As much as Laura and I love watching the Tour de France, by the end of the three-week saga, we are insane thanks to the endless monotony of the repetitive ads during commercial breaks. Consider these.
Every time I brush my teeth, I keep hoping to see a new muscle pop out. Sadly, still no sign. Guess that is what I get for not buying RipFire and the power of nitric oxide.
Our couch is sagging from our time in front of the television taking in every stage of the Tour. If only our Furniture Fix plastic slats would arrive. We would be sitting pretty. All for less than $15 too, but wait – “I can get a double set for that price? What a deal.” If we ate all the pizza, burgers and buffet food in the commercials that bombard us, we would look like the sumo wrestlers in the Furniture Fix ads and need that double set.
Then there is this confusing matter.
“Laura, is it the Michelob Ultra commercial where people swipe their fingers as though a real life iPad could change reality, or is that from the Land Rover ad,” I asked during one stage?
“Come on, dear,” Laura replied with disappointment in my ignorance. “You should know by now it is both commercials.”
How stupid of me to forget, or, could the stupidity be from the two ad directors making commercials so similar that neither have a hope of standing out.
Summers should be laid-back, but Rocket and I are so stressed about possible cat burglars in our neighborhood that leaving the house is way too trying no matter whether our insurance is Travelers, Geico or some other insurance company assuring me they can save me money and my peace of mind. I need a trike bike and the same determined look on my face the little kid has buzzing along in the Cadillac commercial to get away from it all.
Every time I see the kid trying to break the Volkswagen Tiguan pinata with a puny little wiffle ball bat, I want to scream. “Use a real baseball bat, you moron.” While we are talking about bats, will someone please take a bat to the “flash mob” dancer with bad cell phone reception and beat him to a pulp?
What kind of sick joke did parents pull when naming their son, Will Power? That is right, Will Power. Good for him – unfortunate for us – that he uses his will power and driving skills as a top Indy Car racer. Versus pumps him endlessly in commercials as I try to use my will power to telepathically explode the TV when the ad appears.
Izod outdid themselves with scads of people so beautiful that they could not possibly understand a fast race car, hit a tee shot from a lava rock in the middle of the ocean or ever really spend time in the sun for fear of a wrinkle. Then there is the mind-numbing music from some unknown band in red jump suits that accompanies the commercial. The first licks of that tune and Laura changes channels.
The Nissan Leaf commercial where everything from hair dryers to computers run by gas engines is well done, but after so many viewings I now find myself choking on gas fumes every time the alarm clock goes off.
As we cycle, inattentive drivers are always a threat. Carrying identification is important. However, I grow so sick of Bob Roll’s obnoxious commentary and his even more obnoxious Road ID ads – “Wanna go for a ride?” – that any sight of him on his bike would make me want to run him off the road. “O-H_H_H_H_H_H!”
There are a few commercials we do like even after multiple viewings. When the mother of the dunking five-year-old pumps her fists and squeals “scholarship,” we remember so many mothers at any basketball camp in the country hoping their little Johnny is just a few years away from basketball stardom. Makes us smile every time.
Every man alive would like to have a tank top tossed into his face or have a pillow fight with his wife or girlfriend like those in the Schick Hydro commercial. The woman tying on her bikini in some alcohol ad distracts me to the point I cannot remember who made the advertisement.
However, the best ad of them all is not an ad at all. The Clean Bottle man actually running along with the riders on steep climbs is wonderful. Its simplicity is made even better knowing that the wearer hauls the costume up the steep mountains by bicycle to a prime viewing spot before donning it.
The time the bottled runner is on the television costs only a fraction of the hundreds of thousands it took to produce any of the commercials that now make us sick. However, I find myself thinking how cool it would be for the Clean Bottle man to wear the SuperPages.com golden cape and fly up the mountain instead. Man, how sick is that?