We watch... so you don't have to.
The Rage that No McFlurry Can Quench
We've reached the Television Commercial That Currently Enrages Phil Beyond All Levels of Rational Discourse portion of the program. Today's lucky winner -- the McDonald's spot that advertises the fast food chain's new "open-'til-midnight-and-even-later-for-you-urbanites" policy. (Because nothing chases away those night terrors like a hearty helping of McNuggets!)
In the ad, a cadre of hipster doofuses are playing their rock music just a wee bit loud for the post-Witching Hour timeslot, and their neighbor, Ol' Man Grumpus, is shown pounding on their door. As the peppy jingle sings about it being a good time to take a break from all that rocking -- I guess "taking break" is a polite and succinct way of saying "time to flee from the neighbor we've wronged" -- the kids drive to the local McDonald's (Now open late! The perfect antidote for when those drug-fueled munchies hit!) and pick themselves up some sandwiches. The advertisement ends with the young people knocking at Ol' Man Grumpus's door -- they bought him a sandwich, too! And so grateful is he for this Quarter-Pounder peace offering that he joins them as they resume their late-night rockin'-out session.
This commercial hits rather close to home for me, as I currently live in an apartment building inhabited by a good many college students, who -- near as I can tell -- all happen to be slobs and louts and half-wits. They park their cars in other people's parking spaces. They leave their trash in common areas. And they play their music really, really loud at all hours of the night.
In fact, as I write this -- at a quarter of 2, Pacific Daylight Time, on Monday morning -- the upstairs neighbors are playing some sort of tune that's popular with the kids these days at a volume loud enough to drown out jet engines. And on a school night! I am about to make the long trek upstairs to ask them politely, calmly, even sweetly to turn that crap down. And let me just add, that if they show up at my door half-an-hour later holding a bag of McDonald's food, I will not be so touched by their selfless gesture that I will encourage them -- nay, beg them -- to crank their stereo up to 11. Instead -- and I realize that most courts will consider this premediation and sentence me accordingly -- I will murder them.
Oh, I'll eat the Quarter-Pounder. But only after the killing is done.
