Man, What A Stupid Commercial #008

Unfortunately, due to the fact that I watch both sports as well as professional wrestling, I fall into the target demographic of men who simply do not have any understanding of personal hygiene, despite the fact that I think I take care of myself fairly adequately. That being said, I’m subject to a lot of commercials like this one about men’s deodorant that are obnoxious, and of course, stupid.

The basic synopsis of this commercial is that the spazz of a protagonist is getting his haircut at like Great Clips or some other place where dudes get their hair cut. In fact, when I was seeking this on YouTube, I was perplexed as to why I wasn’t finding it on Great Clips’ YouTube channel, before realizing that it wasn’t even a Great Clips commercial at all. Take the whole deodorant plugs out of this commercial, and it might make an adequate Great Clips commercial in its own right.

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If I ruled the world #5,233

Elevators would be prohibited to stop just one floor.

It agitates me greatly when I’m just trying to get to my floor, and the elevator abruptly stops on floor two, and then an asshole gets on and pushes the button to go to floor three.  Or vice-versa, while going down.  Actually slightly more, while going down.  More than agitation, it’s really sad.  The elevator for just one floor?  Yeah, that should be illegal.

I have to imagine many people are aware of this too.  Otherwise, you wouldn’t get those people who make sheepish remarks and the insincere “sorry” with a bashful smirk on their face.  Don’t apologize, stop being so lazy and go take the fucking stairs.  It’s just one floor.

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I think I’d rather be dead than have frightening B.O.

Rotting taco meat.

That’s probably the best description of the smell emanating from the guy next to me on the stair master machine.  It was kind of unbelievable, because I can’t say that I’ve ever smelled that kind of funk from any human being in my entire life.  It was like the myth of sweating what you eat was actually coming true from this guy or something.

All I know is that it was making me sick to my stomach, and that it turned my stair climbing session into the worst 25 minutes of my entire life.  I seriously can’t fathom how such an odor can come from an actual person.

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There really should be a special airline just for fat fucks

Coming back from Las Vegas was probably the worst part of the trip.  Not only was there the downer of having to leave Las Vegas, but it turned out that the direct flight from Vegas to Atlanta happened to be full of a bunch of insufferable fat fucks whom all seemed to be from Cleveland routing through Atlanta.  And I’m not just saying such pejoratives because I’m bitter, as the above picture evidences, there really were some severely fat fucks on my flight.

There are tons of stories out there about people complaining about fat people on flights; after all, I’ve personally been bumped from a flight due to an aircraft hitting weight limit while there were still three unoccupied seats, among many others I probably have.  But this one was a new one for me, and agitating enough for me to feel inspired to write about it.

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Pussificiation of America: Rolling Bags

I remember when I was in the eighth grade; I had one of those de facto worst days of my life.  I had homework in just about every single class that day, it was rainy and I forgot an umbrella, and at the time, I was a walker to and from school.  My backpack couldn’t contain anymore text books and weighed a million pounds, and I had to relegate to stuffing things into my trumpet case by the way I was in the band back then and had a huge cumbersome trumpet case to lug around too.  I walked home in the rain, furiously upset and discouraged, lugging about 20 lbs. of extra weight, and when I got home, I changed into dry clothing, and sprawled out on my back on the carpet and closed my eyes.

Nowadays, if an eighth grader were in a similar predicament, a parent would complain to the school board to reduce homework, or the necessity of textbooks outright, and in today’s economy, would ultimately go through.  If the parents didn’t pick up the child in their Toyota Sienna with the button-touch automatic opening and closing doors, the child would still be forced to walk home, but instead of carrying a backpack, they would undoubtedly be dragging a rolling bag on wheels.

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God’s car

Apparently, God drives a Chevy Cavalier.

In other amusement brought on by automobiles, on my way home from work the other day, I was mildly irritated when everyone on the road slammed their brakes, bringing traffic to a dangerously instantaneous crawl.

It was caused by a Ford Festiva passing an overly encumbered (full of fat fucks) Lincoln Towncar. Hahahahaha.

When the minority is thought to be the majority

A long time ago, I used to really like to wear baggy clothing.  Partially because I was a lot tubbier than I am these days, and partially because I simply liked to wear really baggy clothing.  However, back in those days, finding shirts that were XXL or larger was almost unheard of, and I would scoff at the legions of large or smaller sized shirts, mostly because they were not my preference.  Subsequently, XXL+ were much rarer, and if you could find the larger sizes, also cost a little extra, which I was willing to pay, for the sake of my “fashion.”  Fortunately for me, such habits have changed over the last decade or so, and my preferred shirt size is appropriately just large.

On a recent trip to Virginia, I wanted to pick up an ACC Champion Virginia Tech t-shirt, and no better place to look for one than in Virginia itself.  It’s a fairly basic shirt, with nothing too fancy, and I learned that Dick’s Sporting Goods stores don’t really prefer to sell basic stuff, opting for the over-designed, and name-branded clothing manufacturers, that they can charge $20+ for, as opposed to the basic and simple things sold much cheaper in Blacksburg itself.  Or, a Wal-Mart, which could actually be relied upon to sell some more basic wares, and I was delighted to find a wide variety of shirts, coats, as well as other logo-branded items.  At first, it was a little overwhelming, with all the things they had to sell, but when I dove into the racks to actually start looking for stuff for me, that elation began to turn into frustration.  Eventually, it turned into disdain and disgust.

Y’see, despite the wide variety of basic, inexpensive designs that Wal-Mart had available, I was duped into thinking that their stocks were just fine, since there were still literal stacks of every single available option, still on the shelves.  But upon further examination revealed that in 95% of those cases, the only available sizes left were XXL, 3XL, and flabbergasting 4XL.  With the exception of the two large-sized shirts that I ended up buying, everything else was of the gigantic fat-fuck size variety.  And unfortunately, the ACC Champion shirts were all in the same boat, too.  Apparently, Wal-Mart seems to have over-estimated their interpretation of just how many morbidly obese people would be in the market for school-branded apparel, and short-changed those of whom were looking for more logical sizing.

What this says about the clientele of Wal-Mart, or the state of society in which we live in today is certainly something, but in the end, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s all a little sad and pathetic.  I want to believe that if fat-fuck sized clothing were harder to acquire for some of these blobs, then maybe it would motivate them to do something about their affliction.  Not accommodate, or cater to.