little blue pills, curdled milk, and cottage cheese

Tin-Woodman

His take:

That devil in a blue dress is pissing me off. She’s taking men down the wrong road, down a yellow brick road.

She shows up at the perfect time, during football games, creating her own perfect storm, as a constant reminder we are under pressure to perform.

This “pressure to perform,” even she knows, is far worse in the bedroom than the pressure to perform on any football field.

That devil in a blue dress really pisses me off.

“Is E.D. stopping what you started,” she says, in a soothing voice, looking you in the eye. 

She’s slinking around on a bed, on an island, the wind in her hair, the wind in her dress, almost mesmerizing you with her gliding movements, hypnotizing you with her maple-syrupy voice.  Almost . . . except for the fact that you feel manipulated and pissed because all she can tempt you with are half-promises like “Viagra may work.”

devil-in-a-blue-dress

...as if women don't obsess enough over their own wrinkling and sagging, now she has to worry about his.

Subliminally, she says to your already dilating pupils, “Of course, you’re ‘down,’” which translates into “You’re not alone,” which further translates into “Don’t worry, hon, this ‘sinking’ feeling happens to plenty of guys.”

If you’re English, all it means is “Fellow sufferers make unhappiness easier to bear.”   If you’re the rest of us, it means, unhappy people like when other people feel crappy, too.  Misery loves company.

As if the one problem wasn’t burden enough, the temptress then makes a clear distinction between “getting an erection” and “keeping an erection.”  So, if you’re still able to achieve an erection, she would like to direct your mind toward fear No. 2, which asks mockingly, “But can you keep it?”

Get the little blue pill and maybe you can get what’s under this little blue dress.  And your sail will be just as full as this ship’s.  And your flag will fly as high as this pole.  And this lady sucks!  But not in a good way.

girl-hides-under-hoodie

Vagisil: Shaming Women for Decades

Her take:

The temptress pisses me off, too.  The very shame these ads want women to feel by telling them their “milk” smells spoiled and likely curdling like cottage cheese, a slinking woman, like a traitor, is used to beat and massage away the shame associated with this dreaded man-problem.

“His ego being so precious and fragile, man cannot handle the shame of Erectile Dysfunction or the idea that something this close to him behaves as it wants.” 

So, instead of shame, man is not pressured to feel anything but cooed, as if his head has fallen into a MILF’s bosom.  Instead, this old showgirl is sprawled on a bed on a breezy island, chilled and relaxed.  Chilled and relaxed, she assures him, “You’re alright, hon. But there is help.”  Instead of shame, man gets the warm and fuzzies.  You know why? Because he doesn’t even have to show face or even show up for his own public stoning!

But did you see that wedding band?  As if women aren’t preoccupied enough with their own wrinkling and sagging, Viagra wants to make the problem not just his problem, but their problem.

Woe-man is forced to pull her hoodie over her face in shame as she walks past mirrors in commercials for Vagisil.  Worst of all, with every Sponge Bob watching, the television becomes an aquarium where orange roughy and bycatch from both deep sea and shallow waters swim around the woman with the issue of fish-funk.

While medical ads can serve the public good by raising eyebrows about remedies for what is ruining their quality of life, the public needs to know that these spots are not this prevalent and this pushy because someone cares.  It’s not sympathy.  It’s commercial.

Tin-Woodman-with-heart

"Sure, it ticks. But is it healthy enough for Viagra?"

Someone desperately wants to separate Washingtons, Jacksons, and Franklins from pockets by playing on everyday fears.  Your nightly fears, too, man.

Only a doctor will tell you stop drinking, smoking, eating like a kid, and maybe your junk will work.  Viagra and Vagisil’s job is to sell the fantasy of little blue pills, creams to satisfy every itch, and St. Lucian Spring Rain douches.

So, before making sure your heart is healthy for Viagra, make sure your mind is healthy enough to know when to grin and turn away from these silly commercials hyped up on their own ‘roids.  Because, as you know, Dr. Oz never did give nothing to the tin man that he didn’t already have.

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