At least they didn't call it Hippo-Wear

I received an email today from a company called Serengeti. This company, it seems, specializes in plus-sized women's clothing. Targeted marketing can be incredibly effective, when it is accurate, but often attempts at such advertising seem to hit far from the mark. After all, as a male with a natural Gumby-like build, I can't imagine the Serengeti folks have me in their target audience.

Alas, I think the bigger issue here is the name of the company. After all, if you're selling to plus-sized women, do you really want your brand name inspiring thoughts of land beasts roaming the savanna?

Serengeti: You're fat and we're insensitive. Why don't we put aside our differences so you can buy a muumuu?

I'm left attempting to come up with more potential company names with Serengeti's kick-you-in-the-throat-while-you're-down attitude. Here's the list so far:

- Dimwit tutoring service;
- Gargoyle cosmetics;
- Mr. Magoo eyewear;
- Barnyard's Best cologne;
- Walking the Line alcohol rehab center;
- "Get Confident, Stupid" motivational tapes.

If I've missed any, please feel free to post below.

Ad research

According to the ads that display when checking my Yahoo!* email account, I am apparently a stressed, greedy octogenarian who is
losing his hair, has a flabby stomach, has bad skin, has horrendously achy joints, needs new deodorant, may be interested in going back to school, enjoys fantasy role-playing video games, is a fan of the Phoenix Suns, and loves the movie Shutter Island with a passion that cannot be rivaled.

Wow.

It's like these folks are sitting right here in my living room with me. You'll excuse me if I spend the rest of the evening shopping online for stress-relieving pain meds, gut-busting Rogaine, pleasantly scented Ben Gay + Clearasil combo packs, and educational video games featuring the Phoenix Suns' Gorilla, and that may or may not be set on a fictional island, right?

*Please note: I'm never excited enough to actually pronounce "Yahoo!" with the proper emphasis indicated by the exclamation mark. I apologize for this. I'm going to make a concentrated effort to get more excited about emails telling me that I can get 10% off at shoes.com.

TPG

Upon arriving home from work today, I noticed that a note had been slipped under my door. Naturally, I figured it was a note from an adoring fan or secret admirer. After all, who wouldn't want to spend their time writing to a mediocre, very part-time sportswriter and "author" of a practically anonymous blog?* Alas, when I picked up the note to find out how great I am, I discovered it was nothing of the sort.

*Current tally of number of fan letters and secret admirer notes the author has received in his life: One. ... I can count a note from a possibly mute neighbor requesting that I turn down my television, right?

My note was actually a menu (printed on 8.5x11, standard white, 20# paper with a half fold, not on the heavier 60# stock with a fan or letter fold*) for something called The Polynesian Grill. Thus, instead of reading prose praising my firm handle on the English language (which I definitely don't have), I was treated with the knowledge that The Polynesian Grill's dish called Wildcat Mixed Noodles is actually "stir fried noodles & veggies mixed with pride."**

*Why, yes, I did spend a portion of my college years working a part-time job where a primary duty was making copies. How could you tell?

**I'm not sure what "pride" is referring to in this sense, but I don't know that I want it mixed in with my noodles and veggies.

While I am flattered that the advertisers of TPG* thought of me specifically (They certainly would not have slipped then under every door in my apartment complex. What a crazy idea...) when marketing their apparently new restaurant, I must question their market research. After all, many of the dishes on the menu sound as if they fall on the spicy end of the spectrum**, and I enjoy hot foods about as much as a hobo enjoys being jabbed in the eye with a toothpick. (Please, don't try that at home... err, wherever you might find a hobo, kids.)

*It's what the kids are calling The Polynesian Grill. (Editor's note: False.)

**At least that's what I gather through impeccable skills of perception. Others might not come to that conclusion about a side called a "Wildcat Spicy Roll," but I have put much thought and consideration into this conclusion.

As a curious individual, I have done much reading of the menu and I must admit that some of the dishes sound pretty good. Beyond that, I'm learning plenty. Upon my first glance, I discovered that "The Polynesian Grill gets its name from the word Polynesia..."

I'll pause a moment so you can let such mind-numbing knowledge really sink in.

Wow.

Beyond that, I've learned that Polynesians apparently learn to spell from the Dan Quayle teachers' manual, adding an 'e' on the end of 'potato.'

Though it has taught me plenty, perhaps the most interesting aspect of the TPG menu is the information it withholds. I'm well versed in the dishes available at TPG. I know there's a "kids" (not kids')* menu, which is somewhat terrifying. I can even tell you what specialty drinks are available at the TPG bar. (Want to drink something that sounds like a depressed islander? Order a Blue Hawaiian.) Alas, I cannot tell you where The Polynesian Grill is located. The actual address of the finest Polynesian dining experience I have ever received a floor-bound menu for is nowhere to be found on the ad.

*The Writings: We appreciate the apostrophe.

A sticker on my menu tells me that TPG is open Monday-Saturday, 11 a.m. to 2 p.m., and 5 to 8 p.m. It's also open on Sunday from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., and both dine-in and carry-out options are available for my meal. The physical location, though, that one must travel to in order to have these options remains a mystery. The address is nowhere on the sticker, either.

At the end of the day, it seems I have in my possession a menu for some sort of eatery that is so exclusive that they cannot even advertise the address. Perhaps the ad wizards at TPG knew I'd write about it and placed it strategically under my door in order to get some free advertising out to the bevy of The Writings' faithful readers.

... Once again, they really need some new researchers in their marketing department.

Note to self: Don't be that guy

Let's begin by clarifying one thing: I am the last person that should be giving relationship advice. It's obvious. Such wisdom is even scripted in the Book of Blatantly Obvious, chapter 1, verse 2.*

*What wisdom is contained in chapter 1, verse 1?  If you're watching anything with Vin Diesel in it, you have too much time on your hands.

That said, I know this much. I would never pull this move:

That's right, with a baseball flying directly at his girlfriend from 300+ feet away, Bo chose to dive away and leave the lady to fend for herself. It's a move that takes any sort of chivalric movement and mashes it to Dippin' Dots-sized bits. After watching the clip, one might guess that Bo is not the freshest beer in the fridge, yet, this girl could apparently tolerate him for more than two minutes at a time. His way of showing his appreciation? Avoiding her (like he's avoided book-learning) when imminent danger presents itself. After the ball nails his girlfriend in the arm, Bo breaks into the type of laughter usually reserved for the audiences at celebrity roasts.* Bravo.

*Please note the correlation here: Your girlfriend getting his by an object flying 90-miles-per-hour when you could have done something about it: not funny. 98% of sentences uttered at a celebrity roast: not funny.... Thank you for your time.

The spectacle that some might deem "The Dodge of the D-Bag," occurred earlier this week, but the fallout has been quick-hitting. The couple appeared on "The Early Show" this morning and relived the story.*

*If you take the time to watch the clip of "The Early Show" appearance, you're in for a treat. Not only does Harry Smith basically call Bo a giant cotton-headed ninny-muggins, but he carries on with a tangent about how Bo should have caught the ball. When Harry mentions the carnival, I thought for sure he was going to say, "And if a carnie attacks your lady, you grab him by the braided mullet and fight right back." ... Wish you had come through on that one, Harry.

It also turns out that the young couple may not be heading to any more cripplingly depressing Astros game as a pair. They announced, on national television, that they've split. Per the young lady "it's not because of the ball." That may be true, but I'm guessing it may have come up while the two were arguing about who seemed like more of a cliched version of America's young generation while being interviewed during the game. (While I have no doubt that both members of the former couple are quite skilled at putting together thoughtful, intelligent arguments, I'm sure this one was a tie.)

Note to self: Please never wear a ballcap in a fashion so askew, either. You are not now, nor have you ever been, a 90s hip-hop artist.

What can we learn from commercials? Lesson #1

#1 - Driving a Kia is decidely better than being a hamster attempting to drive a toaster.

Mystery Solved

According to a television commercial Samuel Adams Summer Ale "has something about it that really reminds you of summer."

My guess is that it's the name of the beer. Makes sense to me.

False Advertising

There's a billboard here in town that advertises a local bank. The bank's selling point is that they care. They aren't one of those banks that sees you only as an account holder; rather, they actually want to get to know you. The billboard advertises said point illustrating the that at other banks, customers are greeted with someone saying "Account number?" At this wonderful bank, however, the billboard says you are greeted by someone saying, "Hi Fred."

In economic times like we're experience, it seems that a bank would be best off advertising that it is trustworthy; that those who manage it won't take their money and hop the next plane to Guam. This bank takes the personal route, assuming that you will feel like you trust your friends with your money.

My beef with this ad is not the fact that not all friends are to be trusted with your money (though they're not). It is not even the fact that the billboard features cartoon heads with no bodies. No, my beef with this billboard is one simple thing:

My name isn't Fred.

ALL forms of payment?

I saw an ad today that included the line "We accept all forms of payment."

Really? ALL forms of payment?

You're saying that if I walk up to the counter with a handful of Stanley Nickels or a fist-full of Schrute Bucks, we're square?

What about Chuck E. Cheese tokens? Chocolate coins?

There's been talk in the national news lately of bartering for healthcare, so can I pay with a cornish game hen?

It seems the ad in question may need to be adjust if there are others out there like me, and I'm only getting started. Consider the following forms of payment:

- Expired coupons for Jell-O;
- Shiny rocks;
- Piggyback rides;
- Hugs;
- Verbal lashings;
- Strands of Big League Chew;
- Dirty diapers;
- "Rules of blackjack" playing cards;
- Half-eaten M&Ms;
- Video-cassette recordings of The Chevy Chase Show.

Naturally, this list is not all-inclusive. Please comment on your favorite potential forms of payment that are not mentioned above.

The Rantings - Quick edition

Have you seen the Degree deodorant commercial where the guy jumps out of the plane with a shopping cart, soars down through the clouds, sticks a perfect 10 landing on a freeway and then, riding the cart like a grocery shopper on meds, zips between two semis? Have studies shown that this type of advertising works for deodorant? Honestly, I don't care if my sport stick makes me feel like a suicidal shopper. I'd just like to make sure it doesn't smell like moldy burritos.

---

The Black Eyed Peas' song "I Gotta Feeling" seems to be everywhere right now. It's on commercials. It's played on football game broadcasts. It's played on basketball game broadcasts. It's taught to school children instead of the Pledge of Allegiance.* The song is everywhere, yet it's not even a good song. Sure it's easy to learn. (Repeat the phrase "tonight's gonna be a good night" approximatly 437 times and you pretty much have it nailed down.) Sure it has the creepy computer-modified singing that is so popular these days. (If I wanted to hear robots sing, I'd take Mickey Mouse hostage and have my only demand be that I get to ride the "It's a Small World After All" ride until I fall over dead from the overbridled joy that can only be induced by animatronic children of the world uniting in song.) And sure, it debuted at No. 2 on the Billboard Hot 100. (a list that I'm fairly certain is determined by deaf bush babies that are sleep-deprived.) But the fact remains that any song that states something like "tonight's gonna be a good night" is guaranteed to be played during some of the worst moments of people lives in very ironic fashion. (See: It's a Great Day to be Alive.")

*I may have made one of those facts up. Try to guess which one.

---

There's plenty more to rant on, but I'm typing this while as tired as a sleep-deprived bush baby. The Rantings will return.

In the department of endorsements I should not attempt to comprehend...

Steve Wilkos is featured on a commercial for a company called Gold Rush. Much like the appropriately named "Cash 4 Gold"*, this company will pay you money (I assume it's even American currency) for all that annoying gold that gets in your way and makes your home look trashy.

*Did you know they'll pay cash for your gold? It's true!

Connecting the dots to determine the logic behind this endorsement is kind of like trying to figure out how The Pacifier made over $113 million dollars at the box office. Both serve as excellent scenarios to be depicted on a flash card for the term "mind-boggling."

For those that are not familiar with Mr. Wilkos, he was once the head of security on The Jerry Springer Show. When arguments about the true identities of a baby's daddy would erupt into all-out brawls - complete with chair tossing and censor-stressing language - Steve would appear out of nowhere, get someone in a full-nelson hold, and then attempt to pull their heart from their chest, Temple of Doom-style.* Big and bald, Steve became a fan-favorite, drawing hordes of cheers and chants of his name whenever he would get in the midst of a conflict. He was such a hit, that many people** wondered why the folks advertising Mr. Clean didn't take a hint and have the animated mascot begin attacking child-support dodgers in commercials for the cleaning product. It would have guaranteed a boost in sales.

*I may have made that last part up.

**In this case, "many people" refers to the author and... well... okay, just the author.

At some point, Steve earned his own talk show hosting gig. Luckily for Mr. Wilkos, he was able to spread figurative wings, and was not saddled with a shoddy knock-off of The Jerry Springer Show. No, instead dealing with topics like "My anorexic, cross-dressing, communist son has a drinking problem" his show deals with more serious topics... Okay, I actually have no idea what Mr. Wilkos' new(ish) show deals with, as daytime television often eludes me. A quick look at the website has given me a little taste, though. According to the ticker, I should call the show if I "know a teen that is roaming the streets," if I "need Steve to let someone have it," or if I "need help with an unsolved murder." Unfortunately, it provides a different phone number for each situation. As a result, I'm unsure what number to call to since I need Steve to let a teen roaming the streets have it because they are hiding information concerning an unsolved murder.

Now, it seems Steve has turned his talk show success into a quality endorsement opportunity. Why not? Egging people on to sell their gold seems like a natural transition from breaking up fights between pimps and prostitutes and facilitating talk show topics like "My obese, transvestite caddy can't read a green*", doesn't it? He's gone from serving as the muscle in some of the least civilized confrontations ever filmed to serving as a front man for something that seems like a swindle concocted by a certain Dutch super-villain. . (He loves go-ooooold.) That's only natural, right?

Right?

*This topic may not have been covered yet, but it's coming soon. It's a serious issue.

Needed: A new ad campaign

A redheaded woman is currently staring at me. It looks like an angry stare. The more I take notice of it, the more I feel as if she's attempting to her some strange optical power to rupture all of the blood vessels in my head and make my brain ooze out my ears. I feel like I should be a little concerned.

No, I'm not face-to-face with a fiery super villain who is out to seek revenge on all that have bad-mouthed "Bromance." I'm looking at an online advertisement.

The ad, for something called Retail Report Card, features this young woman (looking as if I just kicked her Irish setter), standing beneath the words "Needed: Mystery Shoppers." I have always wondered about mystery shopping. If it was for a legitimate source, it seems like a job many folks would enjoy. I know all too many folks that could walk around a retail store all day long. With that idea in mind, one might think this ad should feature someone who looks to be enjoying him-or-(most likely)-herself. You could make it seem like a fun way to pass the time to get people interested. Instead, this company has seemingly taken the intimidation route.

It's like they're saying, "We need mystery shoppers... Oh, you're not interested? Sure, that's fine. Go ahead and close your browser, turn off your computer, and run out to your car... You'll be perfectly safe. We certainly haven't fiddled under the hood or tampered with your breaks. What? You're staying in your apartment? Well, I'm sure you will sleep well, and certainly won't wake up to any regrettable situations. Nevertheless, if something unfortunate would happen to you, just remember this once you are well - we NEED mystery shoppers."

Another alternative to the current, "you'll regret not joining us" ad featuring this woman who looks like she might be close to beating up a chubby first grader for his lunch money would be for the advertisers to embrace the "mystery" in mystery shopping. Where's the poor depiction of Sherlock Holmes scouring retail aisles with magnifying glass in hand? Where's the drawing of Sasquatch, a martian, and the Loch Ness monster casually checking out items marked for clearance? Heck, where's Mystery from VH1 attempting to "start a set" with ladies in the frozen food section, only to have a box of Eggos thrown at his face?*

*This Wikipedia page for "The Pickup Artist" is the first result listed when one searches for "mystery" via Google. That's right, this guy who dresses like a cross between Captain Jack Sparrow and Orville Wright, and is featured in a reality show where he teaches female-fearing males pickup strategies that step long past that "creepy" borderline is the top "mystery" in the eyes of the top search engine in the online world. Mystery fiction has been around for around 150 years. The mystery genre brought us Sherlock Holmes. It brought us the Hardy Boys. It even brought us Scooby Doo. Yet, a guy that looks like he misplaced his mug of grog is the top "mystery" result? Are you still looking for signs of the Apocalypse?

Alas, I have little background in advertising, and this rage-filled redhead continues to attempts to telepathically strangle my soul. The ad isn't fun-filled. It doesn't have any mystery about it. (Aside from why this woman is so angry with me... I usually don't get that look until after I talk to a girl.) Perhaps brow-sweating intimidation is the best way to get people interested in this opportunity. Whatever the case may be, I'm not going to stick around to find out. I hope I don't wake up in the morning to find half of my television at the foot of my bed with wires strewn everywhere.

Quick hitters

- I drove by a gas station today that had a sign that read, "Yes, we do have a carwash." Believe it or not, I found this odd. It seems that most of the carwashes I have encountered in my life have been somewhat distinguishable. When I encounter places with carwashes, my mind immediately identifies it as such, often leading to a bit of inner monologue that sounds like, "Hey, that's a carwash."* I like to think that most minds are pretty sharp when it comes to identifying carwashes. Thus, it would seem that advertising the service on a sign would be rather moot effort.

*At times, this might be followed by "Hey, My car certainly isn't clean. I should wash my car there."**

**In 99-percent of cases, an excuse not to wash my car follows. Such excuses may come in the form of, "Nah, I did just wash it a few (days/weeks/months) ago," "Nah, I think it's supposed to (rain/snow) (tomorrow/next week/this year)," or "Nah, little smart-alecks in grocery store parking lots have only written 'Wash me' on my back window three times so far."

Unnecessary advertising aside, I have another issue with this sign. I don't want to read answers to questions I'm not asking. I have driven by this gas station on several occasions in my time behind the wheel (that's a car steering wheel... I don't just hang out behind old wagon wheels. I'm saving that for the "hobo period" of my life. It should be an interesting time.), and I have never once thought of running inside to ask the counter-jockey if they indeed had a carwash. What would happen if I took this same, "openly advertising answers to questions no one asks" approach to life? It would be a massive waste of my valuable time***. I can't afford to spend time making signs that read, "Yes, I do have brown hair."

Along with that, my build isn't exactly conducive to carrying around signs all the time. Think how much strength it would take for me to lug around a sign that says, "No, I'm not really doing anything exciting tonight... but Lost is on, so I'll definitely watch that. I'm still trying to figure out what the deal is with Richard Alpert. Why doesn't that guy age? And will all this time traveling end now that John Locke has turned the underground wheel? And what effects might the time travel have on those remaining on the island? And I still can't figure out the smoke monster. Don't even get me started on the whole Christian Shepherd issue... I think he's been there before...," and so on.

***You know, that valuable time spent watching horrible television and then writing stuff no one reads about how awful it is.

- I ended up sitting next to a KU fan at Saturday's "Sunflower Showdown." (Lousy tickets.) Had the Wildcats been able to reign in a victory, this situation wouldn't have been an issue. Alas, such was not the case. As a result, I spent the final seconds of the contest feeling like I was sitting next to someone rooting for Sauron in The Lord of the Rings. (Nerd alert.) It was painful. I can think of a long list of people or things I would rather sit beside than a Jayhawk in the midst of a loss to KU. The list includes: someone that knows nothing about basketball that hasn't showered for a week; a grizzly bear with a taste for human flesh; someone that prefers to tell detailed stories about their most recent trips to the proctologist; and a cloud of nano-robots programmed to destroy skinny individuals with heads seemingly too large for their bodies.

- Word is now spreading that the Atlanta Falcons of the National Football League (that's NFL, for those who struggle with acronyms) are hoping to trade the rights to quarterback Michael Vick who is nearing the end of a prison sentence that resulted from a very unfortunate situation involving dog-fighting. A friend mentioned the other day that the Kansas City Chiefs, the pro football team I back through thick or (mostly) thin, should take a chance on the former Pro Bowl quarterback. There was only one response that crossed my mind: I think KC Wolf might work on his resignation letter if that were to happen.

They're super?

Despite the fact that the Super Bowl game that was played on Sunday was one of the greatest in the 43-year history of the contest, all some people want to talk about is the commercials. That's right, instead of covering important things like how close the Cardinals were to winning or how strange it was to see Max Weinberg playing drums with Conan O'Brien nowhere in sight, they just want to talk about ads. 

Who am I to argue with them?

This may very well be the first in a series of Writings reviewing the video advertisements aired on Super Bowl Sunday. (It also could be the last in a series... Who am I to try to predict the future?)

Bridgestone: Hot Item
This commercial had a lot of promise... well, in my opinion, anyway. Anytime you can work some House of Pain into an ad, I'm all for it. Unfortunately, it forced me to turn against it 10 seconds in. Sure, it's fun to see the astronauts bouncing in rhythm to some early 90s beats rather than just testing out 3 irons, but Bridgestone ruins it all with the following "fine print" message down toward the bottom of the screen: "Professional driver on closed road. Do not attempt."

Really? We're to the point that we have to include that on an ad featuring a lunar craft? Sure it's a tire commercial, but you're still showing a moon car. I don't think normal "cover our butts" safety warnings apply. Twelve people have walked on the moon, some people don't even know we've been to the moon and yet we have to warn people about the rules of the cratered roads?

Sorry folks, but if you ever somehow end up on the moon - whether it's via NASA space craft, alien abduction, teleportation, or some form of conveyance even Steven Hawking couldn't wrap his mind around - it seems that you aren't allowed to tear around the lunar hills like the Dukes of Hazzard on pep pills. Sure, that moon buggy that you somehow ended up behind the wheel of is a pretty amazing piece of vehicular technology and there's not another being (especially one in a motorized moon vehicle) within approximately 238,855 miles, but you don't want to take any risks. Let's stick to riding the brake and using hand signals in the absence of turn indicators.


Fast and Furious: Trailer
It is trailers like this that make me wonder if the world would be better off if the aliens from Independence Day (how's that from an up-to-date reference?) brought their ships our way and obliterated every movie theater on the planet.

What's wrong with it? That's kind of like asking, "What's wrong with eating from the dumpster at the zoo?"

First, are there really that many people pining for another installment in this franchise? Yeah, I understand this one has "origina parts" because the cast of the original epic is back together. I'm sorry, I guess I missed the circulating of petitions to reunite the crew in wooden-acting bliss one last time.

Also, how does the removal of two determiners from a title (see title of original film: The Fast and The Furious) pass for the name of a sequel? Why subject your fans to this, when you could take the easy route of just tabbing a number on the end? (This would have to at least be The Fast and The Furious 14, right?) If that's not enough, you can pin cheesy tag line on after the number, like "Die Harder" or "Secret of the Ooze." (The Fast and The Furious 14: Running on Empty?)

Then again, it may be a fitting title. After all, it covers how quickly the movie will be out of theaters and on home video (Fast), along with the temperment anyone who actually pays the film will probably have after sitting through it for 15 minutes (... and Furious).


Doritos: Crystal Ball
This commercial seemed to draw the best reaction from the crowd I watched the game with. Advertisers out there (and I'm sure this blog is a "must read" for most) take note: the key ingredient to entertaining potential customers simple... some guy has to get hit in the groin.

Don't believe me? Perhaps you would like to hear it from one of the great minds of our time.

It works on so many levels.

The written equivalent of a headache

Weeks ago, I thought I had things figured out. I started to get a bit of a cold, but tried a new (to me... it's not something I created in my bathtub) medication to combat such effects. The result? The symptoms were minimized and the duration was shorter than a bear fight on a beet farm* Naturally, when cold symptoms returned days ago, I put this medication back in my corner and expected a quick KO. Instead, the cold symptoms have battled back and are putting up a better fight than a pair of potbellied pigs after an opened bag of Cheetos.** Now my days are full of hacks, sneezes, and more sinus pressure than Snuffleupagus' trunk after an unfortunate Big Bird step.

Be warned, the following thoughts come from a cold-clouded mind.

*If you found this metaphor to be sensical in the slightest, you too can post your own Writings! (That, or I need to quit writing while watching "The Office.")

**I can't blame this one on The Office... but it's a funny picture, no? Crazy pigs.

- It seems that I missed out on the opportunity to meet "Subway Jared" today. That's right, my lifelong dream of receiving a quick and utterly pointless greeting from a guy who became a "celebrity" soley because he lost a ton of weight by eating mediocre sub sandwiches was thwarted... It's going to be tough to sleep tonight.

- It seems anything that leads to any sort of weight loss these days is marketed as the new miracle diet. There's the Subway diet, Atkin's diet, grapefruit diet, cookie diet, and so many others. Can it be long before we see the Windex diet or the Sucker-Punch Your Gut Away diet? In fact, I weigh the same as I did in high school... Can I market the Spend 94.6-percent of Your Free Time on Your Couch diet?

- I had not heard of this until now, but I think it's pretty hilarious. It's a Facebook application called the Whopper Sacrifice. If a Facebook user "unfriends" 10 "friends"* they get a coupon for a free Whopper. It really seems like a great way to figure out what you're worth to others. If you're unfriended for this promotion, you're worth approximately 1/10 Whopper, which really amounts to about a tomato slice, some lettuce, and a bit of the bun. What a great way to show people what they mean to you.
Despite the fact that I'm a bit of a BK connoisseur (which is probably the equivalent of claiming to be bilingual when one speaks English and pig-latin), I certainly would not drop 10 friends for a free Whopper.
... No, it's not because the promotion has been discontinued... Surely not.

- ... Mmmmmmm.... Whopper.

*Are all your Facebook friends (if you are, in fact, part of the Facebook community) actually people you'd consider friends? Can people who haven't spoken to each other since the time one told the other to quit glancing at his paper in high school accounting class even be considered friends? I would like to push for Facebook to extend its terminology to include more than just "friends." I want to be able to choose "acquaintances." Maybe I could label "people I might recognize in a public setting." Perhaps even "people who gave me the stinkeye." And don't we all want to select a few "enemies." C'mon Facebook, I'm not really Thomas Magnum's friend. Let me tell the community that he's a "fictional person whose comically hokey television show I watched an unhealthy amount while living in a town I grew to despise."

- Do you ever have to sorts through handfuls of gold coins just to find some change for the laundromat? Are you sick of ugly gold jewelry filling up your junk drawer when that space could be better used by rubber bands and dried-out pens from your local grocery store? Most everyone can relate to such hassles... but don't fret. You see, there's now a better use for that gold than putting it in tin cans to create maracas for your weekend mariachi band. One company will actually pay money for your gold. That's right, Ca$h for Gold USA (as seen on TV in a delightfully charming, entertaining, and informative ad) will pay you (in U.S. dollars!) for all that gold, which you previously deemed worthless. It's truly amazing what people will pay money for these days. Nevertheless, rest easy and save that trip to the dumpster... that gold Rolex, your chest of pirate booty, and even your wedding band are actually worth something.

- It's a good thing my computer does not have a sarcasm checker, or else the previous paragraph may have forced my computer into a catatonic state. Heaven knows it flirts with such action often anyway.

Quick Thought on an Ad... Well, Quick for the Author

Often, at some point in the course of an automobile commercial, you'll see the following text quickly flash on the bottom of your television screen: "Professional driver on a closed course. Please do not attempt." In most cases, this is an outstanding advice. Granted, that Saturn zipping through the winding roads on the countryside with no regard for traffic lanes or rules of the road may look to be enjoying itself, but if you go out and mimic this in your 1994 Ford Tempo odds are you may wind up flipped over in ditch or embedded in the grill of an 18-wheeler.

Recently though, I noticed a car ad that I feel should not put forth this message, no matter how small the text is. It features a large arena that appears to be some sort of 21st-Century Colosseum. A crowd of thousands pounds its hands in unison as some sort of motor carriage wheels out on the arena floor. Like Maximus Decimus Meridius on his way to another gladiatorial victory, the car moves slowly, as if it's absorbing the cheers of the crowd. (As best I can tell, the crowd does not refer to the car as "Spaniard.")

It is at this point that the "Do not attempt," message presents itself, like and unwanted magazine salesperson.

Honestly? This message is seen as necessary in this commercial?

Call me crazy, but if someone has the time, resources and motivation to:
1) secure a plot of land large enough for an arena that seats thousands;
2) design the arena;
3) acquire the materials necessary for arena construction;
4) construct the arena, following proper building ordinances;
5) hire thousands of people to sit in the arena;
6) have the crowd practice their uniform clapping and cheering;
7) and slowly cruise out to the center of the arena while the crowd does their part on cue;
I think they should be encouraged to follow their dreams. Granted, it's a pretty odd dream, but aren't those the basis of pretty much every reality show on television?