by pistols at dawn of save your generation
In this second Doritos ad apparently airing this evening, we learn a lesson thanks to familiar character in the Commedia dell'arte of advertising stereotypes - the 20something Slacker Dude.
As the ad opens, Dude is taunting his roommate's cat with a laser pointer, a poignant metaphor for the endless, Sisyphean tasks that comprise all our lives, hours spent grasping at straws that turn out never to have been there at all, leaving us empty vessels which only process pain into slightly more tolerable pain via a soul-deadening process of hard liquor, drugs, passionless coupling, and snack chips.
Knowing this, and egged on by his angry girlfriend, Dude's roommate taunts Dude similarly - with moving Doritos. Dude then proceeds to chase said Doritos, and numerous pratfalls - allegedly comic ones - ensue.
There is but one problem with this: as a huge fan of Doritos, I can tell you that no huge fan of Doritos can get up off the couch, much less chase a moving bag of Doritos around a room. One of the main reasons fat guys love Doritos is because, unlike women who want "dinner" and "you not to stare at their boobs" and "you to get their consent before filming them doing it with you," Doritos never play hard to get.
Also, taunting a cat is still okay, because cats are dumb, as they lack the single most important aspect of intelligent life: the ability to establish mercantile systems with the end result of enabling its participants to purchase Doritos.
Showing posts with label posts mostly about me that also happen to mention an ad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label posts mostly about me that also happen to mention an ad. Show all posts
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Physician, Heal Thy Wack-Ass Advertising
by pistols at dawn of save your generation
I was sitting on the subway this weekend, and since all the attractive girls I kept creepily staring at were starting to get "call Transit Authority Security" uncomfortable, I tried looking at some of the ads plastered all over the subway instead.
The one directly in front of me spoke to me – literally. In a raspy voice, it told me to kill all the left-handed people in the world. Then I realized that was one of the voices in my head – the one not constantly singing Hall & Oates' "Private Eyes" – so I filed that thought away for later.
The print ad was fairly nondescript, he wrote, preparing to describe it anyway. It featured an aging, in-shape couple on top of a verdant, secluded mountain, clearly in the middle of some hike that took them far away from everything fun, like "television sets" and "couches" and "booze" and "members of the opposite gender to have forgettable sex with."
The text touted some sort of health insurance from a company named GEHA, ending with the clincher, the part of their offer that no human being could possibly turn down – the opportunity to be involved in the company's free walking program. (Said walking program is also cited prominently on the company's Benefits page.)
Instantly, I thought: free walking? And here I've been paying for it like a sucker. And then, I thought: walking program? Is walking ever complex enough to necessitate a program? Because here's the program I've been working with for decades: 1) lift foot; 2) place it on the ground again in front of where it previously was; 3) lift other foot and do the same; 4) repeat as necessary, but try to live close to stuff so it's never necessary.
What newfangled ideas has GEHA come up with in the realm of walking? And how many of their doctors are wasting their time on walking-based research when there are actual diseases out there that could use curing? Unless walking cures AIDS or starvation, how about we focus on the things that are killing people? I haven't seen a lot TV doctor shows, but I've never seen one where the doctor turned to the attractive, weeping family member and said, "It doesn't look good. This man is suffering from a decided lack of a rigorous, well-researched walking program."
And with that, GEHA had lost me forever, which is terrible, because I'm their target audience. I currently don't have health insurance because I can't afford it, which is crazy, because I'd never go to the doctor even if I did have something wrong with me, so a company offering me health coverage is essentially saying, "Sure, I'd like some free money." After all, I come from strong, Midwestern stock, with a grandfather who told us "not to worry" about his stroke. Growing up, my father's medical advice, regardless of the malady, was: "Cowboy up and shut that pie hole, son. If I wanted a daughter, I wouldn't keep pulling out."
I wonder if a walking program could help heal those emotional scars.
Probably not as well as my current drinking and stumbling program.
I was sitting on the subway this weekend, and since all the attractive girls I kept creepily staring at were starting to get "call Transit Authority Security" uncomfortable, I tried looking at some of the ads plastered all over the subway instead.
The one directly in front of me spoke to me – literally. In a raspy voice, it told me to kill all the left-handed people in the world. Then I realized that was one of the voices in my head – the one not constantly singing Hall & Oates' "Private Eyes" – so I filed that thought away for later.
The print ad was fairly nondescript, he wrote, preparing to describe it anyway. It featured an aging, in-shape couple on top of a verdant, secluded mountain, clearly in the middle of some hike that took them far away from everything fun, like "television sets" and "couches" and "booze" and "members of the opposite gender to have forgettable sex with."
The text touted some sort of health insurance from a company named GEHA, ending with the clincher, the part of their offer that no human being could possibly turn down – the opportunity to be involved in the company's free walking program. (Said walking program is also cited prominently on the company's Benefits page.)
Instantly, I thought: free walking? And here I've been paying for it like a sucker. And then, I thought: walking program? Is walking ever complex enough to necessitate a program? Because here's the program I've been working with for decades: 1) lift foot; 2) place it on the ground again in front of where it previously was; 3) lift other foot and do the same; 4) repeat as necessary, but try to live close to stuff so it's never necessary.
What newfangled ideas has GEHA come up with in the realm of walking? And how many of their doctors are wasting their time on walking-based research when there are actual diseases out there that could use curing? Unless walking cures AIDS or starvation, how about we focus on the things that are killing people? I haven't seen a lot TV doctor shows, but I've never seen one where the doctor turned to the attractive, weeping family member and said, "It doesn't look good. This man is suffering from a decided lack of a rigorous, well-researched walking program."
And with that, GEHA had lost me forever, which is terrible, because I'm their target audience. I currently don't have health insurance because I can't afford it, which is crazy, because I'd never go to the doctor even if I did have something wrong with me, so a company offering me health coverage is essentially saying, "Sure, I'd like some free money." After all, I come from strong, Midwestern stock, with a grandfather who told us "not to worry" about his stroke. Growing up, my father's medical advice, regardless of the malady, was: "Cowboy up and shut that pie hole, son. If I wanted a daughter, I wouldn't keep pulling out."
I wonder if a walking program could help heal those emotional scars.
Probably not as well as my current drinking and stumbling program.
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