What is seriously wrong today,
Nov. 12, 2017, here in the USA?
Today and everyday, all day, no matter which of the three TVs in my home I am watching, I squirm in my seat, foam at the mouth and stamp my feet on the floor when I am subjected to the panoply of cookie-cutter, biased news shows being interrupted by one stupid, inane commercial being attached without interruption to another in a series of stupid, inane commercials. Are you catching the gist of my dilemma? Are you beginning to understand the cause of my dyspepsia?
I am pummeled with transparently insincere, cardboard actors who are flacking gold & silver that is touted to make my portfolio secure from the ravages of the upside-down, inside-out economy. I wouldn’t believe any of them on a stack of Bibles. Precisely who in Hell do the sponsors think they are fooling?
Even more morally reprehensible if that is possible, are the non-stop, insipid commercials for prescription medications with lots of Xs & Zs in their names, supposedly one presumes, to make them sound potent. They promise to cure any ailment, followed by a crushing list of possible side-effects that is delivered at warp speed by hired speakers with forked tongues. Plus, each and every one of these commercials includes the admonition to ‘tell your doctor what is wrong with you’him and to axx him how he feels about providing you with a prescription to access these poison cures.
Then, there is that ober-nox-ious pillow pusher who glibly guarantees you instant and glorious sleep by him customizing one of his pillows, simply by scientifically punching it into a configuration that magically renders it specifically shaped to precisely accommodate your individual, misshapen neck & spine.
Oh, there’s more . . . much more however, this being Sunday, I’m committed to sit before one of my TVs and switch from channel to channel in order to assure that I demonstrate my ire and justifiable outrage at each NFL game being played by the ‘Knee-taking Millionaires’ replete with dreadlocks, beards and lunatic gyrations at the end of each tackle, sack, touchdown or yellow flag being thrown. One can only imagine the out-of-this-world joy it must be to attend one of these games in person and thrill at the outlay of a thousand bucks or more for such an obvious hustle. And, to be there live, to view the game at such a distance as to not be able to follow the football but, to be able to view it on the Jumbotron at the far end of the field – what a pleasure!
But now, back to my TV viewing – I always have a pencil and paper close by to write down the names of the diverse racial, ethnic and sexually-liberated lawyers who comprise the dozen-or-so names in the masthead of the legal firms that are so ready, willing and able to fight the good fight on my behalf, if only I’ll permit them to sue somebody, anybody, for anything that might possibly have been done to me by one of this nation’s thousands of demonic, bungling surgeons.
Then, there is that utterly obernoxious Pillsbury dough-Girl dressed in white (why?) with the word, ‘PROGRESSIVE’ emblazoned in blue across her white apron (why an apron?) who has the identical effect on me that I get when I stick my finger down my throat. What is it about these ludicrous commercials that causes me to wretch, in addition to knowing that the insurance company that sponsors this eye & ear pollution, is funded by George Soros, among other Communists and assorted, unsavory leftists that you wouldn’t want to babysit your children. If for no other reason than I know the Harley Owners Group doesn’t include even one member motorcyclist who patronizes this ‘insurance company’, I would wish to see ‘PROGRESSIVE’ take a nose-dive into obscurity. I can assure you of that.
As to the many weight-loss advertisers that promise highly-unlikely miracles, they send me fleeing to the fridge, just to see what fattening foods I can find to jam into my mouth before resuming my semi-prone position in front of one of my three TV’s. Did I mention that I have three TVs in my home?
MORT KUFF © 11-12-2017
