Just what the hell is your problem, you little blond tart? What the fuck bothers you so much about your husband eating shitty Taco Bell salads?
If I had any inclination to eat at Taco Bell and my wife had such a stick up her ass about it, I’d have my receptionist screen my phone calls and say that I’m in meetings, too. It’s crappy fast food, nothing more. Damn straight I’m going to hide out in my office and eat some Mexican salad that probably has 85 grams of fat in it. There’s no call for you to charge in to your husband’s place of work and throw a lousy brown-bag lunch at him, knocking over a terribly constructed model of a building.
Your husband obviously provides well for you, no matter how much covert Taco Bell luncheoning he does. You have enough money to dye your hair and hire a fucking private investigator to follow your man around. You should be grateful that your husband has a good job as an architect or something, not acting shocked at pictures of your guy eating at a fast food joint. Stop fucking picking on him for eating a shitburger tostada with some crappy iceberg lettuce and stale shredded ass cheese.
What the hell happened in your childhood that made this such a terrible thing for you? And why must you live out your trauma and your irrational behavior on my television during every goddamn break from the NCAA basketball tourney?
But no, you hire a PI so that he can track your husband’s travels to a fucking fast food restaurant. Whoop-de-fucking doo. Takes a real Manix-slash-Jim Rockford gumshoe to crack that case, toots. Best fucking mystery I’ve seen since The Usual Suspects. And all of this because of a godddamned three dollar taco salad.
And don’t try to defend yourself, fella. “It’s not what it looks like,” my ass. It is what it looks like. You married the most annoying TV advertisment bitch I’ve seen in years.
Stop haunting my weekend television watching with your obsessive, controlling, anti-fast food behavior, you crazy bitch.
Let me get this straight: If I don’t watch basketball on television, I not only get the benefit of not seeing the basketball, but I get the bonus of not seeing Taco Bell commercials? Sweet. Especially as they seem to cause brain aneurysms.
Commercials in general are pretty stupid. There have been a few over the years that have actually made me laugh but it’s rare, very rare. I don’t understand how ad agencies think that their ideas are doing anything other than annoying us to death. Are there no ad agency Dopers who can raise the bar? Ignorance, thy name is commercial!
The woman I can’t stand is the one on the Subway commercial for the Atkins wraps. She sees a Subway wrapper in the trashcan in her husband’s home office, and she immediately goes off, ranting about how they were supposed to be “dieting together.” Obviously, she thinks her husband has broken his Atkins diet behind her back.
The thing is, she trashes his office. Breaks stuff, throws things around – even takes an obviously valuable baseball from its stand and throws it through the window.
Of course, when she confronts her husband, he shows her that he’s eating an Atkins-friendly Subway wrap. And she gets this chagrined look on her face.
Then, a few moments later, the dog comes ambling in with the baseball in its mouth. The guy says, “What you got there, boy?” and sees the baseball. He looks at the wife, who gives him this big shiteating grin.
I absolutely LOATHE that woman. I hope the dog’s name is Chopper, and what we don’t hear as the commercial fades out is the man’s voice: “Chopper! Sic boobs!”
Certainly seems to be the logic behind the Spongemonkeys Quizno’s ad. Although one magazine pointed out that those ads, annoying as they are, do tell you things about the sandwiches (“they are tasty, they are crunchy, they are warm because they toast them”) and the sandwich shops (“they got a peppah bah!”)
The lady with the stick up her rear about taco salads haunts me worse than any real person ever could. Actual people are not created with the single purpose of annoying the hell out of anyone who happens to see them on TV.