The man in the orange oven mitts

Look for him.

On the sidelines of NFL football games. He gets the call from the suits, and walks on the field with his mitted hands crossed, and that’s it. Time for a commercial. They must obey.

Nowadays, everyone is weeping about how craptastic and shitty the NFL has become… I won’t wade too far into that particular can of worms… hell, the NFL has always been shitty. Especially with the commercials aspect.

Good fucking god, how many commercials can one jam into a fucking game? Of course the high water mark is the Super Bowl, but every day is like Sunday, and fucking ads are everywhere. It wouldn’t be so bad if commercials on American television were as inventive and entertaining as, say, Japan… but I digress.

The NFL mitt man…

So, the last two minutes of the game generally 45 hours.

Yeah, I exaggerate. Sort of. Fucking seems like it. And the NFL sits there and scratches their head wondering why people aren’t watching as much. Aside from garbage games, maybe people can’t stomach more commercials than game anymore. Of course they’ll never get a clue.

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How many Ks?

I need a 4,500,000K television.

It’s the only solution.

This garbage 4k nonsense simply won’t work. How the hell am I supposed to watch Cops reruns on something like that?

I want my television to be dumb.

Smart TVs make me nervous. Are they smarter than me? Will they take over my life? Read all my books? Hack my computers? Make me sad? Make me dinner?

Thanksgiving and Parades

Thanksgiving is upon us. There is turkey to consume. Sofas to be lounged upon. Football to be watched.

But the whole works gets rolling with the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.

I used to not really watch it much back in my youth. An endless, well, parade, of “famous” (I use that term loosely) people on floats, marching bands of various varieties, and of course those enormous balloons.

It’s kind of like watching Live PD… it’s not television unless dramatic shit goes down. You know people are waiting for some kind of Hindenburgian hellscape to unfold.

Of course, I’m glued to the screen waiting for Santa to appear. For this is the true moment when the floodgates of Christmas and all its glory has been opened. For it is now that we may bask and wallow in the unbridled commercialism that we all really know Christmas is really about.

Sure, the ads have been sneaking up on us for a few weeks now, but now the whole shithouse is going up in flames, man.

And it won’t end until fucking February.

Put that in your cranberry sauce and inhale it.

According to Ford…

… parallel parking is some kind of indicator of worthiness.

Scenario unfolds as some dude is parking in front of family of girlfriend (or whatever).

Apparently dude can’t do it and needs the Ford vehicle’s handy automated system to do it for him. And thank God it was there and he didn’t plow into the parked cars around him. Day is saved, family adores him, and all is well.

Of course we can’t forget that Ford also has a truck that will back a trailer for you, too.

Seems like simple, essential driving skills are pretty much being eliminated. But I suppose that’s okay… leaves more time to stare at a fucking cell phone.