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You shoot it. Between the eyes. With a BAZOOKA.
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Ah, it feels good to be back…
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Gramps found this in Pennsylvania…It explains a lot about the Amish, in my opinion:
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Incest is a laugh and a half, particularly if you’re Viennese! But if having sex with children isn’t your idea of a romping good time, you probably shouldn’t watch TV. Remember that Dairy Queen commercial from a year or so back? Well I found particularly amusing. Can’t find a youtube clip, so you’ll have to buy your own damn TV, or failing that, read my narration thereof:
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so, this girl who can’t be more than 8 years old is at the Dairy Queen with her mum. The young prostitot decides to forgo having her own sundae, for she is so certain that the “gentleman in the donkey shirt” will end up buying her one for free. As she remarks at the end, “It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.”
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Because I am trying to avoid the “Trekkie” practice of overanalyzing technical flaws in television, let me keep my critique of this commercial down to a neat five things:
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1. The premise of the commercial is sexual attraction. She is 8, and provided the sundae bowl isn’t on a string connected to a white van, no one’s looking to get in her goods.
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2. The kid is also 8. As a former pre-pubescent, I can assure you, there’s only one thing that would compell me to buy a girl ice cream, and I couldn’t do that when I was 8.
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3.I can’t get one of those snot nosed dairy queen punks to serve me at the counter, ledalone come to my table with a sundae that someone else buys you. This commercial implies that Dairy Queen is a sit down style restaurant, which is a little bit bullshit.
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4. If at any point in your life, you are out in public with a “donkey shirt,” chances are you’re poor. I’m sorry to say it, but there’s no donkey shirts in the kids section at Old Navy; this is probably an 8th generation hand me down. On that note, your daddy would be wise to save your money for some new threads, rather than waste it on ice-cream for a titless floozy.
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5. According to Dairy Queen’s own website nutrition calculator, this bowl of sugary, lard saturated crap has 980 calories, 450 of which are from fat. The mom and the daughter really should share that friggin’ sundae, lest you two start sharing a diabetes tester in the near future. Believe me, once you have more spares than a tire yard, the kid in the donkey shirt’s gonna move on.
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I generally dislike it when the television tries telling me things are sexy, when clearly, they aren’t.
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Like Sofia Lauren.
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Please, stop trying to tell me that she’s sexy. Sure, she might’ve been, like I don’t know, in the 1400’s. But she’s really, really old now. And like I tell all those smug pricks that praddle on about “Sex with Sue,” old people should bake cookies, bore us with stories about the war, and be horridly ashamed of their sexuality. I don’t make the rules, I just arbitrarily enforce them at my conveniance.
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But sexiness is supposed to taper off at both ends of the age spectrum. That Miley Cyrus photo that went around the internet was, I admit, disturbingly hot. I say disturbingly, because like a train wreck, no sane person attempts to stare at jailbait, lest their eyeballs rot out and they spend an eternity of damnation in the hell of their choice.
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If I see bikini photos of Suri Cruise in July’s issue of Maxim, someone’s getting an ass-kicking. (can the Scientologists sue me for saying that?)
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“La Senza Girl” is a store in the mall that sells halter tops to eight year olds. It’s the extreme end of pre-pubescent sexualization. Whenever any store, product or service in North America is marketed to girls, and makes you think, “Hm…maybe I should keep my daughter at home, clothed from head to toe, lest she become a whore; yeah, that’s a great idea…” You can be sure it’s probably a bad thing. Despite this, it’s yet another retarded facet of our world that continues to go unchecked.
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But back to this Dairy Queen commercial, before I forget how pissed off I was at it. It takes like half an hour to place an order with the half-wit cretins they have monkeying at the register. I guarantee you that, beyond the disgusting undertones of that commercial, that dweeb with the donkey shirt (whose parents obviously hate him) would never be able to execute that in real time. He’d just end up eating two sundaes, and become so bloated and distended, that not even a sundae would garner flirts from mini-floozies.
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I mean, really, a donkey shirt? Assuming that he can afford to buy different clothes, that kid is the biggest loser in the world. For God’s sake, I had a “Pinky and the Brain” lunch bag, and even I would’ve laughed at him back in grade school. There was this one kid I played baseball with that used to always wear this “Super Mario” T-shirt. Back when we were 8 or so, that was pretty cool. But by the time we were 11 or 12, it was suspicious that he seemed to wear it EVERYTIME I saw him.
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The Donkey/Super Mario t-shirt is one of those tell-tale signs. A Jungian archetype, if you will, of a symbol that screams, “I’m so socially awkward, that I’m probably going to go feral one day, and resort to eating pine nuts and berries I gather in the park.”
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