Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Coca-Cola Commercials

Coca-Cola, for some reason, has always opted for the "feel-good family time" strategy in their advertising campaigns. They're currently running a commercial where some people in an urban bring a table and chairs into the street (isn't this illegal?) for an impromptu family feast, replete with home cooking and, of course, 2-liter bottles of Coca-Cola. Others in the neighborhood, seeing the spontaneous jamboree in the making, then bring out their own picnic tables and chairs to join them. Soon, there

I'll ignore the fact that it's totally ridiculous to suggest that people in an urban setting would have picnic tables and chairs ready to go and instead deal with the absurdity of the theory behind this sort of advertising. What is the point? Are they saying that no illegal block party is complete without Coca-Cola? Are they saying that this tooth-decaying soft drink will bring my family together?

I am not moved by this commercial to purchase their product. Why? Because I don't care about picnicking in the middle of the street. This sort of feel-goodery doesn't make me think that I need this product. It doesn't appeal to any of my basic human instincts and, as a result, the commercial fails.

Here is my idea for a Coca-Cola commercial that would not only make me want to drink Coke, but would make me fear for my life if I drank anything else.

============Coca-Cola Suburban Strike Force=============

Jimmy is a normal 16 year old boy living in a typical suburban home. He walks downstairs to the kitchen and opens the refrigerator, from which he extracts a brown paper bag. We also see that the refrigerator is chock full of Coca-Cola. He looks around nervously and, content that he is not being watched, he removes a Pepsi bottle from the bag.

He opens the bottle and goes to take a sip when, suddenly, CRASH. Glass shatters and special forces units are diving into the room, guns blazing. Jimmy is shot up, Pepsi spills everywhere.

Jimmy's family runs into the kitchen, alarmed and confused. His father looks at the corpse of his beloved son and then looks up to the special forces members with a pained look on his face. The strike force team leader bends down, picks up the Pepsi bottle, and shows it to the father. The father nods grimly and salutes the special forces, who dash off into the night.


Now if that doesn't make you afraid to drink anything but Coke, nothing will.

Monday, February 04, 2008

Good Guys Win

Fuck you, Tom Brady.
Fuck you, New England.
Fuck you, Ferris Booth pasta makers for burning my hands with that shit.
Fuck you, pretentious red head kid who walks around campus holding an umbrella like he's goddamn Jay Gatsby.
Fuck you, 109 deli for not accepting credit cards.

Giants win. Boom.