All right, look — before we go any further, I’ve got to say something here. I’ve tried to hush up and just ignore it, but I just can’t do it any more. I have to speak out. This has gone far enough. So here goes:
Somebody — I don’t care who; anybody — but somebody has got to have a talk with that guy… I don’t know his name, but you know who I’m talking about. He’s the brother, or in-law, or random hanger-on or something, on ‘Life According to Jim‘, or whatever the hell that Jim Belushi show is called. What is the name of that show, anyway? ‘Fat Guy Variety Hour‘? ‘King of Queens West‘? ‘No, I’m Not Dead Yet — You Must Be Thinking of My Career‘? Anyway.
The point is, this pudgy little popinjay — that’s this other dude, not Jim; keep up with me here — has somehow scored himself a string of gigs hawking hot dogs, and other meat-like byproducts, on TV. The first few were all right — cutesy, sure, and a little annoying, but harmless. Like a lobotomized lawyer dressed up in a tutu, maybe. Just for instance.
The latest ad, on the other hand, is just unacceptable. It starts with a closeup of our frank-peddling friend, standing in front of a grill, weiner in hand.
(See? See? I told you it was unacceptable. But it gets worse. Stick with me.)
So, immediately, without any warning or one of those ‘Mature Audiences Only’ notices on the screen, our dude starts waving his weiner around and talking about how much he loves girth.
(Seriously. I am not making this up. I’m a little squeamish just writing about it. *shudder*)
Anyway, he goes on like that for the rest of the ad! It’s ‘girthy’ this, and ‘girthy’ that, and in between, he won’t stop waving that damned weiner around. Won’t stop, that is, until he grunts like an animal and chomps down on the thing, and then lets loose a guttural, ‘mmmm… girthy… Girthy!‘
Honestly. It’s like something out of a low-budget gay plumper porn flick. I can’t even look at the TV when the damned thing comes on. I’m afraid the image of this guy licking his chops and sinking his teeth into a ‘girthy’ frank is going to burn into my brain and haunt me. That’d trump the shit out of my current phobias, lemme tell ya. It’s like eight kinds of horrible wrongness rolled into one and loaded on a bunful of mustard. Ugh.
So please, won’t somebody make this man stop? Hasn’t this gone far enough? It’s goddamned hard enough for guys to eat a hot dog as it is, without this rube pawing at his girth on national television. I think Skippy needs a good hosedown, is what he needs. ‘Girthy’, indeed. Harrumph.Permalink | 6 Comments