Monumental Moments in Advertising, More Crap I Don’t Need, and Let’s Go to the Fair!

Or, if you’re poor and don’t have a dime for the pay toilet, just slide your skank ass under the door.

I haven’t seen a pay toilet since the Hills store got closed down in either 1981 or 1982.  Perhaps someone finally realized that the skinny girls simply slipped under the door and used the john for free, and the fat ones just dropped their deuces on the drain in the middle of the floor.  That was something very nasty to walk in on- someone’s steaming pile sitting on the drain, reeking and drawing flies.  Acck.   Back then I was one of the few who neither being waif-thin, nor coordinated enough to make it under the door, would generally either scrounge a dime somewhere or wait until I got home.  I am proud to say that I never stooped to dropping a deuce on the floor drain.

‘Tis sad if my list of greatest accomplishments has to include refraining from crapping on the floor.

There are certain odious advertising jingles that tend to stick on one’s head.  The Shower-to-Shower jingle has to be the all time most annoying of all time.  I do have to appreciate the fact that in this particular commercial they gave the Woman Who Forgot To Sprinkle her very own private dinghy so she wouldn’t stink up the yacht for everyone else.  That’s compassion for you.  It’s better than what the poor People Who Remembered to Sprinkle had to endure in the elevator with the Non-Sprinkler du jour.  (I should not be old enough to remember these commercials…)

Today for some reason someone mentioned Colt 45 Malt Liquor, which I’ve always thought to be glorified cheap beer, but then I’m not a drinker, and I’m certainly not a beer drinker, (I think all beer tastes like earwax smells) so how would I know if it’s tasty or if it’s pisswater, or whether or not white people do actually drink it?  So I had this lovely little tune running through my head for half  the morning.

The list of absolutely horrible 70’s and 80’s commercials is virtually endless.  The good point about them is even when they were horrible, they were at least original.  Today there is such a dearth of creativity in advertising- they just dig up an old Heart song and try to make it apply to the damned Swiffer thing that isn’t worth two shits to pick up dog hair- or anything else for that matter.   

I blame the popularity of free love and way too much LSD for this one, even though there’s (thankfully!) no jingle in it:  1970’s Chuck Wagon commercial.   They sure did make that dog’s hallucination look real and they sure did make that dog food look tastier than most of Taco Bell’s menu.  Despite the originality and creativity of this ad, I don’t think that particular brand of pressure-cooked lips and assholes and other meat by-products we humans would rather not know exist is still being marketed.  I am sure that Chuck Wagon, like every other cheap dog food of that era, was the end result of the final disposition of diseased livestock. I still wonder if it was the Chuck Wagon or Mom’s dreadful cooking that led to Suzie the Dachshund’s untimely death. Suzie loved the Chuck Wagon- but she also loved socks and underwear crotches, and Mom’s mashed potatoes with the big uncooked lumps and big black burnt flakes,  so Suzie wasn’t exactly a picky eater.  Most dogs aren’t terribly picky.

I have always liked Dr. Pepper and Diet Dr. Pepper, but this 70’s Dr. Pepper Commercial is almost enough to make one shoot oneself in the head to end the insanity.  It seems sort of Communist too- I can imagine the Soviet version: You must all be Peppers

Sometimes when I’m bored I find it entertaining to look at all the crap I don’t need.  Lighted slippers?   If you’re that freaking blind turn on the light. 

Jerry has decided I need to go with him and his sister to the fair next week.  I enjoy going to the fair, but I hope that the current stygian heat tones down a notch- hopefully somewhere below 90 degrees- otherwise they might end up having to call the squad on me.  I don’t tolerate heat worth a damn, and I’m pretty much confined to the Great Indoors when the temperature is much above 85.  So I really hope it cools down a bit.

I bet the chickens would be happier if it cools off some too.

Better yet, just leave me in the refrigerated room with the butter cow.

I think that most young kids in the Central Ohio area- the Columbus metro area especially- only get to see farm animals at the fair.  I don’t know if that’s entirely a good thing.  Even though I grew up in the middle of nowhere, I did live in town and therefore never really had hands-on experience dealing with livestock- except for the heifers in Taco Bell and Wal Mart, but that’s not quite the same thing. 

The only animals that (miraculously) didn’t scare the bejeezus out of me as a child were dogs.  Big dogs, small dogs, even dogs that other people branded as “mean,”  never gave me any trouble.  I got in trouble with Dad one time for climbing the fence and cuddling up to a neighbor’s Rottweiler, but the “mean” dog didn’t bother me at all.   He was quite friendly toward me, and the other kids were too afraid to mess with me when I was in the dog pen with the Rottie.

No problem at all with the dogs.  If only other humans were as easy to interact with…

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