Shameless advertising

I came across an alarming commercial the other day. It was Burger King’s latest rectal emission titled, “The Rut Cracker.” Very clever Burger King, with titles like these, it’s no wonder your establishment is getting clobbered by McDonald’s and the like. The commercial then proceeded to show a group of ballerinas fucking up people’s meals to music from “The Nut Cracker.” All the while, the King is watching and waiting with some Burger King breakfast gruel, with that shit-eating grin slapped all over his face.

I mean, really. This cannot slide. First off, this is no time of the year to be conjuring Christmas themes. While we’re at it, let’s have the Coca-Cola polar bears jump in and maul these poor people trying to shake off sleepiness with some breakfast. Christmas should be limited to December, but I have learned to cope with that shit storm beginning after Halloween.

Next, what are these ballerinas thinking? I don’t know what the King has on them, but he’s just sending them out to do his dirty work. When I’m trying to loosen the cobwebs from a night of heavy drinking and getting ready to waste my time at work, the last thing I want is a gang of tip-toeing dancers throwing my cereal across the kitchen, and kicking packages of food out of my hands. If this happens, a swift judo chop to the throat will ensure this doesn’t persist every morning.

Has anyone else had enough of the King’s presence? This past football season, while I am trying to enjoy my Giants, I am bombarded every commercial break with the King performing some feat of football excellence. There’s no way this is possible, he would get his shit wrecked in a heartbeat on the field. He’s too top heavy with his crown, that huge robe, and his stocking clad chicken legs are severely into blown ACL territory.

However, all these pale in comparison to the King’s original theme, “Wake up with the King.” I’m sure across the country, everyone under 15 years old was sleeping with a fucking aurora borealis in their room. It’s bad enough he’s going to have his minions of ballerinas fuck up my breakfast, do I really have to wake up to him eye-balling me? Teri Hatcher’s face, which is comprised of 90% botox, 7% jello pudding, and 3% cottage cheese, would be more agreeable to rise to. Enough is enough.

Let’s bring back a mascot with some balls, like the Noid. Domino’s pizza is such a travesty they invented a creature whose sole existence was to destroy their product. That’s not very smart business in my opinion. If I were selling a product, the last thing I’d want is to advertise a psychotic creature hell bent on ruining it. However misguided it may be, the Noid kicks some serious ass. Domino’s is such an abomination of pizza it’s laughable they break even. Farwell readers. More to come later….

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