Midwestern Gothic

There are no words that can do this justice.

I’m speechless. I love working in advertising, and I hope that commercial was real and not a joke.

I’m no fisherman, but this seems pretty handy. Disgusting, but handy. But come on, if you’re smart enough to come up with something that makes de-boning fish a snap, you’ve got to come up with a better name than that.

And whatever copywriter wrote this, thank god for you. I imagine it was someone who got the assignment to write this TV spot and thought “That’s the name? Really? This must be a joke.” Upon realizing he was, in fact, going to get paid to sell this modern day mousetrap, he decided to work in all the sexual innuendo he could.

“My wife would like one of those!”

I bet she would, skippy. I bet she would. I also imagine the client loved this, which would only spawn more laughter at the Wunder Boner’s expense back at the agency.

And double points for the red neck with the handlebar mustachio. Nice work.

They don’t get much better than this.

Thus begins a continuing series of posts where Rob and I make our best argument for cities we don’t live in, but are in close proximity to.

This week’s topic: WINDY CITY MASS TRANSIT vs. ROCK CITY GRIDLOCK

OPENING STATEMENTS

Jeff: Two years ago I sojourned to the White City in search of an economy that couldn’t be held hostage by a group of overweight, middle aged men who think on-the-clock drunken high-lo racing is the sport of kings. My first experience with this wonderful city was in her underbelly, riding the subways and the “el”. My only experience with mass-transit before was on systems in second rate cities, places like London, Paris and Berlin. Let me tell you, Chicago puts every other city on the face of the earth to shame. To shame, I say!

Rob: Being a world-traveler myself, I’ve experienced mass transit in quite a few metropolises. And since Detroit has no mass transit whatsoever, save the People Mover (blech), I’m here to say we don’t need it. Having lived with and without it…well, you can keep your stupid, dependable modes of transport! You hear me, world! We’re better off without it! Give me a gas-guzzling, environment polluting automobile any day of the week. Trolleys and trams, subways and buses - blech! After all, we’re all out to take care of ourselves anyway, right?

ONBOARD BATHROOMS

Jeff: Gotta go? Go in your pants! In Chicago, it’s socially acceptable to crap your pants on the train, as evidenced by the toothless grin and earthy fragrance that greeted me when I stepped on my very first rail car. Finally, a place where we can be unencumbered by an unnecessary, time consuming trip to the porcelain throne.

Rob: The People Mover, a two-car elevated train that goes in a quarter-mile loop, has no bathrooms. It’s dangerous and smelly and I’m assuming bums piss all they want in there with no repercussions. I can rightfully assume, as in Chicago, there are no agents of the law making rounds to remedy this self-defecating situation, so I guess this one’s a tie. Now, the beauty of “taking care of business” in the privacy of your own car? No one else cares! If you can put up with it, what else do you need. Besides, the beauty of driving your own car means you can pull off on the shoulder to do your thing any time you want! No longer will you feel embarrassed for pulling the cord and getting off five stops early to the chagrin of those commuters you see every day. They know you have to go. They just know it.

WORLD-CLASS EFFICIENCY

Jeff: Other cities give you seats, ample standing room and enough trains to lessen the crush a hundred thousand people trying to get through the same five foot wide door. Not Chicago. Space is maximized by encouraging everyone to shove in until the very act of breathing may cause the car to explode. Bonus! You can have guilt-free sex with 6 people on the way to work. Informing them of what you did is optional.

Rob: Well, efficiency has many different meanings, my friend. Detroit has miles and miles of highway, so even though you may be late for that super urgent appointment, or you’ve completely abandoned all hope you’ll get off of I-75 before you die, at least, when you’re in your own car and stuck in traffic (which you will be, guaranteed), it seems like you’re surrounded by so many friends, each in the very same predicament you are! Efficiency of the heart, my friends.

ALWAYS ON SCHEDULE

Jeff: A Chicago bus or train is never late or early, it arrives exactly when it means too. And sometimes, 4 or 5 buses come bunched up together. The full ones stop, the empty ones skip by you so the driver can take an extra five-minute break hitting on the 200-pound honey selling deep-dish sausage pizza on Wacker. With these kinds of choices, I quickly fell under the “Lady by the Lake’s” spell.

Rob: Well, here in Motown, we do away with schedules altogether! I mean, hell, there could be a strike at any minute from any number of unions impeding your journey, and wait long enough, chances are your job will become obsolete and you won’t even have to drive anywhere! It’s like the best kind of vacation, the kind that doesn’t end!

PEOPLE LOOK OUT FOR EACH OTHER

Jeff: Whether you’re 95, you’re 8 months pregnant, you’re trying to get your 5 kids down to the soup kitchen so you can eat, or even on crutches - rest assured no one will get up to give you a seat. What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. And Chicago is not a city for the weak. Tough it out, or we will feast on your flesh.

Seriously, Chicagoans will eat you.

Rob: Imagine you’re at any number of fantastic clubs in downtown Detroit. It’s Friday, everyone’s bumping and grinding, and someone pulls out a gun, starts laying waste to the bodies on the floor. Then, out of pure kindness, someone is fantastic enough to start shouting “Gun! Gun! Get the f&$% out of the way! He’s got a gun!” alerting you to the situation at hand because you’ve been otherwise preoccupied with an exceptional “Detroit Hunny.” Then, the bandit leaves the club, he’s fled on one of the cities dozens of buses, the excitement’s died down, and the club starts hopping again. I mean, that kind of entertainment…you’d pay through the roof for that most places. All thanks to transportation.

CONCLUSION

In the battle of transportation, who wins? Only you, dear reader, can decide. Cast your vote in the comments or perish.

I’ve long since chalked my Midwest Gothic rss feed up for dead (and if the recent “we’re” back posts are any indication, I’m not that far off). So how’s about we sink our teeth into something we can all really enjoy.

Got an STD? Let someone know anonymously!

Number one, who is sending these cards? Number two, how would it really make you feel to receive one of these gems in the mail.

“You’re too hot to be out of action. I got diagnosed with an STD since we played. You might want to get checked too.”

If you’re such a raging philanderer, shouldn’t the possibility that you might have caught a chlamydia crab cocktail from the weekend group sex session down at county already have crossed your mind? If it hasn’t, do you really deserve to live? Honestly.

I’d also like to witness the hallmark moment that would ensue if someone in a monogamous relationship sends these kind words:

“Who? What? When? Where? It doesn’t matter. I got an STD; you might have it too. Please get checked out.”

On inspection of the site itself, sending a card comes with handy features like choosing the STD you have, and the ability to send to up to 6 people! Finally, a website that supports moresomes. Yes!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go send out some twenty or so odd e-cards.

On an unrelated note, Rob, please check your email before you have sex again.

Apparently, we’re all writing Superbowl posts. Nick and Rob have already obliged.

Since no one has commented on the ads, it seems like it’s my responsibility to break down all the action between the snaps. And with it costing 2.7 million to buy 30 seconds of airtime (not even including production costs of actually making the spots), it’s not surprising there was more Justin Timberlake and Stewie than Brady and Moss.

So, which were my favorites?

None. They all blew.

What happened to the golden days of advertising in the big game? When there were story arcs that carried themselves across the whole game. Bud Bowl, I’m looking in your direction. Michael Jordan and Larry Bird are always up for a game long game of horse, right boys?

At nearly 3M a pop, my guess is that it’s not economically feasible to have these game long masterpieces. Instead, we get giant pigeons and Francis Ford Copolla rip offs. Seriously - who are the ad wizards that came up with this one?

Superbowl ads will always have a few lite beer spots where guys love their precious brew so much they’ll go to all sorts of ends just to smuggle it into places that no normal man would be caught without the ability to get himself sloshed on low-calorie mash. There will always be talking animals and babies.

It doesn’t get much better than this, folks. Sorry.

Every so often, a video game comes along so epic, it captures every facet of the troubled culture we live in. It’s an allegory for society in every sense of the word. Something that defies you not to play it - to not bask in its glory.

This, dear friends, is it.

Barkley: Shut Up and Jam: Gaidan.

The year? 2041. Neo New York has been destroyed by a force that can only be described as “The Chaos Dunk.” A dunk so powerful, it’s like 150 megaton nuclear bombs going off at once. And this dunk can only be performed by Charles Barkley.

Basketball has been outlawed by the great B-Ball Plurge. Michael Jordan, a turncoat in this modern era, is charged with busting old hoops stars for playing the sport they love so. Larry Bird is a man of the cloth, denying his roots.

Your task? Make a better world for your son, Hoopz, a plucky youngster aching to learn the game Balthios James, the great grandson of Lebron James.

I can’t make this stuff up folks. You’ll just have to watch the whole trailer (stick with it through the first 2 minutes, it starts kind of slow but trust me, it’s worth it. Then download the game. The very essence of Barkley’s personality has been captured in it’s rawest form.

Seriously, what are you waiting for. Download it!

Dear Comcast,

You suck. I have no idea how you stay in business.

In the time I’ve procured internet service from you, three months by my reckoning, you have disappointed and showed incredible ineptitude at every point of contact.

The Price Comparison

Like any good consumer, I compare prices when I shop. Little did I know that I’d be comparing no less than 5 different and distinct prices from Comcast on the internet, over the phone and through another company’s promotional offer. Also, good job mislabeling your “Internet Only” package online. I guess I should know “Internet Only” actually means “Internet and Phone”, I’ll do my homework next time.

The Installation

Thanks for completely blowing off the appointment to install my internet and making me waste a day off work because you can’t seem to schedule anything without a four-hour swag. Also, thanks for informing me when I called you to complain that you actually rescheduled the installation, and updated my account on your website to inform me of that fact. I’ll hop on the magic internet connection you haven’t installed yet and make sure I get the date right next time.

The Second Installation

Thanks for showing up an hour late and staying until 7. Another thank you is in order for making sure to tell me I needed the condo association’s permission to subscribe to your services. I really enjoyed scrambling around with a hungry, cranky toddler and a spastic dog.

The Move (Setup)

Moving time! I should just be able to call and things should go smooth, right? Sounds like it, except my internet stopped working the day after I called to transfer. I’m wise to your ways now, Comcast. I knew you had just stopped my current connection prematurely.

Sure enough, I called and you told me I can’t have two addresses on the same account. I called back a week later, and the rep I talked to seemed to have no trouble keeping my current connection running for the five days before the installation at the new home would occur. I appreciate the unnecessary run-around.

The Second Installation

Thanks for sending a cracker-jack tech guy to install my internet. He was at my house for maybe two hours before he said, “Hey man, I can’t get this to work. I keep getting an error message.”

Sometimes the easiest answer is the most obvious one, Comcast. It took me 5 minutes to figure out that your tech guy was using a bad cable modem. I told him to try a new one. With my help, everything got set up in a snap. I’ll be expecting my paycheck for successfully completing an installation on Monday between the hours of noon and five.

Sincerely,

Jef

Update! Co-worker Jenny told me about how the Comcast installation guy actually fell asleep in her living room floor while waiting for a pingback from the system. Nice!