I’ve got a bone to pick.
Remember that old-school Viagra clip with Bob Dole? Some official-looking chair in some swanky room? Whole lot of wood?
He’s sympathetic: “Courage. Something shared by countless Americans. Those who risk their lives. Those who battle serious illness… It’s a little embarrassing to talk about ED; but, it’s so important to millions of men and their partners.”
The man may start crying, he’s so empathetic.
What about the new Viagra spot with the blonde woman who’s kind of British, like how all Victoria’s Secret models sound kind of British? Like Madonna British? The woman lies on her front, propped up on her elbows. No white-collar men. No blue-collar construction sites. No baited hook or casted line. No revved-up hog.
She fancy. Smirking nothing but satisfaction.
And Cialis?
Chicka ow oww…
We’ve finally got partners.
They’re playing tennis. Doubles. A post-match kiss.
They’re putting Minwax on a bench. She’s in horizontal stripes; he sports his Sunday plaid. She holds the brush. They kiss.
Then they row a canoe, sit next to each other, each one with an oar. Jean jacket. Performance fleece. Forehead kiss.
More tennis. More bench. More boat.
It’s a Woody Allen montage.
And the payoff? Two tubs, say, two feet apart.
Hey, baby. I’m clean. How was it for you?
Here’s what has to happen for a drug to get approved for prescription use: first, before testing the drug on humans, the drug company conducts lab research with animals to show a certain level of safety. Then three levels of clinical studies on humans to show safety and effectiveness. Then it’s off to the FDA for a yes or no.
So, the Viagra and Cialis folks went through all this and decided on Bob Dole and separate bathtubs. Who is even remotely interested in sex after seeing these commercials? And what was it that George Costanza said about shrinkage?
Granted, I’m not a man and, thus, can’t suffer from ED. But I can tell you those Summer’s Eve commercials (the mother-daughter combo on the beach, low tide tickling their feet), the ones that only seemed to come on when it was just me, my brother, and Dad watching TV, made me not want to talk to my mom ever again.
And all the tampon and pad commercials where every woman is a fucking gymnast or ballet dancer constantly contorting and stretching? Damn, I’m tired.
Here’s my proposal. Either we have realistic commercials or none at all. The TV shows they interrupt are explicit; why not the commercials? Erica’s ED ad: Dead dick? Pop this.
Feminine hygiene: So what? Shower.
Call me insensitive. I’m just saying we should get right down to it. Let’s help people get what they want and need. No more tubs. No more beaches. Be real like Budweiser. Remember when the dog missed its owner and came home? Boom. Done.
And, call me crazy, but if I were a man and had an erection that lasted for more than four hours, I would have thrown a sheet over it at hour one and hauled ass to a doctor.
Again, I’m just saying.