I Can't Believe It's a Commercial!

Spent a good portion of the day contemplating the near-universal crapitude of butter-substitute commercials. Take Parkay for example. Those little talking butter tubs are so weird, what with their strokey little butter tub lid lips. Not to mention the fact that they can only say "Parkay," so apparently they are retarded little talking butter tubs as well. Wait a minute - retarded stroke victims? Now I really want to buy this product. Good job, Parkay.

This pales in comparison, though, with the Country Crock commercials that show only a man's and a woman's hand helping themselves to Country Crock and caressing each other suggestively. It's like a hand-fetishizing butter-lover decided to make a porno, and it was discovered by the Country Crock marketing department. Doubtless he went on from this to shooting videos of disembodied hands writhing around in Land O' Lakes, and then graduated to the really hard stuff involving childrens' hands and Crisco. It's a shame, really - he showed such promise when everyone was a consenting adult and the polyunsaturated fat was the star of the show. Probably doing 8-12 in San Quentin now, and I guarantee the hands he's getting up close and personal with aren't lubed with butter, or anything else for that matter. Well, possibly feces.

Compared to these two ad concepts, hiring Fabio as an ironic margarine-pimp seems almost like a good idea. Good on ya, I Can't Believe It's Not Butter: sure your ads suck, but not as much as everyone else's.

Other than this, I wasn't terribly productive.