Tuesday, March 4, 2008

SAD and the Brush with Overindulgent Chickens


This morning, as I watched the morning news and waited until the absolute last minute to catch my bus, I noticed something extremely odd. There is a sequence on the news program that I watch in the morning called "Wonderful Ones," in which parents send in pictures of their children and the said pictures are plastered on the screen with a little blurb by the casters as to how the child will be celebrating, where, and with whom.

This segment always heats my core with rage because it is not only a sheer violation of the child's right to privacy (come on, you know in ten years, when the parents bring out the DVR of this clip, it will be totally embarrassing), but the parents sound like such schmucks. For example: Kailey will be celebrating a farm motif for her birthday, celebrating with big brother Kevin and her parents Todd and Julie. Hmmm, farm motif for a first birthday. Do you really think little Kailey wanted a fucking farm motif? What is even better, is that an androgynous blob of baby flesh dressed in head to toe camo is called Kailey. I was stunned, but I am also now well aware that while homosexuality might be genetic, it can still get a shove through proper nurturing.

But back to the segment. In the last week, they changed the background surrounding the pictures from shitty 80s clip art to shitty 90s clip art. Leaps and bounds for this tiny CBS affiliate. Then, something else struck my ears with the force of an armada of hummingbirds blowing taps at a bowling alley. The background music had also been changed. Instead of shitty 1980s car commercial music, there was now some bastardized Danny Elfman carnival music playing in the background.

I quickly cranked up the volume and dropped my jaw in horror as pictures of camo laden, baby lesbians gave way to my own internal hallucinations of Pennywise making a California ham roll on a tractor.

I decided it best to change the channel. So I did.

A commercial for Egg Beaters was playing on the other station. A stockboy had just finished stacking about four million cartons of the disgusting fake eggs on the shelf and then bent down to see if there were any more in his obviously empty case. He looked back and they were gone, stolen by a marauding group of mother hens who could not tell the fucking difference between an egg and a fucking mother fucking shit in a box craptacular square fucking cartoned egg substitute (the announcer told me so). The problem with this was, the chickens, after moving all these cartons, tore ass out of the store, passing a rotisserie oven full of dead, cooking chickens.

This made me make a minor comparison to the current degradation of these great United States. The people, so obsessed with consumerism, have given over even their children to the needs and wants of the corporation. No one can recognize their children anymore because they are too dressed up in the latest designer clothes and medicated with the latest name brand anti-depressants. This need to consume makes us ignore the solemnity of death and to totally forget the wisdom of our now departed loved ones, thus forgetting so much history that it is doomed to repeat itself.

Did anyone else see this commercial and get filled with existential dread and despair?

2 comments:

aintshakespeare said...

I have not seen the commercial, but I certainly get the problem with consumerism. I visited my friends house recently, he's a real miser, and I was struck by how neat it was. Not because he is so good at cleaning, but because of two things; 1. he has no children and 2. he has very little shit. It started me to thinking: What would I keep if I had to run out of the house with only the things I could carry? And do I really need the other stuff?

Sadly, the answer is, Yes. I need it bad. Which is why I remain broke as hell. No kids, school supplies play second fiddle to daddy's new drum machine. Listen to the rhythms.

mikraas said...

My hubby and I mute commercials during our Law and Order marathons. Sometimes we imagine what they are saying, but make it much, much dirtier. Believe me, it's much funnier that way.