A television AND a window?

Isn't that some sort of oxymoron? I mean - how could one possess both a television and a window without being compelled to hurl one right through the other?

Okay. So you're probably not in the mood for a rant from a self-righteous anti-TV elitist bastard, are you?

How about a confession instead?

Alright. For someone who's an outspoken TV basher I've been spending an awful lot of time in the boob tube's vicinity lately. Only the NFL playoffs draws me there intentionally but there's a wealth of other temptations this time of year. Hockey, lacrosse and basketball are all in season.

Steve-o's been home a lot lately and can always be found on the couch, TV running - usually the sports channel - while he tends to his various online pursuits - with a laptop that he actually rests on his lap (yes, how quaint) and which has a curious habit of delivering him random yelp-inducing electrical shocks - very much to FWG's amusement of course.

And, you see, I've also been spending much time in the living room lately - either reading books or tending to the massive file re-org project that has occupied many hours of my life of late. I emptied all three drawers of a three-foot-wide lateral file cabinet. We're talking nine feet of files - of which two thirds have now been fed to the recycling bins.

While I'm not taking in any sitcoms or reality shows (thank god) I do have to tolerate all the half-baked nit-wit sportscasters and their half-baked nit-wit ruminations. The real terror though - is the commercials. Dear god. How do you people do it? How do you sit through TV commercials? I swear - with every commercial I see - another handful of my brain cells commit suicide. It's downright alarming. Nowhere is it more apparent that this society of ours is a freak show than on TV commercials (well, perhaps besides church).

I tend to see the same ads over and over again:


Double burgers from McDonalds (or some other McBurger joint, I don't know):

Two morons sit in a car and talk moron talk to each other. The highlight is this joke: "Hey - do you think single burgers are lonely - you know - cause - they're single?"

Do you think that's funny? Do you really? I guarantee you something. If you think that's funny you're either mentally deficient or you're seven. Either way, you should not be roaming the internet without supervision. You'll either get scammed or molested. Now go on. Get out of here and don't come back until you're eighteen.


McCain Fries:

Little boy: "I used to think thunder was the sound of Angels bowling!"

Little girl: "I used to think that you should only eat fries once in a while!"

Well, that ends the debate over gender superiority, doesn't it? Clearly both sexes are equally stone-dead stupid. How often should you eat fries? Never! They have no redeeming value! Transfats or not - don't matter. My brass mailbox has no trans-fats either. That doesn't mean I should nibble on it daily. You eat fries every day and you'll be fat and pimply and you'll never get a date and you'll grow up to be either a rapist or bulimic - depending which stupid gender you are. Now stay away from goddam fries.

McCain Fries... We use only the nicest most pleasant digestible grease. Enjoy... three to five times a day!


Coors Light:

Idiot Number One stands on the second story balcony of a lodge that overlooks a happening party. A can of Coors light is in his hand. Another rests on the railing.

Idiot Number Two saunters out the balcony door, spies the free can of beer and picks it up.

"Where'd this come from?" asks Idiot Number Two.

"It comes from a dream," says Idiot Number One, "A dream that started high in a glacier-fresh mountain top. From a belief that beer could be brewed to taste colder -"

Whoa! Hold it right there! Say no more! I'm sold! Where do I sign up for this belief that Coors Light is brewed to taste colder? 'Cause I'm all about beer that tastes automatically cold thanks to their magical glacier-fresh brewing process. It's brewed by Oompa Loompas and Ice Monkeys right? It's made out of polar bear tears and penguin piss, right? I knew it!

I've been wanting to get rid of my fridge, you see. Make room for a nice Egyptian sarcophagus or a phone booth and of course the only thing holding me back was all these wack-job beermeisters believing that beer should be made to taste warm. Well thank god that's cleared up. Gone is the fridge! Let's put those Maytag fuckers outta business! Three cheers for auto-cold beer!

Morons.


Truck commercials.

You can't have a football game without six hundred and twenty truck commercials. God, how they give me the heebie-jeebies.

A man stands in the pouring rain in a rain-hat that is blue-grey. His face is blue-grey and so is the rain and everything in the background. It's all blue-grey piss-rain-ville here. The rain-man speaks:

"An honorable man is a selfish man. He insists on keeping all of his promises."

Wow. That's beautiful, man. I'm speechless. You should configure church signs for a living. Hey! Try this one! "Nothing ruins the truth like stretching it!" Eh? Eh? Not bad, eh! How 'bout this one - "Got a hand? Lend it. Smiles are free. Spend it!" Isn't that great? It's all good I tell you! It's fun-with-words day, boys and girls! Hey - do this one, rain-man: "Are you a human being or a human... being...?" Ooooh! Deeep! It's all good I tell you! Selling God. Selling trucks. We're all winners baby!

Oh yes. We're all winners.


Toyota Tundra trucks

Oh this is priceless.

"What would happen," asks the unseen young female narrator's voice - and you can just tell that she's cute and sexy - you can just tell - "if we went on a trip and we only made left turns? Where would we end up?"

Wow! A magical mystery tour! What a wild idea, cute sexy girl! Where would you end up? What an intriguing question. Let's see... Maybe... AT HOME!! ASS HOLE!! YOU'D GO IN A FUCKING CIRCLE!!

I swear to god, I want all stupid people killed. I want them all put to death now. And I want stupid TV advertisers put to death three times each. God dammit.


Chevy Silverado trucks

Okay, we've had a little fun here but this one is not funny. Not remotely. This is absolutely disgusting and I'm furious. I want blood. I want to see the responsible General Motors executives lined up and either shot or hung for treason and for crimes against humanity.

Here's the commercial:

They're singing about 'our country'. Automotive manufacturers - that most noble of professions - are defining our country. Both America and Canada almost simultaneously, by the way - the two versions barely differ. For those of us that do not understand Canada - your worries are over. Here's all you need to know. Are you ready for this?

Scene: White boy and white man, both in cowboy hats.
Subtitle: This is our role model.

Scene: White-skinned roughnecks wrestling with big heavy oil-drilling apparatus.
Subtitle: This is our backbone.

Scene: Maritime waves crash against a rocky shore where a lighthouse stands.
Subtitle: This is our backyard.

Scene: White man in plaid shirt rests against a stack of huge logs.
Subtitle: This is our coffee break.

Scene : White kids playing hockey.
Subtitle: This is our philosophy.

Scene: Bobby Orr's face
Subtitle: This is our attitude.

Scene: White man in hunting gear with rifle and a black dog.
Subtitle: This is our wingman.

Scene: White man holds a small blonde-haired white boy in his arms.
Subtitle: This is our purpose.

Isn't that sweet? Aren't you just beaming with pride (if Canadian) or wrecked from envy (if not)? Between the images, text and lyrics there's absolutely no way to interpret that they're talking about Chevrolet specifically or about their customers. They're clearly defining the country.

And here's what they're saying:

Males matter. Females don't.

We're guided by the values of cowboys. Nice! Shoot 'em up, Tex!

The country is built on natural resource industries such as oil and timbre. I have to admit - that's true. Both USA and Canada are raping their resources at a rate vastly beyond sustainability hence - world-leading glory and wealth now for North America and devastated third-world status eventually - if the human race persists long enough - but no worries. Our ancestors will be many generations separated from us by then so why should we care about them? Oops! Tangent. Sorry.

The maritime provinces are our back yard. Okay. So BC is the front yard? What is Ontario? The car-port entrance? You know - both the original Canadians and the British invaders came in through the Atlantic. Wouldn't that make the maritime provinces the front yard? Or are we just trying to say that Newfies belong at the back of the bus? Hm.

What else? Our philosophy is hockey. That's cool. I'm a big hockey fan. I love sports. That they're a completely calculated contrived and manufactured drama and not a drama of any meaning or substance whatsoever is okay. That doesn't make sports bad or not worthwhile. It's still a great pastime and a perfectly valid entertainment. And it provides a much more productive outlet for the inherent tribalism and bloodlust still rampant in the dominating less-evolved population than war and gang activity - so that's certainly good. That most men are duped into a purely delusional transference of ego that chains them to a perpetual child-like mentality is extremely unfortunate but let's not talk about that right now. I still struggle with that myself a bit now and then and it's embarrasing frankly. The point - it would be nice if our nation had a philosophy of substance rather than one of contrivance and delusion. Oh well.

Bobby Orr is our attitude. Not sure what that means. I guess we like to race end-to-end single-handedly and score the big goal and once the puck is safely in the net, leap into the air and mock a superman pose. I don't know. Works for me I guess. Whatever.

Ah - the wingman. Yes, of course. No discussion around the values of nations is complete without considering the wingman. Assuming the Canadian population is made up primarily of fighter jet pilots and overgrown adolescent boys seeking to deceive girls in order to bed them - the subject of wingmen is relevant. And ours is a big black dog which will fetch the bird you just shot dead. Isn't that nice?

And just in case anyone's still reading this self-indulgent rant - here's the kicker. Here is the crown of Canadian glory. Our purpose. Our purpose is to breed blonde-haired boy babies. That's right, folks. Screw immigration! We want little blonde-haired boy babies that grow up into big blonde-haired boys. The superior breed! We'll slip them into their jackboots and goose-step them right on up to the podium!

Okay, folks. I realize that this is not some kind of propaganda. I realize the obvious marketing strategy that evolved something like this:

Now boys, Who buys trucks mostly?

Um - stupid-ass Caucasian duck-hunting sports-watching wife-beating bigoted macho cowboy manual-laboring rednecks?

That's right. Now incorporate all of that into a commercial that makes them feel like all these things are normal - heck - patriotic even - and play 'em during all them there football games! Heee haw! Let's build us some trucks boys! Heee haw! Pass me the bourbon and one o' them ceeegars!


I will never ever ever own a GM product again. Not even if you paid me.

FWG