Kiss My Pink Ass

March 2, 2009

It's been a while.  Let's get to it, shall we?

Okay… so I'm watching my friend Jamie's Pomeranian.  He's like a furry, orange worm who seems to do nothing more than lick things and writhe.  She named him Marcel, because he ate all of her Proust.  Greatest. Name. Ever.

I'm sitting at my computer, and have been staring at my essays for a few hours.  Writing a sentence.  Erasing it.  Writing it again.  Erasing it.  Writing two sentences.  Erasing the whole paragraph.  Looking longingly at the window.  Writing a sentence with the word "defenestration" in it.  I hate writing today.  Right now I want to never write again.  I want to just drop the whole writing thing and go be a cop or something. 

I'd be a terrible cop, of course… mainly because I'm way too awkward to ever give someone a ticket.  That and the fact that I'm mildly oppositionally defiant, and I have a preternatural dislike for authority figures.  Even when they're nice.  Or doing their job well.  I'm automatically resentful of the fact that they get to tell me what to do.  I can't be that guy.  I'm too annoying to be that guy.  I'm basically a self-absorbed, neurotic spaz… which pretty much limits my employment opportunities to "essayist" or "Tyra Banks."

God she's just awful.

I just watched a commercial for toilet paper where two pink, cartoon bears (father and son) were playing football.  The kid bends down to hike the ball, exposing his balloonish, pink backside to his father who upon peering down at it, recoils with a resounding, "Yikes!"  We're then treated to a POV shot from the daddy bear's perspective… inspecting his son's furry, cartoon ass, which is now bedewed with a confetti of what I'm choosing to infer are toilet paper remnants.  Now… we could look at this from a psychological/psychosexual angle – analyze the crap out of it (har har) and all feel really dirty and strange – wonder why the hell the dad was up to his retinas in that kids business.  And why he felt it was appropriate to start criticizing him immediately without first directing the conversation away from the innocent game of catch they were having to the virtues of good ass-care.  Or, to put it another way… poppa bear needs to butter the bun a bit.

I stole that from Sean – greatest oneliner I've ever heard.  "Oh, you've got to butter the bun…"  I will never be funnier than that man.

We could also consider the value of this kind of banality in advertising when it comes to hocking the more blush-inducing necessities of life.  Do ad. companies do this intentionally?  Play dumb because we're all embarrassed about the subject?  I guess that makes sense… imagine if they made condom, toilet paper or hemorrhoid/ladyproblem cream commercials the same way they advertise for luxury cars or perfumes.  Really intense and vivid… kindof abstract.  Confusing.

What about the fact that these ad people consciously chose to make bears the spokescreatures for their product?  I've seen these bears before.  They've got to be at least a little famous if I've heard of them – I live in a cave on Mars.  This leads me to my next big question – do you think they picked bears because of the expression, "Does a bear shit in the woods?"  If not, then… man, that's a weird coincidence.  If so… then what's the difference between the allusion to the word "shit" in the commercial, and the actual word "shit"?  This is a big thing for me – why is it okay to make allusions to something, but it's crude, impolite or improper to just say it?  FCC rules are insane when it comes to "offensive" material on the airwaves… and yet we've got cartwheeling bears waving their apple-shaped asses at the screen, giggling coyly at us, and blushing.  "Someone's got a linty bottom!"  It's all so apple pie.  So whitebread (yes, I resent that my last name is Italian for "boring").  But still… smoldering at the core of this commercial is one of George Carlin's seven words. 

Who sets up these rules?  Who's to say what's offensive?  Personally, I find the word shit to be far less offensive than a toilet paper company treating me like I'm a blushing idiot.  Or worse… someone who's so prissy and sensitive that I actually need a cartoon to talk to me about my linty ass.  I'm actually mad about this now.  I'm writing this stream'o'conscious… and I'm actually experiencing anger.  I think I might have to get rid of my television.

I can't bring myself to write anything real right now.  I've got a blizzard outside my window (looks like the end of days – I love it), and a little furry fireball licking my ankle (when he's not rooting around under my bed like a piglet).  I'm pissed about the toilet paper commercial… which basically means that it's referred annoyance at my inability to write anything of any value tonight.  Or ever, really. 

I think I'll just go round up all of the toilet paper in my apartment and set it on fire.  And then, as a further act of self-satisfying protest, I'll go buy a tv guide and use that in its place.

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