 |  |  |  |
| One Bad Ass Mother-Smucker |
| ...the hell? |
Few pleasures in life are as simple and phallic as the banana. I’ve been eating
bananas for close to twenty-four years now, and can proudly say I’d never take back
a single second of it. But the other day, as I was reaching for a long, yellow snack, I
noticed something that made me want to take a soldering iron to my eyebrows:
advertising.
Suddenly, I felt like Charlton Heston on that beach of the future staring down a
sunken Statue of Liberty, pounding the sand and crying out to the heavens in anguish.
Like Charlton, I dropped to my knees on the linoleum and gritted my teeth in anger.
And then, still like Charlton, I scheduled an NRA convention on the anniversary of a
little girl’s firearm-related murder. After I worked out all the kinks and made sure that
the St. Louis branch could still make it, I took a closer look at the thing that had
wronged me so.
Right there, on the skin of the banana, was a tiny sticker advertising something called
“Smucker’s Uncrustables.” After a quick Google search, I found out that these
“Uncrustables” (or, as I prefer to call them, “Unedibles”) are some sort of peanut
butter and jelly freezer treat. I can only assume that this is what Satan makes his
kids for an after school snack.
What the hell is wrong with America that we can’t spread peanut butter and jelly on
two slices of bread anymore? It’s not hard, all you have to do is open one jar,
extricate the contents and apply it to a slice of bread, and then repeat the process
with a second jar. And then, if you’re a huge sissy, you can cut the crusts off the
bread. From start to finish, I’d say the whole procedure takes forty five seconds at
most. What the hell are people going to do with an extra forty five seconds that’s so
goddamn worthwhile? Time is like money these days. You can’t buy shit with
anything under a dollar and you can’t do shit with anything under a minute. So why
bother trying to save time by buying some disgusting frozen ball of shit?
Fuck this. Everyone’s so goddamn eager to take the easy way out these days, what
with our instant oatmeal and microwave popcorn. Not to mention the shitty butter you
buy in stores now that’s already churned! What the hell is up with that? Pre-churned
butter will be the death of our civilization, I guarantee it! Why, you ask? Because
butter is the kind of food that you shouldn’t eat unless you’ve put the work in to make
it! America is in the grip of the worst obesity epidemic since that time I went over to
your mom’s house, and we have pre-churned butter to thank. Next time you’re eating
dinner and somebody asks you to pass the butter, you should say, “why don’t you get
it yourself, or are you afraid to try to get out of your chair because then it’ll stick to
your big, fat butter-eating ass and everyone at the table will know you haven’t really
been going to that gym you said you joined, fatty? Huh? Huh? Yeah, don’t want the
butter anymore, do you, lardo? You make me sick.”
But it doesn’t stop there. Pretty much every societal ill can be traced back to the
fact that people are having all kinds of things served up to them on a silver platter.
Nobody would have an alcohol problem if they had to distill the whiskey themselves.
And do you really think the people using crack cocaine are the same people that
make it? Hell no! Whether it’s booze, crack or butter, the things people use take
away their motivation to make them. If they had to make these things themselves,
there’d be no more fat asses, winos or crackheads. And then crime would drop
faster than a third-trimester fetus in an abortion clinic because nobody would be
breaking into nursing homes to pay for booze, crack or South Beach Diet books.
So once again, I’ve made a bunch of nasty old social problems my bitch. Say hello
to Candy, Sugar Plum and Lurlene, my friends. And tune in next week, because once
I get finished pounding what used to be crack addiction in its ass, I’m going after the
stupid, out-of-place advertising that prompted this rant. But first, some ATM.
Goodnight everybody!
bananas for close to twenty-four years now, and can proudly say I’d never take back
a single second of it. But the other day, as I was reaching for a long, yellow snack, I
noticed something that made me want to take a soldering iron to my eyebrows:
advertising.
Suddenly, I felt like Charlton Heston on that beach of the future staring down a
sunken Statue of Liberty, pounding the sand and crying out to the heavens in anguish.
Like Charlton, I dropped to my knees on the linoleum and gritted my teeth in anger.
And then, still like Charlton, I scheduled an NRA convention on the anniversary of a
little girl’s firearm-related murder. After I worked out all the kinks and made sure that
the St. Louis branch could still make it, I took a closer look at the thing that had
wronged me so.
Right there, on the skin of the banana, was a tiny sticker advertising something called
“Smucker’s Uncrustables.” After a quick Google search, I found out that these
“Uncrustables” (or, as I prefer to call them, “Unedibles”) are some sort of peanut
butter and jelly freezer treat. I can only assume that this is what Satan makes his
kids for an after school snack.
What the hell is wrong with America that we can’t spread peanut butter and jelly on
two slices of bread anymore? It’s not hard, all you have to do is open one jar,
extricate the contents and apply it to a slice of bread, and then repeat the process
with a second jar. And then, if you’re a huge sissy, you can cut the crusts off the
bread. From start to finish, I’d say the whole procedure takes forty five seconds at
most. What the hell are people going to do with an extra forty five seconds that’s so
goddamn worthwhile? Time is like money these days. You can’t buy shit with
anything under a dollar and you can’t do shit with anything under a minute. So why
bother trying to save time by buying some disgusting frozen ball of shit?
Fuck this. Everyone’s so goddamn eager to take the easy way out these days, what
with our instant oatmeal and microwave popcorn. Not to mention the shitty butter you
buy in stores now that’s already churned! What the hell is up with that? Pre-churned
butter will be the death of our civilization, I guarantee it! Why, you ask? Because
butter is the kind of food that you shouldn’t eat unless you’ve put the work in to make
it! America is in the grip of the worst obesity epidemic since that time I went over to
your mom’s house, and we have pre-churned butter to thank. Next time you’re eating
dinner and somebody asks you to pass the butter, you should say, “why don’t you get
it yourself, or are you afraid to try to get out of your chair because then it’ll stick to
your big, fat butter-eating ass and everyone at the table will know you haven’t really
been going to that gym you said you joined, fatty? Huh? Huh? Yeah, don’t want the
butter anymore, do you, lardo? You make me sick.”
But it doesn’t stop there. Pretty much every societal ill can be traced back to the
fact that people are having all kinds of things served up to them on a silver platter.
Nobody would have an alcohol problem if they had to distill the whiskey themselves.
And do you really think the people using crack cocaine are the same people that
make it? Hell no! Whether it’s booze, crack or butter, the things people use take
away their motivation to make them. If they had to make these things themselves,
there’d be no more fat asses, winos or crackheads. And then crime would drop
faster than a third-trimester fetus in an abortion clinic because nobody would be
breaking into nursing homes to pay for booze, crack or South Beach Diet books.
So once again, I’ve made a bunch of nasty old social problems my bitch. Say hello
to Candy, Sugar Plum and Lurlene, my friends. And tune in next week, because once
I get finished pounding what used to be crack addiction in its ass, I’m going after the
stupid, out-of-place advertising that prompted this rant. But first, some ATM.
Goodnight everybody!
Email me at JimiChanga@SurlyTaco.com
Or, just head back to Salsa
Or, just head back to Salsa