We watch... so you don't have to.
Amigo Es El Diablo!
Unless they turn the TV off. But then again, that's a high price to pay for mere survival.
What's brought on this sudden wave of Evil? What has me flipping through the book of Revelations and waiting for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to come riding up to my door?
That new Isuzu Amigo commercial.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, consider yourself one of the extremely lucky few. It is an advertisement for yet another damnable sport utility vehicle -- only this one has a theme song that rips off that old "Slinky" jingle. Besides fueling a nostalgia for Slinkys that America neither needs nor wants, the commercial has the added effect of lodging the Slinky jingle firmly in your brain, where it will rattle around for the next nine hours.
This is actually as horrible as it sounds.
Thankfully, my brain has managed to bulldoze most of the lyrics deep into my subconscious where they can only haunt me during hellacious nightmares instead of dogging me every single waking moment. The only part I remember is the refrain: "It's fun for a girl and a boy!"
Even as I type those words, my body starts to shake and I must force my fingers to the keys.
Remember the parents who sued the members of Judas Priest a few years back, saying their kids committed suicide because they listened to the band's lyrics? Well, if I see that damned ad one more time, my family will be filing the papers down at the courthouse.
There is a long, storied tradition of bad TV commercials -- annoying ads with monstrous jingles that burrow themselves deep into your frontal lobes and suck out your will to live like some kind of psychic tick. Decades later, I can still remember one such spot that seriously dulled my enjoyment of the old Scooby-Doo show:
Kids like Kix for what Kix has got
Moms like Kix for what Kix has not!
I can't remember 90 percent of what I learned in biology or economics, but dammit, I know the old Kix jingle by heart. Even if I still don't know what it is Kix hasn't got that's made America's moms so flustered and joyful.
Some ads are so bad they're pathetic. These mostly involve daytime talk shows on UHF stations and personal injury attorneys who love to tell America's unemployed gutter-trash that they're entitled to money for driving drunk and cruel industrial accidents.
In Los Angeles, there's a lawyer by the name of Larry H. Parker whose ad is so bad, it's quite possibly the funniest thing you've ever seen in your life. It starts with Larry and his associates sitting around a conference table in a scene familiar to anyone who's ever watched L.A. Law. The young, wet-behind- the-ears lawyers are complaining that their client can't win -- he didn't have insurance and wasn't wearing a seatbelt.
But then one of Larry's associates, his porn-star-mustache-covered-face nearly bursting with righteous indignation while his rodent-carcass toupee fights to stay on his head, sputters through a speech that would put Corbin Bernsen, Harry Hamlin, Jimmy Smits and all the other kids at McKenzie Brackman to shame.
"It doesn't matter if he's uninsured!," the ferret-skulled barrister proclaims with fiery passion. "He was a passenger in that car. He has rights. And I will fight to protect those rights!"
Unfortunately the ad ends before this would-be Perry Mason gets to astonish us with any more powerful rhetoric. But I'll bet the next line in the script was "I'm out of order? The whole freakin' system's out of order!"
Larry H. Parker has a couple excuses for this atrocity. Number one, he's a lawyer and we all know what kind of contribution lawyers make to society. Number two, it's a local ad, and, as dedicated TV viewers know, there isn't a local ad in the entire world that doesn't look like something Uncle Harold and the kids threw together on the ol' Betamax for the family reunion talent show.
But the folks at Isuzu have no excuses. This was obviously a professional job done by a professional ad agency. Isuzu paid big money to get a spot hat would endear its product to customers.
Instead the company ended up with -- and I say this without any trace of hyperbole whatsoever -- the worst commercial ever made.
And I can even say this not even having seen the whole thing. Most of the time, when a bad commercial comes on, you have to suffer through the whole thing before being satisfied that it's worth a channel flip the next time you catch it on the screen.
But the Amigo ad is so fearfully terrible that my fight-or-flight response kicks in and I reflexively flip stations after just a few seconds. I hear a few bars of that relentlessly happy opening tune, and I know my mental health is soon to be in jeopardy.
I have tried to watch the whole thing, all the way through. But journalistic integrity be damned, I can't take that kind of pain. This wasn't like Dan Rather chaining himself to a tree in order to file a radio report from inside a Houston hurricane. Watching the Amigo commercial entails genuine risks.
Really, I did try. I actually took the batteries out of the remote once to try and keep from flipping channels, but halfway through, my brain took matters into its own hands and started massive convulsions, whereupon I promptly banged my head against the coffee table and passed out.
It's not just the bamboo-shoots-under-the-fingernails-song either. Advertisers these days seem to think that if you're under thirty you must dress like a dirtball and enjoy snowboarding. Every single ad aimed at the all-important 18-34 set these days depicts a bunch of loser scumbags in dumpy earth tones and big shoes who think "dressing up" means taking a shower that day.
The Amigo ad has dozens upon dozens of these future fast food Employee of the Month runner-ups scurrying around while singing and smiling and just generally looking like complete societal rejects who could never afford the car in the first place. And those in the thrall of the Amigo are headed up by a hippie cult leader who bears a shocking resemblance to ex-Monkee Mike Nesmith.
Since everyone has sideburns and big hair, I guess it's supposed to be an homage to the '70s. Which just proves how evil the ad is. I mean, if ever there was a decade that begs for no warm nostalgia whatsoever, it would be the 1970s.
The real scary thing is that somebody wanted it this way. Nothing in advertising is an accident. Someone, somewhere, must have planned this entire ad. Actual people -- probably some Fortune 500 Madison Avenue ad agency -- sat down in their quality teams and decided to create the world's most agonizing 30 seconds.
Probably the same folks who thought the soothing tones of Fran Drescher's voice would make people rush out to buy Three Musketeers bars.
I can imagine the Amigo pitch meeting:
"We need to create a car ad that people will remember."
"I know! We'll create some ghastly, blood-curdling monstrosity that will make people wish that they were watching a love one getting autopsied!"
"Great idea!"
And these professional adpersons, with no regard for the public's well-being, actually went through with the plan. There must be a special circle of Hell for these people, and I for one will be happy to help get them there promptly. I have no idea how just yet, but it would probably involve running them over -- with an Amigo, of course -- backing up and running over them again. All the while screaming, "Now this is fun for a girl and a boy!"
But bodily threats don't faze these kind of people, so we need a scare tactic that will really work.
An Isuzu boycott.
Here's my own personnel form letter. Copy it, then paste it into an e-mail and send it to Isuzu. And take pride knowing that you've made the world better for future generations.
Your new Isuzu Amigo commercial is by far the most obscenely horrific 30 seconds of television ever broadcast. Every time I see it, I want to die.
To help combat your evil creation, I am now participating in a boycott of all Isuzu products. I will not purchase an Amigo, Rodeo, Trooper or any other vehicle bearing the Isuzu nameplate until you cease and desist with this commercial and a public apology has been made to all the peoples of the world.
Shame on you, Dear Isuzu Marketing Geniuses,
I know this is a risky stance to take. I know the depraved marketing minions of Isuzu may have targeted our very lives. I know former Isuzu pitchman David Leisure will now snub me at parties.
A nauseated viewer
But we Vidiots are used to it. We spit in the face of danger and fear no reprisals. Because making the world safe from evil is what we do.
And if Warren Littlefield hasn't clipped us yet, Isuzu hasn't got a prayer.
