you are a target market

It’s about 10 at night and McDonald’s starts rolling out their visually delicious Egg McMuffin commercials as you sit on the couch with one hand scratching your balls and the other hand holding the remote.

You change the channel because your attention span is that of a 3 year-old and you need to find something to watch between commercials of the inane reality show you were watching.

The next channel is Taco Bell enticing you with another visually delicious picture of a taco wrapped with a Dorito shell.

Holy Shit, what to do now? 

One– you can turn the television off and go to bed.

Or, Two– you can drive your lazy ass to Taco Bell and buy four of those tasty tacos, remember they are open LATE.

Or, Three- you can waddle your fat ass over the refrigerator, stick your head in and peruse the shelves for something to eat.   Three is the best bet, because you don’t have to leave the house and you can always get that McDonalds breakfast when you wake up.

So, option Three it is.  Yummy, how about re-heating that hamburger helper you had for dinner, that will work.

After eating some more fat, sodium and calories, you go to bed and wonder why you can’t stop belching and wonder why your chest hurts.  It’s ok, just roll over on your side and fart yourself to sleep.

Hey FAT BOY, did you realize that you are a target market?

Don’t try to argue, you are the reason why those commercials exist, you are the reason health care costs are skyrocketing, you are the reason why the next commercial to entice you is discounted medical supplies for diabetics.  Because you are going to need insulin, FAT BOY.

And stop dreaming, sorry, but you are never going to marry Paula Dean, she’s taken.

But don’t worry, I’m sure there is a lawyer out there who will gladly take on your lawsuit against fast food companies for making you obese.  It’s their fault you can’t stop shoveling shit in your mouth.

DUH’America- We have all become a target market and can’t get enough of it.  Again, this is why China will win.

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Shhhhh……Duh’Merica is sleeping

The pillow is so comfortable; so damn comfortable as you sink into the feathers.  It was a long night of catching up on Honey Boo-Boo episodes, you deserve a rest.

Shhhhh, don’t wake up.  While you count Kardashians jumping over your drool-stained cheeks, America is supplying weapons to a new group of dark-skinned rebels who will one day crash another plane.

The temperature is perfect; so damn perfect with the ceiling fan on full blast.  You pull one leg out from the sheets to remain cool.  After all, the jacuzzi scene on the Bachelor was hot tonight.  All those strangers sucking face.  You would cut your arm off to be the next star.

Shhhhhh, don’t turn over to quickly, you might wake.  While you dream of McRibb sandwiches, America just listened to every one of your phone calls and read all of your text messages because you used the word “B O M B” on Words With Friends.

The birds are starting to chirp as you stretch your arms above your head.  What a good sleep, maybe you should roll back over and get another 30 minutes or another 30 years.  While you decide to hit snooze, America is still trying to convince the world that prayer will make everything better.

Shhhh…. Duh’Merica is sleeping and I’m afraid they will never wake up.

 

Dear Pussies

I’m tired of the whining, I’m tired of the bitching and complaining.  America has turned into a nation of big, giant, dripping wet pussies.

(I mean no disrespect to women or their vaginas with this post.  I quite like vaginas; it just so happens that the word “pussy” is used universally to describe people as wimps.  I didn’t create that.)

On Patriotism: Stop moaning every time I say I’m against war, that doesn’t mean I’m unpatriotic, it just means I have a differing opinion than those who enjoy bombing the hell out of dark-skinned people half way across the world.

Hey, they killed about 3,000 of us at the Twin Towers; I think we are more than even now.

How much longer do we need to prove our dick-size?

And don’t patronize me with your American Flag displays.  Nothing screams “Patriot” more than your old ass truck with a confederate flag waving from the tailgate.  AMERICA, FUCK YEAH.

On American Idol Contestants: Hey parents, if your kid sings like a wounded dog, please have the courage to tell them that they suck.

When you hide the truth from your kids in an effort not to hurt their feelings, you are only setting them up for embarrassment and failure.

It’s better for you, their parents, to tell them that they suck instead of encouraging them to display their ill-fated vocals in front of a panel of judges and millions of Americans on television.

“But mommy and daddy, you said I was the best singer in the county.  Why did everyone laugh at me?”  See, just tell them they suck and none of that will happen.  Continue reading