Dear DSW (Department Shoe Warehouse): Congratulations, you have achieved the seemingly-impossible in your commercials. You have actually made me want to punch shoes in the face. Namely, shoes that show up and sing Christmas songs to you, insulting your choice of gifts. Now, as of this writing, I have yet to have any shoes do this to me, so it’s unclear as to whether this reflex will apply to ANY talking shoe, or only the boorish and rude ones. I will let you know, but until then, all shoes would do well to watch what they say around me.
Dear “Erectile Dysfunction” medication companies: please stop using side-effects disclaimers as thinly-veiled attempts at bragging. Be honest. You know the whole “if it lasts for more than 4 hours” thing wouldn’t have been mentioned unless it actually happened at some point, probably to one of you who came up with the list of side effects. Be honest, drug company, you know if this happens to you, the first call you make will NOT be to your doctor. It’s going to be to one of your old college buddies, to say, “Dude, guess what I’m looking at right now.” You know, the same guys who team up in the Flomaxx commercials. Even worse, if you’re Brett Favre, you’ll just snap a picture and send it to all of the power dancers on your contact list. Please, drug companies… just stop. We don’t want to hear about your four hour escapades, we don't want to hear about your hearing or vision problems, and we still don’t want to see your creepy side-by-side bathtubs on the beach… or in a forest… or skiing down the side of K2. Okay, well, maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing THAT.
Dear Texas Bay Area Credit Union: I do not employ your services, however, I implore you… please make that lady in your commercial stop dancing. Or whatever it is that she’s doing. I mean, I get that she’s supposed to be acting “excited” that she just won $10,000. I have never won that much money, but it would likely make me leap up, scream, and run from the room. Or, as Cousin Eddie from National Lampoon's would say, piss my pants and forget who I am for a half-hour or so. But not that. Whenever I win something, it has never made me want to stand in one place, turn slowly from side to side, and pump my fists up and down like I’m doing some bizarre cross between the Mashed Potato and the Twist. Or, for my readers younger than 30, like a cross between the Soulja Boy and the Running Man. Or, for readers younger than 15, a cross between Tinky Winky and Barney.
Finally, Dear “waterless hand sanitizer” industry: please come up with a better nozzle. As it stands right now, a small amount of your product remains in the nozzle, and over time will dry into a semi-solid GermX booger. The existence of such a thing is not the only problem – and don’t get me wrong, that’s DEFINITELY a problem by itself. However, the bigger issue comes in when I press the nozzle down, and because of the partially blocked opening, the liquid actually shoots OVER my hand, like a gout of water from a fire hydrant, dousing things on my desk instead of landing on my hand where it belongs. Let me give you a brief mini-focus group on your target audience. We want to clean our hands. We do not want to clean our desktops, our hair, or our left eyeball. Would it be too much to ask you to give us a nozzle that points straight down, instead of straight out like a garden hose just waiting to spray the overly-exuberant dogs on the front lawn? I mean really? Because I’m getting just slightly tired of simply wanting to disinfect my hands after using a child’s keyboard, and ending up looking like I just had a hook-and-ladder truck clean a spilled chalupa off the front of my shirt.
Until next time!
