When in doubt, blame the cat
Sandi McBride Contributing Columnist
I’m not sure what is going on in the world of television these days, but it seems a lot of the commercials are funnier than the actual show they host.
I’ve been known to lay in wait for my favorites. Do you remember the one about the dog, who on seeing the sandwich his Master had prepared, sitting beside it a bottle of soda (Pepsi, Coke one of those) eats the sandwich, drinks the drink, then, taking the cat by the scruff of the neck, sits him next to the empty plate, bottle by … this teaches us what? When in doubt, blame the cat.
The cat is good for all kinds of blame. I’ve seen Mac look Pyewackit directly in his blue eyes and say “did you do that?” I can guarantee you that if he had done “that” (which usually involves a foul odor moving in my direction) he would proudly own up to it by doing a mad run around the house, climbing up woodwork and sliding into the kitchen sideways on the rag rug.
My usual response to this is “now that’s mature. Blame a poor defenseless cat.” Having grown up in a household of girls, I had to learn the “pull my finger” game from Mac. And he couldn’t wait to teach it to his sons. My mother tried to warn me that boys were disgusting, but would I listen? So anyway, the cat and the sandwich is my favorite of all time. Then some ads are so irresponsible that it makes me want to look for a lawyer. These are of course from the auto industry. We spend our lives instructing our children on the proper way to drive, to ensure that they get home safe and sound, and these bozos are out there talking about “vroom vroom.”
VROOM VROOM? I do not want my children to go from 0 to 60 in 7 seconds. I don’t really want them going 60 at all, since the speed limit for most places is 55. The double nickle. Of course, when my boys first got out there driving they had lots of eyes on them, my brother and sister officers told all.
My younger son, Michael, was nicknamed “the Road Warrior” by one of the highway patrol officers. Eventually, he realized that he was in a no-win situation and slowed down. But the auto industry has so much to answer for. Speeding down a highway is only one of the ads that get me hyped up. There is another one that is much worse, in fact borders on ehild endangerment …
Dad is out in the back yard building Junior a treehouse. It’s a warm day. Dad is sweating. He goes over to the family van, and pulling back the sliding door (it’s closed!) tells his son the tree house is ready. Now, this is a “tear that little butt out of the frame” moment. The kid looks at his father and wants to know if the tree house has a television. No? Well, does it have leather seats? No? Then I’ll just stay in here with my little friend. I’LL JUST STAY INSIDE THIS OVEN THAT CAN GO FROM 78 TO 140 (NOT IN 7 SECONDS BUT CLOSE) AND KILL ME.
That is irresponsible advertising, no redeeming features in this one at all. I actually wrote to a couple of networks to complain about the ad content, and I encourage anyone who sees it (it still runs, though the brat is probably in high school giving his teachers a hard time, now) to do the same.
I’m afraid it may take a disaster to get this one off the air. I can’t even put words to the disaster, it chills me. And not to let the auto industry off the hot seat to quickly, Lord knows they need their feet held to the fire as long as possible (‘til they develop crispy toes at the very least) but I really don’t know any women who put their makeup on in the car mirror. I know, there are a few … I just don’t know any. Not even a passenger who has ever ridden with me has done that.
What do I feel? I feel they, the auto industry (dimwits) are poking fun at the wrong thing. I have a new commercial in mind Man or woman, riding down the highway. Cell phone to their ear, mind on the conversation when suddenly they are wearing the road they were just driving on.
Cut to scene at the hospital. Driver/patient is lying on a gurney when suddenly a phone begins to ring. The ring is coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the driver/patient’s butt. Because that’s where it is well and truly wedged. I may be the last person in the world to not own a cell. When I go shopping, if I want company I take a friend with me. I don’t want my phone ringing and interrupting my shopping high.
I don’t even like to answer the phone at home, so why is answering the one in your purse or that ridiculous little head set stuck in your ear so exciting? When I’m driving I like to listen to the radio or the CD player. I don’t want to talk. When I’m driving, I don’t talk all that much to my passenger. I’m keeping my mind on more important things. Like my life and the life of the others on the road with me at the time. So, no cell phone. I have an emergency 911 phone for the truck, but I’ve found that 911 dispatchers don’t have a lot of time to chat. They’re sort of busy — usually sending an ambulance to the scene of a 10-50 (cop speak for wreck) and a surgical team to remove the cell phone from the driver’s behind.
But then, it was probably a deer that ran out in front of them. Yeah, either that or a cat. Probably Pyewackit. He’ll take the blame for almost anything.
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