I can only imagine what TV teaches my kids, including commercials. Who comes up with this shit? I would love to sit down with whatever marketing geniuses come up with these commercial concepts and ask them one thing:
“What the fuck?”
Every paper towel commercial, for instance: The mother characters never hesitate to hand their toddler a large cup, filled to the rim with milk or juice and then they have the audacity to look surprised when it spills. Mom shrugs and laughs as she grabs a paper towel and, with one swipe, wipes up the spill with a smile and an unaffected gaze and then the dumb bitch hands the child a refill. Hey Lady! Buy a clue! Give that child a sippy cup or, at minimum, why don’ t you consider NOT filling it up all the way. On a side note, it is laughable how spills in commercials almost always result in one manageable and easy to clean up puddle.
The ones that really get me are the commercial moms that give their toddlers and preschoolers free rein in the kitchen. They walk in to find their child covered in flour and standing in a mine field of cracked eggs, puddles of milk and any other variety of things you would find in a pantry or refrigerator strewn about the room. The mother walks in, softly gasps as she surveys the destruction and then she smiles and laughs adoringly as she grabs a couple of paper towels or disinfectant wipes, which we are apparently supposed to believe is all she needed to clean the entire fucking mess, as well as her child. They throw the paper towel away together and then they embrace and laugh. It’s the same scenario for every cleaning product. Have these jackasses who came up with this advertising concept ever met an actual parent? Rather, have they met one who isn’t on a laundry list of anti-psychotics? This marketing strategy would be better suited for use by pharmaceutical companies. Replay the exact same scene, except, rather than paper towels, show the mother grabbing a couple of pills. Pan the camera back to the logo, “Momnesta”. Look, if I walked into the kitchen and saw even a fraction of that destruction, I would lose my damn mind. Seriously. Heads would fucking roll. The neighbors would probably hear me gasp, then the rant would begin, peppered with statements like “this is why we can’t have nice things” and “I’m just a glorified maid” and “why do I bother cleaning up”. If the magic box showed me an advertisement for happy pills that would make my childrens’ path of destruction tolerable, much less adorable, I would buy the fuck out of those pills. I would be the first in line. In the meantime, I will have to suck it up and continue responsible monitoring and supervision of my children until that day comes —but if I got my hands on that pill, I would stock up on paper towels and take a damn nap!
Who remembers the old commercial where the mother and daughter are walking on a beach and the daughter asks the mother, “Mom, do you ever feel–not so fresh”? The mother assures her that it is a problem all women are faced with and, in a nutshell, tells her that douching is the solution. Look, if your daughter comes to you and expresses concern that her vag is getting funky, she doesn’t need to douche, she needs to take a fucking shower. Give her that advice, mmmkay. A little more insight: “feminine wash” is a gimmick. It is the regular ol’ soap with a jacked up price tag because these companies have convinced women that we need to disinfect our squish mitten with magic vagina soap or suffer total humiliation. Good rules of thumb:
1) If your child is out of sight and is being quiet, something is getting fucked up.
2) If your south pole starts to smell, BATHE!