I turn on the Rockies/Padres play-in game for the NL Wild Card, and what am I greeted with? Some flaxen-haired Rockfan screeching “WE're Nubmer 1!!!1. I don't know how he managed to sneak typos into spoken language, but such is the nature of people who scream gibberish into television cameras. Look, bud, if your team has to win a play-off game to determine whether it even GETS the WILD CARD, you don't get to scream “We're number 1!”. The most you should be allowed to scream is “We're potentially number 4!…in the weaker National League!! And I live in Colorado…i'm sad.”
What kind of alternative world do the people in fast food commercials live? I was always led to believe that McDonald's dollar menu was for homeless people who lost count of their change after 1.40 or so (and me), but apparently needing to order from it is a sign of edgy coolness, the food itself fuel for a night of grumping and binding at the latest hippity hop club. The next commercial that pops up? A family bonding over Kentucky Fried chicken, during which the beaming mother avows that it is her very favorite part of the day. What kind of family bonds of greasy fast food chicken? Does this mother think that this bespeaks well unto her parenting skills? Perhaps she was in contact with a gentleman from the very next commercial. This enterprising dad had procured pizza for dinner from Pizza Hut, leading his once skeptical family to beam at his culinary artistry. His wife even whispers “I love you”, as he leans back and proclaims himself “da man.” I thought this was a tad dramatic, but in his defense, he DID open the boxes while waiting for his family.
With considerate and loving families like this, I'm still fucking stumped as to why our country is so fat.
Labels: Colorado, KFC, McDonald's, Rockies