You Are Now Free to Be a Complete Dickwad

Southwest Airlines gives people lots of reasons to dislike them. Their open seating policy. No food on the flight. Stewardesses who make Carlos Mencia seem like a fucking laugh riot. So why have they inflicted these “productivity enhancer” commercials on us? I have no problems with Southwest, but they're making me turn against them with this campaign.

First off, the guy playing “Nick,” looks like an utter douchebag. You might as well pop his collar and put a pink Red Sox hat on him. They did go for realism because everyone has a ball sac like this in their office. He thinks the Foo Fighters really kick ass, but keeps a John Mayer CD in his car in case he brings a girl home from the bar where he nurses a Smirnoff Ice during Happy Hour. He definitely deserves a nut punch.

And b, how in the hell does standing in line to push your way to a seat where you will listen to low-grade comedy before eating a shitty snack box enhance your productivity? You're more productive because you have such incredible OCD that you checked in the moment you could and got in the first line? You'll do better at your job because you saved a few bucks on your fare?

I get the whole riffing off the baseball steroids thing, but there's just one thing wrong with that approach. It's fucking retarded.

Southwest should just advertise the truth – they will leave you more money to gamble and drink. Show Nick in a puddle of his own vomit in New Orleans. Make Nick explain that he called in sick that one Friday because he got a great deal on a trip to Vegas. Let's see Nick buying drinks for some skank on Spring Break because he got a $69 ticket to Ft. Lauderdale.

That's why we fly Southwest Airlines. Or so I hear.

Vince Wouldn't Lie

Many of my fellow bloggers here have tried to point out the commercials that drive them nuts. I want to take a different angle. I want to bring the love. As in "I love Shamwow!"

I need this thing. I sat mesmerized by the things the cloth did on the commercial. All sensibility went out of my brain.

It’s a good thing they don’t see Shamwow in stores because I would have at least a dozen now. Having to order via the phone gave me pause, but now I know I can order online, which is pretty dangerous. My frugal wife is even on board. “We need that,” she said.

We have some leaks in our basement, and I want to just buy boxes of Shamwows and put them from end to end. We could just wring them out after the rain seeped in and go on our merry way. Twenty times its weight in liquid! Fifty percent of the cola! It acts like a vaccuum!

How can you not want this product the way Vince sells it? They have real-life people singing its praises. It's made in Germany. You have to get this.

Valentine's Day... The Gary, Indiana of Holidays

Ahh... February. The best time of year, in my estimation. The weather causes your nether parts to retreat, ninja-like, into your inner recesses (um, I guess that's kind of gender specific... apologies for any unfortunate images that might've conjured.) Football is put to rest, puncuated by the flatulent sputter that is the Pro Bowl. After the first weekend, the sporting highlight of the month is the Daytona 500--a bizarre event (even for NASCAR) which places its most important and high profile race at the beginning of its season. Wha? Huh?

At least this year, we've been blessed by quality TV to watch. Right? Am I right or am I right? I mean, Paradise Hotel 2 is about as good as it's gonna get, people. Gather the whole family, savor the moment.

February truly is a magical time.

And, what better way to celebrate this sink hole of a month than to guilt trip the coupled-up men of society, while simultaneously remind the single folks just how lonely they are. Hey, I know, let's plop Valentine's Day on the calendar. Thanks Hallmark... fuck you very much.

I'm, uh, not a fan of Valentine's Day. So, it should surprise no one that my least favorite genre of advertisement are the diamond ads that litter the airwaves this time of year. Jared, Shaw's, Kay... Satan hath spawned you. This entire group earns a Lifetime Achievement of Suck award for their bore-a-hole-in-your cranium nature of the jingles and the vapid, guilt-driven messaging.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to the mall... M'lady requires a token of my undying love and affection.