These commercials remind me of a neon colored huckster shouting through a mega-phone inviting me to come into the impotence tent. The only problem is, I don’t want to go into the impotence tent. I don’t need to go into the tent. And I surely don’t want my kids to even look under the tent flap.
Enough all ready.
These suggestive, even salacious commercials air in prime time. A guy. A girl. A glance. A row boat. A bath tub. A sunset. A secluded hut on the beach. They’re holding hands and gazing deeply into one another’s eyes. The man’s hands slide easily up the woman’s back. She smiles slyly, looking around. Like a scene from the Postman Always Rings Twice; the scene stops short of the woman clearing the kitchen table of all items and the postman ringing the bell, if you know what I mean.
The worst commercial in the history of male impotence is VIVA VIAGRA. Imagine if you will, a group of men gathered around a campfire with guitars. They are singing about Viagra set to the tune of Viva Las Vegas. It is so badly produced and awkward it makes me want to watch spatula sales on the Home Shopping Network.
The message is more distorted than a Peter Gabriel Music Video from 1985.
Enough all ready.
When these commercials first began, they aired primarily in the late evenings. But as the ads became more accepted they started airing earlier and earlier. Now they roll across the screen like wall paper during the evening news.
My 5th grader stares at the tv screen and his face looks puzzled. He wants to ask why the man is smiling like a fox. Why is the guy taping the game and hopping over the couch. Why is the freakazoid in the blue tuxedo carrying the women up the stairs, and kicking open the bedroom door?
“Daddy what’s Viagra?”
“Well son, it’s a, well, it’s a pill, that uh, helps a mommy and a daddy, well, uh, don’t you have some homework to do?”
“It’s Saturday dad.”
“Oh, yeah, it is, isn’t it.”
And that is how it always is for me when these ads come on. Uncomfortable and irritating. I want to send the makers of these pharmaceuticals a cease and desist letter.
These commercials are suggestive like Britney Spears in a school girl outfit, and they are as prevalent now on the airwaves and in print as pollen in a Tennessee field.
But it’s not just the Viagras of the world. It’s a slew of companies that promise amazing results with a magic bean. They pitch creams and potions and gypsy dust designed to make your manhood more manly.
And what better way to make a man open his wallet than to hawk these magic beans with young girls in skimpy bikinis. The message is simple. Take this elixer of love and get a girl like me.
Or your money back of course.
While the men’s impotence ads make me the most uncomfortable, I cannot stand the array of feminine products shoved into my brain either. Tampons and Tampax and Vaginal this and KY that.
Enough. Enough. Enough.
If I need something, then I know I need it. I know how to get it. I don’t need to be bombarded with your images. I don’t need my kid asking me what Extense is for?
Do the makers of Viagra and magic manhood for men not have kids? Do they not have decency to scale back their message, or at least air them at later times when kids are probably not watching.
I can only imagine that soon the beach party will be replaced by a more risque ad. Maybe the guitar is replaced by a massive orgy where dump trucks pour blue pills over the amorous couples.
Click!
And while I’m on a crazy rant; I’m sick of all these medical medications that air virtually around the clock, but mostly on the evening newscasts. They promise to fix this or that, but almost half the commercial is spent telling me that I might poop on myself, or my bladder might be infested with bees or side effects of this product could induce high blood pressure or make me pass gas, or unwanted discharge might leak into my undergarments or I might become irrational and want to go to strip clubs in Tampa.
Lipitor and Crestor and plaque build up and good cholesterol and the promises of this and the warnings for that.
Why are you advertising to me, the patient? Doesn’t my doctor know what to give me if my colon is injured in a golfing accident? Am I suppose to watch tv with a note pad and remember what product will diminish anal warts?
Stop it! I am sick of your commercials, I am sick of your medical bombardment.
I wish I could hold the pharmaceutical reps down on a Frankenstein like board and prop open their eyes with tooth picks. Above them I would broadcast their own ads. I would make them eat their pills and if they had erections lasting longer than 4 hours I would tell them to seek medical attention at a Lesbian biker bar. See how that works for you Mr. Agency Rep.
I would make these modern day hucksters eat Lipitor till they soiled themselves and experienced every side effect they warn of. Then I’d throw them in the back of a dark sedan, drive them blind folded to the town square and push them out in front of a group of church ladies armed with bibles and crosses.
Take that Madison Avenue.
All I say is tone it down. We want to get well. We want to have satisfying sex. We want to have lower blood pressure and not have to pee all the damn time. But we want you to use some common sense. We don’t want our kids to ask us what that man and that lady are doing? we don’t want to feel uncomfortable every time we turn on the television.
I understand it is 2009, and this isn’t your grandmother’s world anymore. It’s hard enough raising kids and your ads don’t make it any easier.
Instead of wanting to buy your product, I hope that you and your product file for Chapter 11. Do me a favor and tone it down. Be respectful of your customer and their wishes.
Now that’s a message I can live with.