Freschetta Pizza - Down the Sauce Hole/Through the Cheese Glass

Shut up about the title of the post, I couldn't think of something clever. But "Down the Sauce Hole" sounds like the title of an Italian-food based adult film, doesn't it? "Hey baby, try MY meatball sub!" Maybe kind of one of those fetishy things where everyone is covered in pasta sauce.  Kind of an English thing, isn't it? What? Oh right, pizza commercials. (Do NOT google "sexy pizza.")

So our lady here is in a supermarket strolling passed the largest pizza section in frozen food aisle history.  Seriously. In my local grocery store there's two cases of frozen pizza at best, crammed in between the hot pockets and Totinos pizza rolls.  Apparently where this chick lives there's such a demand for freezer pizza that they need an entire aisle devoted to it.  Move over, frozen peas! This town needs some vitamin PIZZA. Never mind the scurvy!

She laments "All these pizzas are the same.  Where can I find something different?"  How about a pizzeria, you daffy bitch? Where the hell do you think you get different kinds of pizza?? The dentist? City Hall? Have you only ever gotten pizza from the frozen food aisle so you genuinely have NO CLUE of another place where one purchases pizza?  Maaayyybbe the phone book can help you.  Look under "pizza." (It starts with a 'P.') That will SURELY be more of a help than verbalizing inane questions to no one in the frozen foods section.

 Also, how 'different' does this pizza she's looking for need to be? If it's flat dough baked with stuff on it, it's pizza.  Does she want a frisbee melted into an effigy of James Carville with a hairless cat perched in top? THAT, my interesting intertube friends, would be a different pizza. (Just picture that for a second, folks.  It's a terrifying vision.)

She steps on a trap door just as she says whatever magic phrase operates it, apparently, and drops Alice in Wonderland style into a magic landscape filled with vegetables. And a giant pineapple, because fuck you. She exclaims "Whoa...red peppers!" Now, I'm not sure about you, but if *I* fell through a trap door in the freezer section of my food mart, I'd sure as hell not be commenting on the produce I came across.  My dialogue would be something along the lines of "FUUUUCK Holy shitmonkies! Where the holyhell am I?? Jesus Tap Dancing Christ, did I fall through the floor?? Am I in the basement? Why can't I see the ceiling? OH GOD HOW AM I GOING TO GET HOME? HELP!"

She then starts listing ingredients with such increasing excitement it's like she's never seen produce or cheese before.  The way she's AMAZED at the cilantro you'd think she was told it can cure cancer and gives spontaneous orgasms.  Her tone of voice exclaiming the cheese makes me think she ate some of that magic cilantro (winkwinknudgenudgeifyouknowwhatImean.)

Then there's a pizza case made out of vines, because why the hell not.  Our redhaired grocery store tart is holding a plastic shopping basket she picked up from somewhere in this hellish field of overly large veggies. Maybe she picked it up from behind of of those giant "SHITAKE MUSHROOMS!" Then, as if her LSD trip wore off, she's back in the Stop & Shop with our pizza which is somehow different than the other mass-market frozen grocery store pizzas because of the like, packaging or something. I kind of stopped paying attention.

And of course, I leave you with the moral of our tale: If you are that bored with frozen pizza, maybe you should try making your own goddamn pizza. It's not that difficult.  Stretched out lump of dough that you can get in the bakery department.  Whatever sauce you want, or no sauce.  Whatever else you want to put on there.  Even that hairless cat.

MGD 64 - Beer for Jerks

Now, I make a point here on Failvertising to not let my opinion on a product interfere with my like or dislike of an advertisement.  However, I must make an exception.  I loooove beer.  However, I think most mass-market beers are disgusting, with a very few exceptions. Having to drink piss-colored flavorless beers in clear bottles makes me want to beat the people who truly enjoy those beers with a lead pipe (in the conservatory. It was Colonal Mustard.)

THIS IS WHAT BEER LOOKS LIKE!!!

In my college Advertising class, we were taught that you need to make your product the 'hero' of the advertisement.  In this unfortunate ad, the hero is one of those douchey 'bros' who would be wearing a polo shirt with a popped collar if he wasn't a groomsman at this wedding.

Drink poison. Seriously.

I'd like to chat about the Best Man for a second.  He has the teeny tiniest wee glass I've ever seen.  He says it's "64 calories of Pinot Grigio" but the liquid in the class is PERFECTLY CLEAR.  (I aso think guys who drink white wine are generally assholes, but I digress.) 

Yummy Pinot Grigio?

The question for me is who the holy hell orders a specific calorie count for their drink? That's the point of these commercials, right? "Since you're ordering a specific calorie content of a beverage, why not have this pissy sucky beer that has the exact calorie content that you desire!"  Why do you need PRECISELY 64 calories of a beverage?  Sweet Zombie Jesus, if you can ONLY have 64 calories of a beverage, maybe you should rethink your nutrition plan.

 

You rang?

I think we're all thinking the same thing: NO ONE ORDERS BEVERAGES BY THE CALORIE COUNT.  You have to order what you want in the correct unit. It's one of the more important aspects of requesting goods from vendors. You're never going to ask for six cups of porterhouse.  No one wants you to pick up seventeen ounces of donuts.  If you need 8 pounds of milk, that's at least east to calculate (it's a gallon) since, as Alton brown taught us, a pint's a pound the world around.

You WILL watch my show and you WILL learn useful shit!

The icing on the cake here is our douchebro hero saying how MGD 64 is only 64 calories (Oh really? I *totally* give a shit about how caloric your beer is!) and then starts clanking his knife on his beer bottle so hard I swear it should shatter and leave his hand a bloody stump.  The noise his bottle makes is louder than the NYSE opening bell.  If the Liberty Bell could make a sound, it would be the noise this bottle makes.

Sorry, MGD 64. I was kind of with you and your toolbox assumption that people want to drink Diet Beer, but your fakey fake fake bottle clanging lost me.

Smucker's - Ma, Richard Got Into Grandpa's Medicine Again!

This chewy nugget of commercial delight is brought to you by Smucker's.  You know, the jam people.  "With a Name Like Smucker's, It Has To Be Good."  That sounds like a threat.  "Damn it, Smucker's! Your fruit paste MUST be tasty to make up for your ridiculous name or your family shall perish!!"

I WILL SCREAM WHILE EATING YOU ON TOAST!

 Or is it more like "Wow, the name of this company SUCKS! There's no way this jam can be anything BUT delicious!" Or maybe a dare. Kind of like that "Nobody Doesn't Like Sarah Lee."  Hey Sarah Lee, I don't like you! Watcha gonna do about it! (Actually I quite like Sarah Lee. Of course I do, fat kids love their pastries.) When I was a kid I thought the slogan was "Nobody Does It Like Sarah Lee." Isn't that funny?  Just like I thought that Disturbed's song's lyrics were "Get monkey down with the sickness."  Ahhhahaha.  Misheard lyrics are called "Mondegreens." Isn't that interesting? No, it's not? Oh I was talking about this stupid jam commercial, wasn't I? Moving on...

Our fun bit of commercial failery greets us with a boy wearing a large coat and talking strangely to baskets of assorted fruit in a barn.  I'm not sure if that combination of words has ever been typed out before.  (A cursory Google search tells me no.)  I think it's the fruit part that worries me about this child.  If he was talking to cows in a barn wearing a large coat, I could understand that. I like talking to cats (Gee, a chubby internet chick who writes snark likes talking to cats? Say it isn't so) so I can see how chatting with the cows can be fun.  Must get lonely living on a fruit farm with only your older brother and no apparent adult supervision, and the cows has sympathetic eyes and you can pet them.

"Tell me your hopes and dreams. I'll listen. Also: Moo."

 And the coat protects you from cow poo and drool. (I imagine cows drool? I have no idea.) Hell, even talking to sheep, or horses, or chickens makes more sense than FRUIT. "Oh apples, no one understands me but you."

Jake Gyllenhaal knows what I'm taking about.

And whyyyy do you need a big coat to talk to fruit?  Isn't that a bit like wearing a trenchcoat on the subway? There's no way you can be up to anything but no good. Might as well park a windowless van outside the playground with a "Free Candy" sign hanging on the outside.

Anyhoozle, Speaks With Apples's brother comes in, and it turns out he's been pretending to be his grandfather the whole time.  Isn't that sweet? Maybe? No? Yeah I don't think it's cute.  But then again, I'm bitter and cynical, so don't ask me. Don't kids like to pretend to be really awesome superheros like Batman, or maybe even a real-life hero like Sgt. Leroy Petry?

Superman has pictures of Sgt. Petry on his jammies. Chuck Norris wants to be Sgt. Petry when he grows up.

I can't imagine a kid pretending to be his grandpa.  Here, let me pretend to be everyone's grandpa for a second: "Back in my day, things were (harder/colder/cheaper.) Everyone was (better/nicer/smarter) than you kids today. Get off my damn lawn! (Racist statement about a nearby minority.) Liberals are ruining this nation!" There. (If it was my grandfather, that rant would be punctuated with the opening of a beer.) But apparently this kid's papa doesn't smack him when he opens up the fridge, and warrants pretend play.  Fine. I won't fight with ya there.

But it's this kid's INSISTENCE that he is his grandpa that troubles me.  "I'm not Richard, I'm Grandpa Smucker!"  Nope, you're still Richard.  "I'm not Richard, I'm Grandpa Smucker!" Did you get into the horseradish again, Richard? "I'm not Richard, I'm Grandpa Smucker."  Get the cattle prod, Ma! Richard is having an episode! Keep him away from the bell tower!

I'M GRANDPA SMUCKER! AAHAHAHAHA!

At the end of the commercial, we are treated to the still completely unsupervised children wandering through an abandoned orchard.  Does it look like all the adults have magically vanished from this farm to anyone else? The bushels of peaches are sitting on the ground like the workers just dropped them and wandered off to jump in front of the combine harvester like in that horrible M. Night Shyamalanalamalan movie.  Maybe the kids picked the peaches. They seem to be the only humans present on this farm.  That must be why young Richard is having delusions. He is overworked and has heat exhaustion from picking peaches and making jam. Hell, that would leave anyone rambling at fruit.

This post was made by special request! Please comment with any commercials you think deserve my snark.  Also, let me know if my addition of silly pictures and captions were a win or a fail.  If I get enough positive feedback, I might go through the older posts and add pictures to them!!

Stupid Husbands and Their Fiber Intake

Why hello my lovelies.  Your Failvertising Diva is back with a delightful ditty about granola bars.  This particular granola bar is brought to you by Fiber One. They're the people who make the cereals with the handsome gentleman (who I *think* is Indian) who says, in a delightful accent, "Cardboard no; delicious yes."  I kind of like those commercials. I like the cereal quite a bit as well.  Hell, I even like these granola bars.  The mocha flavor is so damn tasty I think I might go out and buy some after I'm done writing this post. (Hey, Fiber One People, send me some goddamn free shit!) This commercial, however, fills me with rage.

First, we are treated to the BEIGEST KITCHEN IN THE WORLD. ("Beigest" is a word. Shut up.) There is no physical way for this kitchen to be more beige.  Moreover, the wife is beige.  I don't know about you, but I don't trust people who color coordinate their outfits to their decor.  That's some strange Real Housewife "I Only Wear Pink and My House is All Pink and My Toy Dogs Are Pink" kinda crap.  

Husband comes in and asks "Did we get anything good?" There is one paper grocery bag on the counter.  If that's all she bought, I guarantee you can see it.  Judging by the food on the table, she bought produce.  So, sure, if you think one grocery bag's worth of fruits and veggies are good, then yes, Husband, yes she did.  But, Wife doesn't even answer his perfectly reasonable question.  She shoves right passed that and into "I think you need more fiber in your diet."

Now, my interesting internet friends, your Failvertising Diva is a married lady.  Not once in the decade's worth of time I have spent with my husband have I thought to myself "How's his fiber intake?" or "Is he consuming the right amount of fiber?" or even paid the slightest bit of attention to the fiber content of whatever it is he happens to be shoving into his face at any given moment.  Anyone else think how much this lady cares about her husband's fiber intake is odd? I imagine the only time you, as a wife, would think about that is if your husband had some medical condition requiring absurd amounts of fiber and he was too stupid to keep track of that himself.  Husband's response, instead of the "Why the holy fuck do you care about how much fiber I eat" that I would expect, is a more childish "Uuurrrrgghhhhh."  This leads me to believe she's one of those wives; the ones who are WAY too involved with their husband's diet, clothing, hairstyle, and demeanor.  One of those wives who think a husband is really just an overgrown golden retriever they can tie a bandana around and take for walkies.  One of those wives who treats their husband like a child because their children grew up and she never had a life outside of their home and family so now she need SOMETHING to mother, goddamnit!! (Sorry, I just really hate those women.)

He then says one of the dumber things I've ever heard in my life: "Fiber makes me...sad."  Oh, does it? Fiber makes you sad? Why is that? Did fiber beat you up and steal your lunch money when you were a kids? Did fiber take your virginity and never call you again?  Did fiber crap in the back seat of your Geo Metro? Maybe fiber ran off with your fiance? There is no possible way for fiber to make you sad.  Fiber makes you poo.  It would make seven times more sense if he said "Fiber makes me poo, and pooping makes me sad."  I could almost understand that.  But it's still ridiculous. 

Wife then dares him to taste any fiber in "Fiber One."  He then says "Why not eat this bag."  Is that what he thinks 'fiber' tastes like?  Is that what Fiber One thinks he *should* think fiber tastes like?  I don't understand this marketing strategy claiming that it's sooooo surprising that their product doesn't taste like a pile of zebra crap.  If you need an increased level of fiber in your diet and you DON'T eat the amount your doctor has recommended because you can't find a tasty enough product, fuck you.  You deserve colon troubles if you refuse to take care of yourself because kind-of healthy snack foods aren't as flavorful as the processed cheese-food and Skittles your body is used to you cramming it full of.

Husband then confuses her granola bar for a candy bar.  I'm sorry, Husband, now you've completely lost me.  Never in the history of forever have there been candy bars that look like granola bars.  Ever. EVER. Granola bars are made of granola. Maybe there are some nuts or seeds or rice in them, and maybe some dried fruit or chocolate bits.  Unless it's totally covered in chocolate no one will EVER confuse a candy bar with a granola bar. Not unless they don't know what either of those things are.

This commercial exemplifies a genre of advertisements that make me furious: The Stupid Husband Commercials.   This is a hugely popular advertising technique.
Step 1: Take a ridiculously stupid husband and a smarmy, sighing "Oh look how stupid my husband is" wife.
Step 2: make him do or say something so stupid it would make any normal human be restrained for their own safety.
Step 3: Have her explain the situation to her stupid husband as if he is a particularly incompetent house plant.
Step 4: ????
Step 5: Profit

The moral of my tale is as follows: Listen wives, if your husband is dumb enough to believe it's normal that you're obsessed with his fiber intake, he's dumb enough to believe that a granola bar is a candy bar.  He's also dumb enough to believe that antifreeze is soda, so be careful.

As always, my pretties, please post any suggestions for awful or hilariously terrible commercials for me to rip apart.

Toyota Highlanders Attract Horrible Douchebag Brats

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80pNUxIczig

First off, fuck this kid.  Let’s get that right out of the way.  Fuck his leather jacket, fuck his tight hipster pants, and fuck his “I don’t tolerate dorkiness” attitude.  I will, however, give him mad props for his hair.  I’m almost willing to forgive the tight pants because of that luscious mop of blond gorgeousness.

So, Mr. Seven Year Old Sultan of Cool starts ragging on his parents’ choice of vehicle while his dad is washing said vehicle in the driveway.  Let’s chat about dad first.  He looks like every dad in the history of forever.  I’m fairly certain if you looked at the blueprints for the universe and found the description for “dad,” it would be this guy.  The only difference between him and my dad is my dad wears glasses and a constant beer attached to his hand like an undeveloped parasitic twin. I bet this dad would have a beer can if this wasn’t a car commercial.
 
My question is: what the fuck kind of dad do you expect to have, Kiddy Tight Pants? Is it The Fonz? It sounds like you think your dad should be The Fonz. Anyone who bitches about their parents not being cool while wearing leather jackets probably thinks their dad should be The Fonz.  Listen, numbnuts: your parents are legally required to make sure you don’t die, and that’s about it.  They have no obligation to keep up to your 1950’s sense of “cool.”  Are you being beaten? Are they withholding food from you? Are you kept from medical care? No? Then shut the holy fuck up about your parents not being ‘cool.’  Who bought you that leather jacket?  You look like you probably still piss the bed, so you can’t possibly have your shit together enough to be making money and going to Kids Gap.  Someone has to be purchasing your obnoxious clothing, as well as your delightful hair.  Still loving the hair, btw.

My next issue with this ridiculousness: What the hell is wrong with Cabin Boy Leather Jacket that he thinks he gets to have opinions on his family’s van? Dad’s washing it, obviously, so it’s not like it’s crap covered.  It’s probably nice and clean on the inside. In my experience, parents who regularly wash the outside of the care are pretty good with making sure there aren’t Golden Grahams smashed into the seat and crusty pudding on the seat belt.  There are no dents or big patches of rust that I can see.  Other than being powder blue (which is a pretty douchey color for a vehicle), I can see no problem with this van. Dingleberry doesn’t even complain that it doesn’t run well or is dangerous.  He just says it makes them look like “The Geek Family.”  Guess what, window-licker? You get to have opinions on the shit you pay for.  If you’re the one making payments on the family’s van, feel free to have aaallllll the goddamn opinions you want about how geeky it is.  Until you stop shitting your pants long enough to get a job and a driver’s license and a car payment, keep your attitudes to a minimum.  Daddy could decide to stop buying you your Pull-Ups, and then where would you be?

A brandy shiny new Toyota van pulls up to the house, and the kid starts waxing poetic about its interior and blue tooth capabilities.  What the fuck kind of 7 year old cared that much about vehicle interior of blue tooth capabilities? Do you have a cell phone, kid? I really hope you don’t, no parent should be giving expensive electronic devices to a kid who probably can’t read. And if you DO in fact have a cell phone, why the hating on your parents for not being cool? I think that’s pretty cool, giving a snot nose brat a cell phone.  You deserve a kick in the ass and that’s about it. Be grateful you have this cell phone and permission to hang out with your friends.  I’d probably lock you in your room until you stopped being such a shithead.

We are left with one last gem from Captain Sesame Street: Just because you’re a parent, doesn’t mean you have to be lame.  Yes it does.  It’s one of the things I’m looking forward to most about being a parent.

Luvs the Magic Poo Sacks

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlwOVHP7ngM

I’d like to start off by saying I think the animated babies in this diaper commercial are freaking adorable. Let’s get that out of the way right now. I love me some cartoon babies with their giant cartoon baby heads. I’m going to say for the record that if this commercial was just head-exploding cute cartoon babies dancing around, it would be top-notch in my book. Hell, the babies can even dance to the song the appears to be “Poop There It Is.” I mean, hey, it’s a diaper commercial, right? Diapers are for poops. Even though for some reason Flava Flav does a voiceover. Maybe he wears the diapers. He’s got to be at least 60 now, right? Maybe he has incontinence issues. Why is he alive and Freddie Mercury isn’t? Yes I know Freddie died of AIDS twenty years ago. It’s more of a “how come talentless shmoes get to live forever and awesomely talented awesome creatures of awesomeness die and leave us with an awesome void” thing. It’s just not fair, man. What? Oh right. Diapers.

So, these cutiepants anthropomorphic infants (can babies be anthropomorphized? Questions for another day, Diva) have numbers on their diapies. Like in a contest. That would explain the “Heavy Dooty Championship” banner. Haha, dooty. Dooty is another word for poops. Haha. And it sounds like “Duty.” And “heavy duty” means something is tough! So it’s a pun. Puns are awesome, aren’t they? Ahhh. Ahaha. Puns. Oh Luvs, you and your clever word play. You all are modern days Shakespeares, aren’t you?

Sooo…. It’s a competition to see who can poop the biggest? And this commercial is bragging that when your infant has abnormally large poops they will be contained appropriately by these diapies?

Well…that’s…odd.

Not that Luvs would not want to say they were the best diapers. I am shortly going to be dealing with excessive amounts of diapies and poo- I certainly hope to find the best babypants for the job. A diaper’s ability to not spill horrible wretched human waste like some kind of demonic fountain is a great thing to promote.

The question for me is why are we watching a “Who Can Take the Largest Crap” competition? I can think of nine or ten thousand other ways to advertise good diapers without staging an all-day festival of feces. The aforementioned numbers on the diapered bums aren’t in order, leading one to believe there was a series of qualifying events to determine if these babies were eligible for the Main Stage Defecate-Off. Sooo how many times did these poor babies have to fill their diapers before they got to the final event? I’m not sure if this is a commercial for diapers or a PSA about cholera. (Oregon Trail, anyone? My oxen also have bad grass and I need to ford the river.) This is a serious issue. I’m sure if my infant had multiple diaper inflating poops in a day, I’d be calling my pediatrician.

Also: Why are the diapers inflatable? I suppose they needed some way to show how each Pooper increases his pant load in a greater volume than the previous contestant, but it kind of makes them look like they’re either human oxygen tanks or their bowel movements are comprised of their entire body cavity contents exiting into an elastic membrane.

Can we jump back to the opening for a second? Someone in the crowd is holding a sign that reads “Say No To Blowouts” but they’re holding it backwards. When I’m at an infant feces-based competition, I know I like to hold my sign so the competitors can read it and appreciate my enthusiasm for their colorectal efforts. I wouldn’t hold it so only the jerkwads behind me can appreciate my mastery of the signful arts. Ask any 12 year old at a WWE event. They’ll back me up on this.

But, of course I have saved my favorite moment of this ridiculosity for last. It is of course the final judge of the Poopoff: Tiny Muammar Gaddafi. His wee winky crimes against humanity are just ADORABLE, aren’t they?

Totinos Makes Pizza Rolls Somehow Less Appetizing

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x2_LWLNetIQ

If you've never had Totino's Pizza Rolls, they're pretty much heartburn made of lava wrapped in the deep fried skin of the innocent. In other words, certain kinds of people will find them crazy delicious while others start dry-heaving at the name. This commercial doesn't help the product look any tastier or less like something someone who is the product of two cousins marrying would enjoy.

The heroes of our advertisement seem to be two 13 year olds living in a furnitureless house. They're cool and hip and totally relatable to today's youth since they sit on the counter in the kitchen instead of using furniture. Now, I'm not so old and crusty as to not recall being a youngster, and even when I was 13 I wouldn't have sat on the counter in my kitchen. Maybe it's because I wasn't dumber than a box of hair like these vapid lassies seem to be and knew that the furniture in my house designed for sitting was a lot more...oh I don't know... comfortable to sit on. Maybe it's because my mom would have beaten me with the plate the pizza rolls were placed on for dragging my ass on her granite countertops. Is this what the cool kids do today? Sit on the counter? I can't imagine the compulsion to ignore the chairs in the kitchen and sit amongst the toaster and coffee pot.

Seating arrangements aside, we are given the immediate premise from Vapid Long Haired Thin Girl With Headphones #1: "There is nothing they love more than listening to their favorite song." Before she can finish her sentence, Vapid Long Haired Thin Girl With Headphones #2 pipes in to say the identical fucking thing.

It's such an oddly specific thing to say ("There is nothing we love more than listening to our favorite song") that it's entirely ridiculous for them to each have come up with it on their own, simultaneously. Whoever they are talking to (some faceless interviewer) has presumably asked them "What do you love to do?" or a variation thereof. So VLHTGWH #1&#2, in theory, heard the interviewer ask them the question. Why can't they hear each other answer? I can hardly believe their earphones from 1999 and the totally invisiblw music machines are the culprits.

If you and your friend like the same band, you'd refer to the band by name, right? And if you liked the same song by that band you'd say the name of the song. "What do we love to do? Why, there's nothing we love more than listening to 'Shit Bucket Full of Crucified Dreams' by The Dead Weasel Parade!" If you like watching a sport, you'd say "I love watching baseball! Go Sox!" You would never say "There is nothing I love more than watching my favorite sports team play sports." But then again, you probably don't sit on your counters and shove handfuls of subfood into your maw.

So Totinos isn't even trying to pretend we're talking to actual humans here. Right after VLHTGWH #1 & #2 spout that stereo nonsense about "our favorite (nameless) song" the future rocket scientists then go on to say that they actually like Totinos Pizza Rolls best. Wait- you just said there was NOTHING you loved more than listening to listen to your favorite song. Now you're saying deep-fried cheese and pepperoni bombs are your favorite thing? Of course we are again treated to the reasonless almost-simultaneous reporting of this earth-shattering information.

Am I the only person who doesn't think music and pizza rolls can go together in the same string of logic (unless of course you're under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs)? It makes about as much sense as saying "I love my husband more than anything. But my favorite thing is the concept of absolute zero." "There is nothing I like better than licorice. But I like genocide best!" "Kittens are the best things in the whole world. But I like rainbows better." What the actual fuck?

But, my favorite (/sarcasm) moment of this far too long sixteen second commercial is when our heroines prove they are too stupid to eat food. You might notice they tilt their fucking heads back when they swallow. You know, much like a seagull. People who tilt their heads back then they're eating food belong in the same circle of Stupid Hell as the people who violently jerk their bodies from side to side while playing Mario Kart. Or people who duck their heads when driving under a bridge in their car. Or people who move their mouths while they read.

Of course the icing on the cake is the song used in a far too cheerful fashion at the end of this catastrophe. It sounds like the kind of music an advertising exec hastily threw together at the last moment after getting a phone call. "Hi, this is Dave. Yup, I've got the commercial all together. Yes, it is completely relatable to our target market. Haha no, they don't use chairs, do they? Ah kids and their speaking almost at the same time. Hahaha, ahhh. What? No there isn't any music at the end of the commercial. You need music? For the presentation meeting in 5 minutes? Ughh.... how does a vanilla version of a vanilla song sound? Perfect. Save me a pastry."

Totinos should maybe take their commercial money and hire some non-mentally handicapped advertising executives. Or, maybe they can cut back on their ridiculous song choices and buy some chairs for their actresses to sit on. Or maybe they can use their money and buy some food with some actual nutritional value for their undernourished actresses. But at the end of the day they're shilling teeny tiny hot pockets, and how much do you think they really care about marketing, right?