by Nick Osaada

Created on: December 01, 2008

I watch television for the commercials. No, really.

Most of us like to analyze the programs themselves in order to glean some incisive commentary on the predominance of Stupid, but it is my contention that everything you'd ever need to know about society is freely available in little thirty-second soundbites.

Take all the pets...please. (Ha, ha.) Seriously. Have you ever seen those syrupy dog commercials where they try to get you to purchase- let's say- Pooch DuJour, the canned, reprocessed dog food that costs as much as a Christmas dinner at a five-diamond restaurant? They'll show you footage of Snookums, an immaculately groomed golden retriever (think Lassie) who is clearly pained by his owner's choice of dog food. He whimpers and places a manicured paw over his head in a charmingly human display of horror. A soft, soothing voiceover asks us if we'd REALLY allow innocent Snookums to suffer for our cold, uncaring choice of dog cuisine. Luckily, Owner wises up and opens a steaming can of Pooch DuJour. Snookums is jumpingly, pantingly and barkingly happy about this, and all is right with the world.

My response? Please. I had a dog once, and if I were to dump a bowl of dirty spaghetti encrusted with day old breakfast cereal onto the kitchen floor, he'd attack it as though Epicurus himself died and left his pantry open. Hell, he'd try to get at our substandard leftovers even when we DIDN'T dump 'em. And while we're at it, what on earth is up with the gold doggie jewelry and the designer clothes? Has society itself gone collectively dyslexic and decided that our dogs are gods? (Actually, that might explain the currently pathetic state of respect for organized religion.)

And medical commercials? They might be the most clever satire we have left. What's best about them is how stealthy they are; you never quite see them coming. Mom and Daughter will be frolicking merrily in a field of daisies, as mothers and daughters do every day. You halt in confusion, your fingers hovering over the remote. What is this? Is it a commerical about happiness? How lovely. Meanwhile, the TV duo'll be having a grand ol' time, and Daughter will lean her perfectly blonde little head against Mom and breathe, "I love you, Mommy" while a piano tinkles frantically in the background.

Then Mom replies, "I love you too, sweetie, and that's why I take Blanaxal, the little red pill that helps Mommy know if she's suffering from early warning signs of colon cancer."

Daughter: Because a healthy colon means

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