If I were, TV would be a lot less annoying than it is.
You wouldn’t have commercials for oversized, manly-man pick-ups that clamber over boulders while comedian Denis Leary babbles on in tough guy-speak about torque ratios. What the hell’s a torque ratio and who hauls four tons of road rubble? Most pick-up owners I know would be horrified if their precious bed-liners got scratched.
You wouldn’t have commercials with cars driving ridiculous speeds on empty roads – or, worse, on the salt flats of Utah – just because, c’mon, who does that? If you drove like that, you’d get a ticket – you know you would, and then your spouse would hassle you about it for miles: “I told you you were going too fast. But did you listen – noooo.” Please.
And, listen, if you drive on salt flats, you’re seriously lost, OK? Next time try GPS.
You also would not have 12-minute commercials for prescription medicines. There’s a special place in hell for whatever government yahoo let these things on TV. Who knew there are so many diseases, maladies, conditions, defects and syndromes? By sheer repetition, these things are slowly turning me into a hypochondriac. I wonder “Hmm, maybe I have that.”
Then there’s this: If the wonder drug they want me to ask my doctor about is so damned great, how come they spend the last five minutes of these commercials listing all the horrible side effects, which usually sound a lot worse than whatever the heck I’ve supposedly got in the first place?
Most of all, I would give the thumbs down to all commercials for products related to bodily functions and private regions.
We don’t need these. We don’t need commercials starring cartoon bears with bits of toilet paper stuck to their backsides. We don’t need some British woman asking us about what we use on our bums. That’s just gross.
We don’t need talking beds and chairs complaining about their gassy owners. We don’t need commercials featuring babies running around with a load in the back. (Hey, mom and dad, how about changing the kid instead of buying him a diaper that holds more and in a more aesthetically-pleasing way?)
We don’t need cutesy cartoon depictions of toenail rot, zits, hemorrhoids, bad breath, overactive bladders, phlegmy noses or grumbly intestines.
We get it. We’re human beings. Life is messy, and nobody’s perfect. We don’t need ads constantly reminding us about the human condition when we’re trying to relax. We all know where the pharmacy is – if we need something, we’ll go get it.
Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I prefer a little decorum.
As my pal Moon Dimple said once while watching a commercial in which a woman quizzes a busload of passengers about whether they have occasional constipation or not, “Lady, if I did, I sure as heck wouldn’t be blabbing about it to you.”