Man, What A Stupid Commercial #007

Now when it comes to food, I don’t have any problem with Subway generally.  Sure, their meat is all pre-sliced, processed, and kind of rubbery in consistency, but when you’re feeling lazy but at the same time you don’t want to eat too much like a slob, Subway is that sort of happy compromise of quick food that’s not completely abysmal to your health.  Sure, in the end, Subway for me is like the popular joke about Chinese food and I’m often hungry again in an hour, but for those 59 minutes prior, I’m typically satisfied, and not completely guilty.

Granted, the Subway closest to my house is staffed by a bunch of hoods that once tried to swindle me, and actually thought I was gullible enough to believe that subs for three people would equate to $22 but that’s another story for another time.

But this Subway commercial is pretty stupid, as just about the vast majority of commercials typically are.  But it’s at the 0:13 second mark where the commercial goes from typically stupid to especially stupid, when they show a bunch of overenthusiastic teenagers dressed to the nines on what appears to be the night of the prom – going to Subway for dinner.

Look, I know the whole world is dealing with some hard economic times right now, but when you’re taking your prom dates to Subway for dinner, there are clearly misguided priorities in play at the moment.  Now I’ll give it up to the one kid for really selling the enthusiasm and even keeping up his gentlemanly duties of holding the door open for the girls, but I have to imagine that the actors and actresses were even thinking in their heads “ugh, fuck no, going to Subway on prom night??

But the rest of the commercial goes downhill really fast.  From the Hispanic-looking kid explaining to his date (0:17) how the customization works, as if there was actually a chance that she had never ever been to one of the 37,000 Subways on the planet, to where the same kid is clearly speaking with his mouth full (0:20), probably making a joke about how funny it is that they’re portraying high school kids going to fucking Subway on the night of the prom, while the others laugh in agreement at the irony of the situation.

It also doesn’t help that they’re all minorities; invisibly implying that all the white kids are the ones packing the fancy restaurants, arriving in limousines and eating steaks, lobsters and lavish imported produce, while Pedro and Jamal are buying six-inch turkey subs for everyone.  Part of the point of the prom is to have a time that is extraordinary, with hopes that it ends up with some teenage sex.  I’d classify going to Subway as something that is quite ordinary, and I’d wager that in reality, would most definitely put the kibosh on any chance of any teenage nookie at the end of the night.

But I’d have to say that in spite of this horrifically misguided attempt at commercial, it’s ironically rescued at the very end by Ryan Howard, the Philadelphia Phillies’ $125 million dollar first baseman, who schills for Subway on the side.  But it’s almost ironically perfect the way he goes BAM at the end of the commercial, pointing down at the table.  It’s like he’s asked what a stupid commercial really is, and he smiles, leans back in his chair and goes “BAM, this is, bitch.”

What the fuck is wrong with the Japanese?

A French restaurant in Tokyo is essentially serving dirt. And charging upwards of the equivalent of $110 to do so!  What the fuck is wrong with Japanese people?

Seriously, it’s hard to imagine that this is like one of those situations like lobsters, where lobsters were once the food of the poor, but then was turned into the epitome of high-class dining by some talented chefs.  It’s fucking dirt.  You know what people eat in North Korea because their dictatorship hoards all the edible food for the regime?  DIRT.  It doesn’t matter how much they describe it as “natural and pure,” it’s still shit from the ground that’s part volcanic ash, part excrement, part decayed organic matter, and all well, DIRT.  There’s no lower denigrating terms to describe than what it already is, it’s fucking dirt.

I get that foodies and snobs want unique and exclusive, but you really have to ask yourself if the pursuit of such exclusivity is worth getting to the point of where you’re eating dirt.  It doesn’t matter how you spin it, as long as dirt is being spooned or forked into your mouth, YOU ARE EATING DIRT.  The stuff that dogs bury their shit in.  The stuff that humans bury dead humans in.  The stuff that people put great efforts into removing from your homes, your clothing and your skin.  Lobster sprinkled with dirt from the Kanto region?  You’re still eating dirt.  Filet mignon with a touch of herbs, seasonings and dirt from the Kansai district?  You’re still eating dirt.

Know what?  There’s really nothing more I can say on the matter, because this really is kind of one of those bottomed-out situations that can’t be beaten into the ground much further.  The Japanese and all their mindless Weeaboo sheep can enjoy eating their fucking dirt along with their tentacle porn, human-sized anime body pillows and used panty vending machines, I’m just going hang out here in the United States and eat some, y’know, food.

I JUST WANT A BANANA SPLIT

Atlanta’s food scene is sometimes aggravating.  I can tell you about thirty different places where you could get an interesting taco or some barbecue, or where to get more tacos.  Tacos are very popular for some reason, which I can’t really complain about because I do like tacos too.  But the bottom line is that I know Atlanta has some pretty good eateries, the variety sometimes feels lacking; I have no idea where to go if I wanted a massively stuffed pastrami sandwich like what would be available at a classic New York Jewish deli.

But of all the recent food trends, the one that currently has my ire is the very much now overkill trend of frozen yogurt shops.  Specifically the ones that label themselves as “Fro Yo” because people are too fucking stupid to actually verbalize the words “frozen” and “yogurt.”  And I especially dislike the ones where customers have to serve themselves, with bucket-sized cups, soft-serve machines, and toppings where most fat people are too indulgent to show any restraint and end up spending $7+ on a bucket of frozen garbage.  When I go into an eatery, I’m paying money for people to do the fucking work for me, to serve me; not make me down my own fucking work.  And how stingy has the world become to where food is literally measured on a scale and charged by the ounce?  Eyeballing it, human error, and the honor system used to be sufficient, but now these fucking FroYo joints want to charge you every single penny including the weight of the cup for every transaction made at these shitty business models.

The unfortunate casualty to the frozen yogurt epidemic has clearly been ice cream.  Just about every single Baskin Robbins I can think of off the top of my head is either closed down, or is too far for any sort of normal convenience, and a lot of the smaller joints either are too mom and pop to advertise and be discovered, or are also, too few and far between for me to possibly visit within conventional reason.

I don’t really understand it either; they’re both cold, fattening, sugary concoctions, but for some reason, people seem to believe that frozen yogurt is akin to non-caloric water whereas ice cream is pure, frozen lard or something.  Neither is good for you in excess, yet the influx of frozen yogurt businesses has decimated the ice cream industry, as far as I’m concerned here in Atlanta.

It’s really saddening that people today have so little self-control that only way to implement any sort of restraint is to eliminate it outright.

I just want a fucking banana split.  And I can’t find anywhere to have one served to me.   I could identify at least ten places off the top of my head where you could get fucking froYo, but I can’t find anywhere remotely convenient where I could get a god damn banana split.  I don’t eat a lot of ice cream, because lactose does nightmares to my digestive system, but I really want a banana split lately.  I honestly wouldn’t be able to say when the last time I had one was, because it has been possibly over a decade by now.  I know they’re dietary nightmares on all accounts, but I would like at least one ice cream indulgence for the next decade.

How much the WWE has changed

If anyone were to ask me who I thought was going to win between CM Punk and The Rock, I would have said CM Punk every time.  It’s no secret that The Rock is a part-time wrestler, and there would be absolutely no point in giving the WWE World Title to a part-time wrestler who is only biding his time until his next movie role begins filming.  So color me surprised that the WWE went ahead and put the World Title on The Rock at the Royal Rumble.

Obviously, this makes things pretty crystal clear of what is going to transpire over the next three months of WWE programming; with John Cena being the winner of the Royal Rumble and can choose which championship he wants to go for, there’s no question he’s going after The Rock, and at the same time, hope to avenge his loss at last year’s Wrestlemania, as well as win the World Title.  Cena will win this year, as The Rock will no doubt have some movie obligation to do by April.  This subsequently sets up an instant Punk/Cena feud, where Punk can cite that Cena has never beaten him for the title, and that he wants it back.

But what the point of writing about wrestling today isn’t so much current events as much as it is just musing about how much the WWE has changed in recent times.  I used to believe, and justifiably, by these rules when it came to watching WWE programming:

  • Part-time wrestlers never beat full-time wrestlers
  • You never win in your hometown
  • The business always comes out on top

It’s occurred to me that just about all of these are hardly the case anymore, and that more or less the company has done a complete 180 in regards to how these things are handled.  I can’t necessarily say I agree with the choices the WWE makes, but seeing as how they’re as strong as ever and are the ever-adapting entertainment machine it really doesn’t matter in the end.

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Photos: Allison’s Rockin’ 60’s Murder Mystery

In honor of Allison’s birthday, instead of an ordinary shindig, it was an evening of 1960’s retro and MURDER.  A whole bunch of us partook in a groovy 60’s themed Murder Mystery Dinner Party, revolving around the far out murderous occurrences that happened on the night of the party for Nutmeg Vant’s safe return from being shipwrecked for several months.

In other words, a great big elaborate dorky LARP, but it was a ton of fun, and it was quite enjoyable seeing everyone get involved and put forth such great efforts into getting into their characters, and acting out our parts as best as we could.

Much to the chagrin of some, taking pictures during the evening would have been odd and out-of-character from being the greatest baseball player that ever lived, so all the goofy pictures had to wait until afterwards.

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