Thursday, August 31, 2006
Things Zombie Hates Thursday, With Special Guest El Bastardo
Worship at your leisure.
1.) Medication commercials.
I hate commercials for medications.
I do not want to turn on my TV so I can watch "Dog the Bounty Hunter" for four hours straight while hanging my head over the side of the couch and drooling only to see a commercial for some random medication.
I hate the ancient vaginas rambling about how they don't let osteoporosis get them down. I don't give a shit about the tiny little fractures in your spine that were making you get short and bent-over and ugly. Who cares. Except you, I mean. I guess. Whatever.
I hate the smiling middle-aged woman telling me that her husband's erectile dysfunction no longer embarasses him because he talked to his doctor. Doesn't she know that her husband's impotence is supposed to cause him shame and embarassment? Doesn't she know that the fact he can't get it up on his own is supposed to drive him to drink and scream at her and tell her it's because she's old and fat and ugly and then knock her around of a Saturday night? DUH. She's not supposed to go on TV and announce that he was such a lamer that he actually admitted it and talked to his doctor about it and started taking a pill for it that may cause a four hour erection that will need immediate medical attention! That's crazy. Where have all the cowboys gone, indeed.
I hate the radiant and smiling young people frolicking in the ocean now that herpes isn't such a pain in the genitals anymore. I hate them smiling and telling me that it's still possible to spread herpes to others, even though they are taking the miracle medicine that maybe, possibly, can reduce outbreaks. Wait a minute, sounds like this medicine is pretty worthless to me. It might not reduce your outbreaks and you can still spread the herpes around...why fucking bother?
Oh, but what I hate the most is the list of side-effects all of these commercials give us at the end. Pharmaceutical companies must think we're all a bunch of idiots. Well, granted, most of us are. But still.
I saw an allergy medication commercial that listed some of the possible side-effects as being congestion, stuffy nose, coughing and sneezing. Uhm, hello? The side-effects are the same as the fucking allergies themselves. What's the point? Here, America! Here is a pill that will cure your allergy symptoms by giving you side-effects that are exactly like your allergy symptoms! Saddle up, hoss, 'cos this shit's expensive, too! Woo!
There is a commercial for a rheumatoid arthritis medication that lists "lymphoma" as a possible side-effect. LYMPHOMA. A SIDE-EFFECT FOR THIS ARTHRITIS MED IS FUCKING CANCER. Yes, rheumatoid arthritis sucks, but I think it's safe to say that we'd all much rather have the arthritis than the fucking cancer this medicine can give you. If anyone thinks cancer is the lesser of two evils, so they can try it out, I invite them over for a nice tumor in the brain, al dente, with a little chemotherapy on the side. Oh, and cole slaw. Mmm, cole slaw.
I also hate the lists of reasons why you can't take a certain medicine that are tacked onto these commercials, in such a soothing, nice tone of voice. "If you are a one-legged, one-eyed, gallbladder-less Pygmy from Darkest Borneo, This Dangerous Pill may not be right for you. Talk to your doctor before taking This Dangerous Pill. If you cannot afford This Dangerous Pill on your own - and really, what Pygmy with one leg, one eye, and no gallbladder from Darkest Borneo can afford it - Pfizer may be able to help offset the costs if you ask really nicely and promise us your first, second and third born children. Maybe. If we feel like it. Aren't we nice that we'll think about maybe, possibly cutting you some slack on the costs of This Dangerous Pill, especially when it might give you cancer? We are great."
I really fucking hate that shit. Shut up already. You're interrupting Dog and His Mullet Most Magnificent.
2.) Getting Smashed by a Mattress When There's No One Around to Save Your Dumb Ass.
I really hate it when I'm moving mattresses around, by myself, and by the time I get to the last one - after having moved two box springs and a mattress and a bunch of heavy boxes and stuff - my little arms lose their bones and somehow I get smashed against the wall by the mattress. And then my aforementioned little arms and my just-now-mentioned little legs flail around uselessly, but I am too tired and too weak to get the fucking thing off of me, so I make a small noise, like, "Help," but alas, there is no one around to save me.
So I stay that way for a few minutes and contemplate the meaning of life and where my good Tupperware has got off to and did I leave the gas on and how in blue fuck do I afford my rock and roll lifestyle, anyway? Thereby giving my poor abused little body time to summon up enough energy to slide out from underneath the stupid mattress and then kick it at least five times, to show it exactly who is moving whom around up in this here bizzotch.
And then I am vindicated, because even though I just got my ass whupped by bedding, at least I got in the last kick. SO THERE, SEALY POSTURPEDIC. PWNED.
And now, El Bastardo...
The Fuckwits at The Weather Channel Who Never Seem to Get It Fucking Right.
Morons That Feel Sympathy for People That Do Something Stupid to Themselves.
The well just never runs dry, my friends. It never runs dry.
link | posted by Zombie at 7:05 PM |
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