompanied by some of their favorite lyrics. It kind of reminds me of the anime fandom subculture. Their obsession with a random subject explodes far beyond a simple interest and soon it becomes the only thing they ever talk about and the only thing they care about. Instead of being a part of their life, it overtakes their entire existence.
Some friends of mine who fit the above description constantly went at me for years trying to get me to go to one of the concerts. They told me if I just went I’d completely change my mind about hating the Grateful Dead. Knowing this wouldn’t work and not really having any desire make it work, I always refused to go. I deviated from my refusal last year after meeting a rather attractive (well, attractive for the kind of woman I’m able to get) woman who wanted me to attend a Grateful Dead festival with her. I agreed to attend, in hopes that it would help me score some coitus. It didn’t.
The lack of getting to populate a vagina was nowhere near the worst part of this experience. We were in a large outdoor area, surrounded by literally thousands of Grateful Dead fans, nearly all of whom were constantly stoned and looked like they never bathed. Everything literally smelled like shit, as there were several of those portable outdoor bathrooms. Many of them were consistently occupied, so you never knew when you’d be faced with the horror of having either an aging hippie or young neo hippie crouching down to take a shit five feet away from you.
My date and I, as was the case with most everyone else, were staying in a tent. It was hot and humid as fuck the whole time and in addition to the terrible smells and uncomfortable lodging, there was a never ending swarm of mosquitos, fruit flies, and gnats all over everything. As bad as all of these things were, they were no match for the constant sound of the aging jam band which made Chinese water torture seem like a Thai massage. When the band wasn’t playing, half the assholes in attendance were playing their music on their personal devices, so there was never a break.
I don’t know how a bunch of elderly, brain-dead stoners are able to even stand on the stage for as long as they do, let alone pluck away at their guitars and vomit out lyrics into microphones for such long stretches of time. They must be blessed by some sort of evil power. Every member of the band looks like they’re one tap on the shoulder away from crumbling into a pile of fat, hair, and hemp. Having to spend a weekend with these pricks and their legion of fans who never shut the fuck up made me hate the Grateful Dead even more than I used to. The only thing that kept me going was the hope that lightning would strike and take them all out.
Even if the Grateful Dead didn’t lack musical talent and didn’t have their army of deadheads, they’d still piss me off. They campaigned for Obama, who recently wrote some half-hearted letter congratulating them on being assholes for so long. Anything, once liked by Barack Obama, loses a great amount of whatever appeal it may have otherwise held. A few of the deadheads I know hated Obama up until he did this and now they love him. Now I know I’m a rare case in that I never tend to like any of the mainstream Democrat/Republican politicians. I realize many people do like Obama and that’s fine. However, if you like a politician, it should be because of his character, deeds, and achievements – not because he happens to like the same band as you do.
I also hate their symbols and merchandise. Every time I see one of those fucking Grateful Dead bears my day is automatically ruined. They look like the wall decorations of a special ed classroom, except for the fact that retarded kids could probably produce drawings of a much higher quality. Their other main emblem is a skull tagged with a red and blue circle divided by a lightning bolt. It’s misleading, because it looks like it could be the icon for metal band that would beat the living fuck out of every deadhead on the planet. It builds your hopes up only to smash them. If you ever see a sticker of one of them plastered on to a stop sign, get the fuck out of the neighborhood. If you don’t, you’ll probably end up going into a rage and killing someone within five minutes.
Anyone who possesses a guitar and working vocal cords can produce the same music as the Grateful Dead. Here’s what you have to do:
1. Plug the guitar into an amplifier.
2. Turn the bass and mid-range down to 0 and turn the treble up as high as it can go and turn off the distortion.
3. Take some weights and slam your head with them until you’ve lost whatever musical talent you may have had. If weights aren’t available, a hammer works.
4. Write down 30 to 50 random words on scraps of paper.
5. Put the words into a hat and draw them out one by one.
6. Paste the words into a line in the order in which they were removed from the hat.
7. Get a few people with other instruments to stand around with you, but make sure they don’t actually play them.
8. Move one hand over the frets of the guitar aimlessly while weakly picking at the strings with your other hand. Keep this up for at least 20 minutes.
9. Start singing the pasted together lyrics in your weakest and most sickly voice.
10. If you don’t smell and look worse than death, stop immediately and wait 2-3 weeks. Do not bathe during this period. When you’ve achieved this, go back to step one.
11. If you don’t get that gang-banging-your -ear drums-with machetes-merciless-torture sound, repeat step 3 until you do.
12. Congratulations! You’ve just written and performed the newest Grateful Dead hit. Now you can start putting on concerts and charging admission. Just say you’ve come out of retirement and their brain dead fans will be too happy and probably too stoned to notice you aren’t the actual Grateful Dead.
As I read through this article, I find some irony in the fact that it’s a lot like a Grateful Dead song. It just kind of drones on and doesn’t go anywhere and fails to make any real cogent points. That’s probably because I’m one day removed from an injury that caused me to experience a leak of cerebral spinal fluid, so at least I have an excuse. The Grateful Dead do not.
While no incarnation of Preserve the 80s has really been what one would call visually appealing, those who remember the earlier versions have probably noticed how much worse it looks this time around. I’m not much at programming so I have to use themes in WordPress rather than designing my own pages from scratch. Once I have the themes in, I can make a few tweaks here and there to get it closer to what I want.
The theme that I originally used for the site no longer exists, so I had to go with a new one called Layers. Unfortunately Layers is constantly being changed and the code is extremely unstable, so I’m encountering no shortage of design quirks. The hexadecimal codes for some reason aren’t working and this was causing many of the links to turn purple. This made them a bit hard to see, so I had to throw things at the wall and see what stuck. The code for green ended up working, so that’s why so many of the links have that putrid and kind of sickly looking green to them.
The code blocks in the CSS style sheet ended up overlapping somehow, so changes I tried to make to the header would only affect parts of the header while also affecting some of the body content. That’s why the color scheme is inconsistent in many areas, inlcuding the primary navigation bar. All this being said, it’s unlikely that many people will ever notice because Google is dragging ass at processing my requests to have the pages added to their index. If you have somehow managed to get to this page, now you know why it looks like shit. That will probably continue, so just read the articles which aren’t a hell of a lot better.
It wasn’t until just now as I type this that I came to realize that both of the first two posts since bringing this site back online have been about commercials. That’s not intentional nor a new theme, but if it were, it’d be a pretty damn good one if I do say so myself.
Anyway, with the year nearly halfway over, we’ve had no shortage of commercials that have blown more ass than a gay Dizzy Gillespie. As usual, a lot of these commercials have been car commercials. Car commercials have always had a special ability to be irritating on many levels. They manage to pressure, guilt, nag, brag, and lie all at the same time. They’re also a constant reminder that I drive a car that would have to grow ten pairs of balls just to become a pussy mobile.
The first annoying 2015 car commercial I’ll cover is for the Mazda MX-5 Miata. If you own a tv, you’ve already seen this shit show. Because I’m bitter about how my life turned out and I want you to suffer too, I’m including it here anyway.
This is one of those commercials that is sappier than the crust you find on a poorly cleaned syrup container at IHOP. It so desperately tries to tug at the heartstrings and be deep and meaningful, yet comes off as excessively sugary and condescending. It contains a rambling attempt at a poem of sorts with several unimpressive lines. The goal is to show some douche going through the various stages of life and trying to link cars, specifically Mazdas, to each step of his development.
It features a sickly and perverted looking guy with red hair whose life is nothing more than a giant cliche. If his life story were any more hackneyed and stereotypical, he’d have been birthed through a cookie cutter and not a vagina. Most people have a little more originality than what Mazda gives them credit for. That’s probably becasue Mazda cars completely lack innovation and are bland, boring, and tired. When’s the last time Mazda came out with a badass car that everyone wanted? Never, that’s when.
This commercial fails to account for all the people out there who don’t manage to hit every single milestone/want to hit said specific milestones. This is the type of commercial that appeals to people who watch Lifetime movies, needlessly adopt gluten-free diets, and strive to adopt every new phrase/expression that hits the mainstream. “It’s my/that’s the jam” is a good example of such a phrase. How I fucking hate it when people say that. Unless you’re talking about a jar of Smucker’s in your possession, then nothing is your jam.
This commercial is almost as bad as the long-running series of commercials Mazda used to have featuring some pale little shit who looked like a young Butch Patrick with gonnorhea. He’d say “zoom zoom” and then some bullshit song would start playing consisting of no word other than zoom. Fuck I hated those.
The next commercial I’ll piss and moan about is a new advertisement by State Farm. Back in the 80s, State Farm had some of the best commercials in the game. That’s why it’s not only annoying but just flat out depressing how bad their commercials are now. Here’s the one we’ll be discussing in this article:
This one has a similar theme to the Mazda commercial in that we have another mindless drone living a life more formulaic than a Seth MacFarlane series. This guy is such a fucking pussy he makes me look like Charles Bronson. He walks around like he’s the catch of the day, always enjoying himself and being a smug jizz rag. He keeps claiming there’s all these things he won’t do (always preceded by “I’m never ___”), but then pussies out and does all of them. At the end of the commercial, he looks at his sleeping wife and two brat kids and wistfully says “I’m never letting go.”
This is supposed to be the big awww moment where we’re all touched and start thinking that State Farm is all heart and will always be there for us. What this really says is that State Farm believes in lying and betraying every single thing you say. That’s not really what I want my insurance company to espouse. I want my insurance company to shut the fuck up and leave me alone. That’s why I chose to go with Traveler’s. They keep their mouths shut and insure without trying and failing to be comical or endearing. Instead of insurance, this should be a commercial for tampons.
Is this the kind of guy women really want? Prickish college frat guy types who beneath their douche exterior are spineless and so whippable you don’t even have to break out the whip? I guess so, or at least that’s the kind of guy women who are insured by State Farm want. If that’s what it takes to attract a mate, then I’ll gladly continue dating my hand.
The next commercial is probably my most hated one that’s on tv right now. It’s a commercial showing some sort of instant payment application, but I can’t remember what company it’s for. That’s lucky for you, because it means I can’t add the video to this post and that saves you from having to see it.
This commercial starts out with a trendy suburban looking family getting ready to board an airplane to take a vacation. I think the wife then asks the husband if he remembered to pay their dog sitter and he turns on his phone to check, saying he needs to do it before they leave the airport, since they may not get service on “the island”. This declaration is met by panic on the part of his two ugly kids. His choppy-haired junior hipster looking son screams, “No service?!?!” and his bitch daughter says, “Seriously?” in one of the most annoying voices I’ve ever heard. “Seriously” is another one of those overused expressions that I can’t go five seconds without hearing. It’s not witty, it’s not a comeback, it’s not anything but obnoxious.
The two kids then panic because they think they may have to talk to each other, but fortunately we never learn what happens because the commercial mercifully ends before we’re stuck having to see/hear any more from them. Kids shouldn’t be allowed to have cell phones or any sort of mobile device. This symbiosis with microtechnology is bad enough with adults, but when kids are raised with it they’ll have no chance of any kind of independent thought or ability to do anything that doesn’t involve a phone/tablet. Plus kids are too fucking spoiled and bratty anyway. They don’t deserve these devices. They just need a good old fashioned kick in the ass and a shut-the-hell-up whack across the face.
This is how the commercial would go if I were the director:
Wife: “Did you pay the dog sitter yet mother fucker? You haven’t gotten wood in 8 years and I have to use a Hobart mixer to get off, but can I at least depend on you to pay for shit on time?”
Husband: “Fuck you bitch, I’ll pay for it by phone. Try shaving your ass once per decade and maybe I’ll stop being impotent. Then again I hope you don’t, because then we’ll risk having more of these worthless shit kids. Oh by the way kids, speaking of you, there will be NO FUCKING SERVICE on the island. Deal with it or stay at the airport and get kidnapped.”
Son: “No service?”
Father: “Yes you ugly little fuck, no service. Get a haircut or I’ll disown you.”
Father and Mother, after bitch slapping either side of their daughter’s face: “WE FUCKING TOLD YOU NEVER TO USE THAT EXPRESSION!”
Ticket Agent: Hey, can I join the party?
Voiceover: Shut the fuck and buy our products or go to hell.
That commercial would be so good it would qualify as porn. Why am I writing this worthless article instead of getting paid to make kickass commercials like that one?
There’s a new series of commercials for Kentucky Fried Chicken being aired now that I abhor. They feature a revival of Colonel Sanders, which, if done correctly, would have been a great premise. Instead, they swing and miss in a big way and the result is completely intolerable, as you can see by playing the following video:
This guy has none of the Colonel’s attitude, presence, or general badassery. Making it worse is that the actor in the commercial isn’t even old. He’s very obviously a young guy wearing makeup and a hairpiece to look old, kind of like that Mr Six guy who used to be in the Six Flags commercials. This one is much more obvious though. He doesn’t even do a good job of sounding old. He just sounds like a young asshole with a sore throat.
Harland Sanders gave this Earth one of its greatest treasures. Kentucky Fried Chicken isn’t a simple meaningless title. It is a mark of dignity and integrity, a priceless item of Americana. His innovations have immensely improved the world and we owe him a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid. In addition to being the pioneer behind KFC, Col Sanders also taught Dave Thomas everything he knew about running a restaurant and building chains. Without the Colonel, we’d also never have Wendy’s. To disrespect a man so great by having him portrayed on camera by an asshat like this guy is blasphemy and completely beyond forgiveness.
The last set of commercials I’d like to briefly go over are ones that concern a campaign by Friendly’s. I’m not sure why they’re still making commercials, because I don’t know where any remaining Friendly’s locations are (if there even are any.) Friendly’s has/had pretty good food, but never was known for great commercials. The newest ones though are poor even by their standards. All of them spout out a few empty phrases and then show people stuffing ice cream and toppings into their mouths and getting it all over their faces. It’s fucking disgusting and not something that I want to associate with food.
The actors/actresses end up with melted ice cream smeared all over their faces and happily giggling like a bunch of drooling idiots. It kind of reminds me of this Duncan Hines commercial that was on in the mid-80s. Everyone would scream “deluxious” (that’s not a typing error, it was what they said instead of delicious) and they’d do so with their mouths full of chewed up cake. It was revolting and I thought I’d never have to see it again. Thanks for opening old wounds Friendly’s.
Do you remember the days when a cereal could be marketed to kids without parents’ groups going apeshit about it and demanding the government stop it? This was back in the days when parents actually got off their asses and did actual parenting and had the balls to say no to their kid if they asked for something they weren’t supposed to have. It was also before everyone was obsessed with health food and trying to do whatever they could to stretch out their miserable meaningless lives by a year or two.
If anyone lived through the 80s and to a lesser extent the 90s, then they were witness to a shitload of cereal commercials on a daily basis. This was especially true during kids’ programming such as Saturday morning cartoon blocks. The characters that were included in these commercials are no longer allowed to appear in cereal commercials today because supposedly they made kids want sugary breakfast foods. Damndest thing though, because now that they’re gone, kids are fatter than ever before and twice as stupid.
The way I look at it, the danger of these commercials and the colorful characters they contained was not the fact that the wares they hawked were bad for health (if consumed in mass quantities). The danger was that every one of these commercials had recurring plot lines that looked innocent on the surface, but lurking beneath were some dark and dangerous values which we subconsciously picked up and in some cases have continued to apply throughout our lives.
Beloved characters such as the Trix rabbit, Lucky the leprechaun, Tony the tiger, Sonny (Coco Puffs bird), and nearly anyone who appeared in Eggo or Pops commercials seemed innocent enough. After all, they were our friends and just wanted us to have a balanced breakfast. When one looks deeper into these ads, it seems they wanted to balance our breakfasts with black hearts and machiavellian principles that threatened to turn every one of us into a ticking time bomb.
Let’s start out with Tony the tiger, the world-famous mascot of Frosted Flakes. Here’s a typical commercial featuring him:
This seems well-meaning enough at first glance. Taken at face value, one would say that this commercial teaches the importance of eating a good breakfast if you want to have the energy to perform athletically. Look into it a little bit more deeply and you’ll see the following lessons being taught, which are prominent in nearly every Frosted Flakes commercial from that era.
Everyone in the world is an asshole except for weak people who haven’t yet had breakfast
Everyone has gigantic balls, as taunting a person who has a tiger for a friend doesn’t scare them
If you pull off just a few athletic moves, you’ll win the respect of someone who previously hated and mocked you.
Now put these all together and what message do you get? First off, we learn that it’s okay to prey on the weak and bully whoever you want until they do something that impresses you. We also learn that it’s not dangerous to piss off tigers, as the worst they’ll do is tell you to wait until they’ve had some cereal and then they’ll make you put whatever you said in your pipe and smoke it. Additionally, we’re taught that the only thing you need to do to gain respect is make one single sports play successfully, even if it’s not a particularly outstanding one. No wonder I was such a misfit as a kid.
Next up are the deceptively innocent Trix commercials, such as this one:
We all remember the Trix rabbit. He’d always have some half-baked scheme to try to get his beloved cereal which would always fall short. The kids were stupid as hell, because every costume that he wore did a very poor job of concealing his identity. Regardless, the kids never realized it was him until he fucked up and had a Trix orgasm, causing his costume to fall apart and exposing his ruse. If the rabbit could afford to buy these elaborate costumes, then why didn’t he just buy the Trix instead of bumming them off stupid kids who obviously hated him? Going beneath the surface, here are the lessons we come away with:
Rabbits are fucking stupid
Kids are even more stupid
Wasting money is the way to get what you want
You’ll fail no matter what you try, so just give up now
Never ask for a favor. Try to trick someone into doing one for you
All of this aside, there seems to be a separate even darker message behind these Trix commercials. Did you ever notice how happy the kids were when they denied the rabbit his Trix and then ate their own? The message here seems to be that the value of Trix lies not in the taste of the cereal, but in the taste of you having it and knowing someone else who wants it can’t. Everything is more appealing when you can’t have it right? Chow down you chubby little shits and bask in the glory of having something that others cannot. Silly rabbit, Trix are for pricks.
Perhaps the cruelest of all of the cereal sponsored dogma revolves around the character of Lucky the leprechaun and his cereal, Lucky Charms. Here’s a fairly typical video of his struggles:
Lucky’s life consists of two main things: toting around boxes of cereal and having said boxes of cereal stolen from him by kids. Like the Trix rabbit, he’s a tragic character who can just never win and nobody ever cuts him a break. This commercial is probably even worse than most, as he gets so tantalizingly close to making his escape and enjoying his cereal. Poor coordination gets him in the end as he drops the Lucky Charms and the little runts below get to enjoy the new marshmallow he’s just created. Let’s recap some of the messages preached:
Not only is it acceptable to make fun of midgets, it’s also profitable
Don’t work for a living or bother buying your own things. It’s easier to steal them from someone else.
Whenever possible, swoop in and take the benefits from the creations of others. I guess Mark Zuckerberg must have liked Lucky Charms as a kid.
Irish people are pushovers who may try to run, but will never defend themselves.
Maybe this is why midget porn is so expensive. I mean consider the laws of supply and demand. There’s an ample amount of these commercials floating around, but a relative dearth of media that makes midgets appear powerful and/or attractive. Lucky should give up the cereal for the taco. At least then he’d be getting lucky on a regular basis and therefore he could finally live up to his name.
Before health nazis got going and Kellogg’s decided to puss out, Corn Pops were called Sugar Pops. They still should be, because they taste more like sugar than they do like corn. I don’t have the confidence to eat corn on the cob, but if I did, I doubt it would remind me of Corn Pops. Caramel covered popcorn on the other hand always does. Anyway, here’s a Corn Pops commercial that we’ll examine and dissect after viewing:
As is the case with most Corn Pops commercials, this one follows a simple formula. It starts with someone wanting Corn Pops. Then they discover that someone else has either eaten or moved them. They then start getting paranoid and accusatory toward everyone else in their vicinity. They tell themselves to stay calm, but invariably go apeshit. Once they finally lose their cool, the Pops somehow are either replaced, found, or replenished. To the untrained eye, this is a happy ending. Dig a little deeper with me and you’ll see the dark cloud which overshadows the silver lining. This is what these commercials taught us:
Nobody else has a right to eat until you’ve had what you wanted
It’s impossible to control your emotions so don’t even try to.
It’s beneath you to go out and buy your own Pops
Just lose control and go apeshit and you’ll get whatever you want
Once your tantrum is ended by receiving the object of your desire, suddenly act calm and pretend it never happened. This will allow you to save face.
(Technically not a cereal) Eggo Waffles
Next up are the time-tested “L’eggo my eggo” commercials. When I saw these in the 80s, I never understood that “l’eggo” was intended to be a humorous contraction of “let go of”. I thought they were referring to the lego toy building blocks and never understood the connection. By the time I was around 6 or 7 I realized what they were talking about, but still hated the portmanteau applied. Take a look at this one and enjoy it before I tear it a new asshole and ruin it for you:
This guy just wants some frozen waffles. He’s either too poor, lazy, pressed for time, or bad at cooking to make real waffles. Therefore he has to scale down his dreams and settle for Eggos. He still seems happy enough at the prospect of having them though. Knowing he can’t trust the traitors in his family, he goes to great lengths to have his Eggos at unlikely times and in unlikely places. Of course, this is doomed to failure. One may laugh at this commercial, but when the underlying themes come to light, it’s very sobering and anything but comical. These are the life lessons one takes away from this commercial:
Never trust anyone, even, or perhaps especially, your own family.
People are like sharks. They’re all just hiding out and waiting for their opportunity to spring out and devour what belongs to you.
Proper grammar is unimportant. Teach your kids incorrect contractions. Then again maybe it is important. This way you can punish them by setting them up for poor academic performance and a bleak financial future. Serves the little shits right for taking your waffles, doesn’t it?
Be spineless. You can’t fight or stand up for yourself, so your only means of survival is to try to outwit others. This won’t work out though, as everyone will always be a step ahead of you and you’re doomed to failure from the beginning. Just let people take what is yours and only weakly mumble a stupid catchphrase in retaliation. You can’t do anything better because you don’t deserve anything better. You are inferior to others and the weak must fall to the strong.
I’ll wrap things up by discussing Sonny, the cuckoo bird who was once the spokesman for Coco Puffs. Here he is being an asshole after making a pathetic attempt not to be one, which he quickly abandons:
What have we learned from all of this?
Self-control is impossible to exercise so don’t even attempt it.
Go around and destroy everything you can if that’s what makes you feel good.
Destruction of public property is just a normal part of being happy about getting something you wanted.
Being “cuckoo”, or mentally ill, is comical. Let’s go out there and laugh at people who struggle with mental illness.
Every time I see I riot take place in a city after their local sports team wins a championship, I directly blame these Coco Puffs commercials for the havoc that ensues. The rioters have been taught that destructive behavior and public indecency is what you’re supposed to do when you get something you want or something happens that you like.
In summation, I have to agree that the commercials featuring these cartoon mascots and others featuring deviant behavior and/or learned helplessness on the part of the characters in them truly are dangerous. They’re not dangerous because they encourage unhealthy eating habits, but rather for the twisted values that they subliminally taught to children. I hope Post and General Mills are happy for destroying the minds of an entire generation.
Well here it is, June, 10, 2015. I started writing this site exactly 6 years, 1 month, and 23 days ago, on April 17, 2009. The site has seen some periods of inactivity during those years (more on that in a moment), some layout changes, and a regrettable period on Tumblr due to vandals destroying the original WordPress site. Other than that, little has changed. I’m typing this at the same chair, at the same desk, with the same man tits, and the same empty wallet as I did when I created this site in 2009. I’m also still in my parents’ house and broke like a compulsive masturbator leaving a porn theater. To sum it up, I’m still pathetic as hell, but if you enjoyed this site in the past then this is good news. You’ll soon be treated to new content featuring more of the same.
Now that that’s out of the way, I’ll give a brief explanation as to my year and a half hiatus. Tumblr sucks ass and after a while I just didn’t feel like posting on there anymore. By the time I decided I wanted to get back to writing for the site, I could no longer remember my password. The e-mail address that I tried to have it sent to had been discontinued due to inactivity so I couldn’t get back in. Add this to a scrape with Google and Tumblr admins randomly taking it down and putting it back up again and you more or less know what this site experienced during 2014 and most of this year. However, being that it is an inanimate object (or actually even less than that as a website isn’t a tangible item), I suppose it didn’t literally experience anything.
Stay tuned in the coming days/months for the irresistible awkwardness and passive hostility that has for some reason made this site a hit in Russia for the past several years.
I couldn’t think of a more fitting description of the 2013 Victoria’s Secret show than “ass sucking”. This is ironic, because once again, there was barely any ass to be seen. Just like it’s been for the past 8 or 9 years, whenever a model is wearing panties that might even expose just the slightest modicum of ass, she’s in some fucking skirt, cape, or other costume that has nothing to do with lingerie and has no place in a lingerie fashion show.
I actually missed this years Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show when it originally aired since I was working, but just watched it tonight on YouTube. I’m grateful for that, because that means I was able to skip past all the meaningless interviews that are just put in as filler so the network can run the show for an hour and make more money. Damn you CBS.
There’s 1 singular reason why I and any other guy like me tunes into a lingerie fashion show – we’re pathetic, have no lives, and manage to get pussy about as often as February gets to have 29 days. We suck at life and we know it, so our only shot at seeing hot girls in hot lingerie is the Victoria’s Secret fashion show. Well, at least 10 years ago we could. If I wanted to watch rambling videos about the personalities and paths traveled by the models to reach the stage, I’d be watching the Victoria’s Secret Personality Show. There’s no such thing, and thank fucking fuck there’s not. Even I wouldn’t watch it.
During one of the brief interview segments that I didn’t skip through, the models were talking about the Victoria’s Secret commercial they filmed in Paris. Again, no real ass to speak of here either. The only notable part of this segment was the fact that much to my annoyance, the models kept using the phrase “bra and underwear”. This is a phrase which makes no sense as a bra IS underwear. They’re called panties, please refer to them as such and give us dateless wonders a little bit of a thrill in our otherwise intolerable lives.
Getting back to the ass – there were only 3 notable (by notable, I mean non-blurred and lasting for more than 1 second) ass shots during the whole show. Even among these, the best only exposed around 8% of the girl’s ass. Then they put Taylor Swift up on stage who is hot as fuck, but she’s fully clothed. It’s like CBS took a gargantuan shit and then decided to grab me by the neck and rub my nose in it.
I know I’ve bitched about this before in my other Victoria’s Secret posts, but holy shit, stop with the fucking costumes. THEY ARE NOT LINGERIE. When’s the last time you wore 8 foot wings, a 4 foot wide boa, cape, helium ballon, or semi-shredded skirt under your clothes? Probably never, unless you enjoy being extremely uncomfortable and have really bad spending habits. Or maybe you’re a looner. If that’s the case, then maybe you actually would’ve enjoyed the show. If you’re lucky enough to not know what a looner is, look it up. I shouldn’t be the only one to suffer. Lingerie consists of bras and panties. If it’s not something a woman wears under her clothes, it’s not lingerie.
You could extend stockings and garters to the lingerie list, but that brings up another sore point. Why the fuck do so many of the models wear garter belts with dangling straps and no stockings? It makes no sense at all. It’s like going to a ski resort with only poles and no skis. Also, why do the models wear the garter belts right up by their tits? This isn’t 1940. Then again, 1940 wouldn’t be so bad, because then we’d still have the 80s to look forward to.
As usual, the musical guests were annoying as hell and completely unnecessary. I have always hated Fall Out Boy and having them at the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was just barely less blood boiling than Justin Bieber being on it last year. It’s like the slightly better sensation of getting punched in the balls over getting kicked in the balls. Then there was some band whose members all looked like transvestites (in all seriousness, I don’t know what gender they actually were) and sang some irritating song about how they don’t look for trouble, but trouble looks for them. I don’t look for flaccidity, but it sure as hell looked for me tonight.
The other musical performer was some guy who played a piano and looked like the bastard love child of Art Garfunkel and a soda can. Every once in a while, one of the models would go by and rub her hand on the piano like it was supposed to be really hot or something. Note to all Victoria’s Secret models – that’s not sexy. Walk up to the piano and play it with your tits or just kick the Sodafunkel guy off the bench and moon the crowd. That I’d pay top dollar to see.
That’s it for this year’s review. Of course I’ll be tuning in again next year even though I know it’ll suck even more. Why will I be watching? It’s a combination of stupidity and involuntary celibacy.
One of the things that bothers me the most about being on Tumblr rather than WordPress is my inability to fully optimize my posts. I know I’ve complained about that before, but ultimately it leads me getting even fewer hits than I used to and falling down in to the 50s and lower for search terms for which my site used to rank #1. Why do I bring this up now? The answer is simple: I fucking hate Tom Brady and want the whole world to know it.
If ever there was a poster child for the over-indulged, over-celebrated, and over-excused professional athlete, it’s Brady. The guy can do whatever he wants and be an asshole to nearly everyone, yet he’s still some kind of fucking folk hero. One of the things he’s most frequently praised for is being a great teammate. This is ludicrous, as he relates more poorly to his team than any other QB I can ever remember seeing.
When Tom Brady throws a pass that’s too high or too far down the field, he’ll stomp around and squeal at his wide receiver or tight end, insinuating that it was their fault and not his that the pass was wildly off-target. I guess when you’re as spoiled as Tom Brady, you think other people owe it to you to grow 20-foot long arms and have a 96 inch vertical leap. He doesn’t stop after the play either. Once the Patriots’ defense takes the field, you can still seem him pouting on the sidelines and continuing to piss and moan about the guy to whom he threw a pass that even Stretch Armstrong wouldn’t have been able to reel in.
Brady is like that one rich spoiled kid you knew growing up. Everyone had one of these little douches in their life. The kid who had the rich parents, had all the most expensive toys, wore the most expensive clothes, and would get preferential treatment wherever he went. It wasn’t good enough for him just to have it; he wasn’t satisfied until he’d rubbed everyone’s nose in it. The second one single thing, no matter how small didn’t go his way, the wheels would fall off and the tantrums would begin. Tom Brady to a T.
He gets to bang some of the hottest women in the world, and even that’s not good enough for him. He cheats on one supermodel with Giselle Bundchen. Why can’t I fuck a Victoria’s Secret model? Sure, I’m fat, balding, poor, and pathetic in most every way, but at least I can make it five minutes without crying. I’m surprised Puffs of Kleenex haven’t attempted to get Tom Brady signed for some sort of endorsement deal. “Patriots Puffs” – I can see it now.
The guy is just a complete douche yet everyone loves him. Shit, a former priest at a church I went to would even mention him in practically every other sermon. He’s single-handedly ruined the number 12 for me. I think he’s especially petulant this season because he misses his ass buddy Aaron Hernandez. Now that Hernandez is in prison, he’s probably made a whole slew of new ass buddies and Brady can’t handle that thought.
I hate Rob Gronkowski too. Every time someone says “Gronk Spike” I want to whip out a butcher knife and hack their vocal cords into microscopic bits. It’s not really that hard to throw a football into the ground unless you’re either paralyzed or missing your arms. Gronkowski falls into neither of those categories and therefore should not be lionized for doing something 99.99% of everyone else in the world could do just as efficiently.
Today Gronkowski played in his first game back after an injury and he didn’t manage to convert a single touchdown against the Jets. That’s good for my television set, because if the announcer called a Gronk Spike I probably would’ve thrown a brick through the screen.
Since the game has now been over for about 2 hours, my guess is that Brady is currently doing one of three things. He’s either still in the locker room chewing out guys who had nothing to do with the outcome of the game (even if they’re not physically present), sitting at home and crying next to 300 jars of Vaseline adorned with the number 81, or still on the field, curled up into a ball, crying, and ineffectually waving his hands about.
No professional athlete will ever have the level of scorn from me that Michael Vick does, but Brady is probably the guy who comes the closest. I wish they’d make a Rock ‘em Sock ’em Robots game where one boxer was Vick and the other was Brady. Hell, I’m 30 and would never get tired of playing that game and I imagine anyone who’s neither a Patriots nor Eagles fan would feel the same.
As a side note, I’m getting pretty fucking tired of the expression “pick 6” being used when anyone throws an interception. The expression pick 6 is only applicable if the interception leads to a touchdown, but lately every announcer is using it to describe any interception. Some of them are pick threes, and some are pick zeros. It could also be a pick negative 2 if they player who intercepts the pass eventually gets backed into his team’s end zone and is tackled. Stop saying pick six.
For fuck’s sake. Lately I can never watch TV or drive by a billboard without seeing some reference to radio 104.1. For those of you who don’t live in New England, radio 104.1 is a shitty station that plays “alternative” music and is worshiped by nearly everyone in the region. I’ve never once voluntarily listened to it, but I think it recently came back after being off the air for a while. Either that or their current advertising campaign makes no sense.
I think it’s another part of the societal cancer that is ‘90s nostalgia. 104.1 first got big during that decade and tried to brand itself as the rebellious and anti-establishment radio station, yet it was about as against-the-grain as breathing or walking. I would wager that 4 out of every 5 students I attended high school with owned a Radio 104.1 Fest (more on that in a minute) t-shirt, cap, bumper sticker, or something else related to the station that sets the world record for transmitting the most wallaby jizz over the airwaves of any other entity in history.
In the 90s and early 00s there was an annual event called Radio 104 Fest that every asshole I knew went to. They’d go and listen to all of their “rebellious” bands so they could be non-conformists just like everyone else. I’d spend my time wishing that there’d be some sort of electrical storm that would wipe everyone at the event out. Actually, that’s just retrospection. I was probably either at Wendy’s or at home watching porn.
They have a new series of commercials running on TV lately, all of which take place in a setting where some sort of violent disaster has apparently happened. Inevitably, there will be two people, one of them adjusting a car radio, and the other standing around looking comatose. Eventually, the radio guy manages to tune in to Douche Radio and the comatose person suddenly looks up in awe and asks what’s going on. At this point, the radio operator gets this profound look on his face and says something like, “It’s something great I listened to a long time ago…” Then the screen fades to black and puts up 104’s logo and states that it’s back on the air.
First off, the 90s haven’t even been over for a full 14 years yet. Secondly, 104.1 didn’t go down until some time in the mid 00s. Unless you’re pre-pubescent, a crackhead, or possibly both, anything from that recent of a time period should not seem ancient and mysterious. I cringe to think of what it’s going to be like in about ten years when the 90s nostalgia wave really hits in a massive shit tsunami. (Generally, it seems to take about 30 years for a decade to really start having its junk blown by everyone who was alive for it. Preserve the 80s started in 2009, so don’t blow the hypocrite whistle. On second thought, go ahead. At least the 80s are worth getting on your knees and blowing with all your might.)
Holy shit, the 2020’s are going to fucking suck. We’ll be seeing even more 90s nostalgia and the decade will almost definitely start with either Hillary Clinton or Chris Christie as president. Hopefully I’ll be living in Estonia by then.
Getting back to the subject at hand, Radio 104.1 sucks balls, so stop obsessing over it and acting like it’s Megan Fox’s vaginal ejaculation. They played all of the shittiest bands from one of the shittiest decades. I think the two I hated most were (well are, their format hasn’t changed at all) Green Day and Rage Against the Machine. You already know I fucking hate Green Day if you’ve ever been on this site before. I have not yet declared my hatred for Rage Against the Machine, so I’ll do that now.
This is a band that is the musical equivalent of the 2 girls 1 cup video. Mother of fuck, I hated them with every ounce of my being and still do. You’re certainly raging against “the machine” when you’re a popular band getting widespread airtime and having every little douchebag jr high kid on the planet walking around in your merchandise. Damn, that’s some hardcore anti-establishment shit right there.
That last paragraph reminded me of this obnoxious little shit I went to jr high school with who seemed to wear the same Rage Against the Machine shirt every single fucking day. He liked to pretend he was some kind of badass, walking around in his douche band shirt, BOSS jeans, and backwards cap. Too bad he lost all his “street cred” by way of being a middle class white kid who was about 4 feet tall and had a voice high-pitched enough to shatter glass.
This has probably been the most rambling and tangential article I’ve ever written. It just goes to show much ass Radio 104.1 sucks, because it’s in one way or another related to everything in the universe that sucks. Maybe if it goes down again, everything else in the world that I hate will disappear too. Then there will be little else left other than fast food restaurants and Cuban girls with gigantic asses.