Wednesday, August 24, 2005

No, I Don't Want A Fucking Fanta.

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Now that I've paid $10 to see this shitty movie, there's nothing I want more than to be forced to sit through a loud, obnoxious assault on my senses, in which a bunch of bikini-clad bimbo banshees in bright colors (fuck, alliteration rules) shriek a horrible, repetitive ad jingle about some god-awful fruit beverage no one outside of a trailer park would ever drink.

I hate to break it to you, ladies, but no one wants a fucking Fanta! And there's nothing all your psychedelic fruit swirling, infuriating music and half-naked models can do about it! People who aren't poor don't usually enjoy drinks that taste like carbonated sugar water with melted Jolly Ranchers in it. So you "Wanna Shutta the Fuck Uppa?"

Oh, I know. You're being "kitschy". Cute. But there's nothing kitschy about the fact that, every time I hear your infernal Fanta song, I have to actively suppress the overwhelming desire to commit savage, cannibalistic acts of murder upon my fellow moviegoers. By the last refrain of your moronic, brain-melting song, I am clutching the padded theater arm rests in a last-ditch effort of self-restraint, so I don't freak out and get myself on the 6 o'clock news as the guy who snapped when he couldn't bear another measure of your offensive, infuriatingly hypnotic shit-beverage music.

This country needs Fanta like it needs another 78-pound bacon-double-cheese-ranch-dressing-pizza-sauce-and-pork-grease burger from fucking McDonald's. The only Fanta anyone here needs is the Food And Nutritional Technical Assistance (FANTA) project, whose job is to improve the health of children through proper nutrition, so moron parents can't destroy their kids' bodies and self-esteem as badly as they have their own. Maybe you haven't noticed, but pretty much everyone in this theater is fat as fuck so, whether they want it or not, the last thing they NEED is 89 pure sugar carbs from your shitty, nutritionless soft drink, you dumb whores.

Whoever's responsible for these putrid ads - along with the creators of ALL Old Navy's marketing messages, and that retarded BK Bacon Double Ranch commercial with Hootie - should be strapped to a chair in a dark room, surrounded by obese morons shoveling greasy buttered popcorn into their mouths, and forced to view this commercial over and over for all of eternity, while I put eyedrops into their forced-open eyeballs, like on "Clockwork Orange". Because that's how I feel every time I fucking see it.

Also, while we're at it, marketing geniuses who make the "Dove" ads: no one wants to see half-naked fat chicks. FYI.

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