I have been told I’m too literal minded.
My husband says I drive him absolutely batshit when I ask questions your average Vulcan would ask about Star Trek: The Next Generation. If Jean-Luc Picard has to pull his tunic down every time he sits, can’t he get it fixed? I mean, can’t a goddamn Star Fleet captain get a uniform tailored? How is it that Riker is allowed to fuck his way across the universe? Isn’t that against regulations? How is it that Data bothers to have sexual intercourse? Isn’t the whole point of Data that he can’t feel that joy? Why is Wesley allowed to pilot the Enterprise when he hasn’t even been to Star Fleet Academy?
Not even during the commercial breaks does my poor bastard husband get a break. Many commercials disturb me. More so, now, as there appear to be trends in advertising to prove said products are either suicidal, cannibalistic, or murderous.
To prove my point —
Hershey Kisses:
They exist only to die. They are created by their fellow Kisses, shrouded in glorious wrappings, only to to joyously flip into the mouth of humans to be crushed by teeth and digested. These are the Branch Davidians of candy.
Cinnamon Toast Crunch:
Major W-T-Fuckedness here. These sweet little squares are so delicious, they eat each other. They cannot control themselves. They wish to destroy their own and feast upon their flesh. This is the Jeffery Dahmer of cereal.
McDonalds:
I am extremely concerned for this young man. He is dating a woman who appears to be hell-bent on humiliating him in order to control him. Look at this poor bastard. He’s terrified. What will she call him next in her quest to verbally emasculate him at every opportunity? This is the Fatal Attraction of commercials.
I am also frightened by the Ensure commercial where the bully Ensure bottle, which appears to be an ex-marine, screams at other refrigerator residents about healthy eating. I am frightened because I don’t understand why anyone would keep an orange in the refrigerator.
So am I disturbed, or is Madison Avenue?
