Dippin' Sauce
There are things that upset me more than others. Nuclear war, baby killing, UPN, and those elastic socks you wear to weddings that leave a mark on your shin because they're so tight, all push my brain to one side and leave me insane.
And then there are things, perhaps not as bad as some of the above, that still worm their way into my head and make me even insaner.
I love commercials. They are capitalism's version of a rectal exam by a very nice doctor. We all need that when we get to a certain age, and just as the ass needs to be in the hands of a competent M.D., commercials should swing with the verve of youth, and give us a nice introduction to all of the fine products out there that we all want. Desperately.
However, sometimes Madison Avenue decides to get fancy, and produce commercials that are indeed memorable, but it is the spot that you retain, and not the product. This is NOT good for business. No matter how slick.
This brings us to Dippin' Sauce. I have grown to love, appreciate, covet, and even consider stealing this wonderful new product, so I'm told. It's DIPPIN' SAUCE dammit!
What is dippin' sauce, sir? I can hear the choir on the commercial singing just how great it is. I realize that you must either dip something into the dippin' sauce, or perhaps it is the sauce itself that dips. And makes for a wonderful meal.
Assuming that it's food. I am the foremost expert on my floor, in my apartment house, on dippin' sauce. But when the children come to me, as one day they will, and ask, "Joey, what is dippin' sauce? I will have to turn away, and then turn around and give them the latest news on the new pay toilet across the street from my apartment. Because at the end of the day, my dippin' sauce knowledge is sorely lacking. Or is that nicely lacking? But pay toilets I know.
Oh Dippin' Sauce, I am a prisoner of your delights. Whatever they may be.
I do the best I can with the little I have to work with.
Joe
And then there are things, perhaps not as bad as some of the above, that still worm their way into my head and make me even insaner.
I love commercials. They are capitalism's version of a rectal exam by a very nice doctor. We all need that when we get to a certain age, and just as the ass needs to be in the hands of a competent M.D., commercials should swing with the verve of youth, and give us a nice introduction to all of the fine products out there that we all want. Desperately.
However, sometimes Madison Avenue decides to get fancy, and produce commercials that are indeed memorable, but it is the spot that you retain, and not the product. This is NOT good for business. No matter how slick.
This brings us to Dippin' Sauce. I have grown to love, appreciate, covet, and even consider stealing this wonderful new product, so I'm told. It's DIPPIN' SAUCE dammit!
What is dippin' sauce, sir? I can hear the choir on the commercial singing just how great it is. I realize that you must either dip something into the dippin' sauce, or perhaps it is the sauce itself that dips. And makes for a wonderful meal.
Assuming that it's food. I am the foremost expert on my floor, in my apartment house, on dippin' sauce. But when the children come to me, as one day they will, and ask, "Joey, what is dippin' sauce? I will have to turn away, and then turn around and give them the latest news on the new pay toilet across the street from my apartment. Because at the end of the day, my dippin' sauce knowledge is sorely lacking. Or is that nicely lacking? But pay toilets I know.
Oh Dippin' Sauce, I am a prisoner of your delights. Whatever they may be.
I do the best I can with the little I have to work with.
Joe
posted by Mr. Liberty at 11:40 AM
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