NFL, Advertising and Cougarville

I am a big NFL fan.  I love watching the games on Sunday afternoons and lately my kids have been joining me.  We hunker down in the big chairs after lunch, catch the 4th quarter of the early game and watch as much of the 2pm game as possible.  I’m not never too worried about non-family friendly content as it’s daytime tv.

The commercials are generally tame.  A few promo’s for that evening shows, a shout-out to the upcoming fall or spring tv schedule, a few food commercials and spattering of movie trailers.  Things are changing though.

I no longer let the television just run on without my attention during NFL games (nor NHL games for that matter).  I’m very aware of the commercials that they are putting in because I’ve seen too many questionable ones that I don’t want to have to explain to my kids…or that are just so clearly marketed to middle age white guys.

I expect the Ulysse Nardin-type watch commercials.  Selling high end watches and catering to the vanity of affluent men.  I had no idea that these watches – which I expected to run between $1,000-2,000 were actually $7000-10000 for cheapo’s and $40,000-70,000 for the main catalogue pieces. This is fucking crazy!!  Watches more expensive than a post-secondary education…or half a house…or two cars!!  I couldn’t believe it.  My kids couldn’t believe it.

I have been taken back though by the advertisements for Ashley Madison and Cougar Life.  All of sudden the 70’s porno music oozes out of the television, the airbrushes panty-lines of 20 year olds acting like 35-50 year old women slowly troll across my HD screen, and the seductively vacant voice of an imaginary nymphomaniac promises evenings of erotic gymnastics and libidinal release while mitigating the guilt of broken relationships and ignoring the spectre of syphilis.

These ads promise horny, aggressive, gorgeous woman that only want what you got: yes you -the 45 year old, pot-bellied Bronco fan with greasy hot sauce stains on your greying tattered wife beater; you – with your Doritos-orange finger times leaving your tailings along cellulite free hips and botoxed cheeks; you – balding father of five teenagers who hasn’t seen his penis from under his stomach for 10 years…but knows it’s still there because you’re simply going by feeling like blind squirrel searching for a nut; you – dismissive, self-obsessed useless husband who would rather release your chili dog flatulence into the fraying cord fabric of a used Lazy-Boy instead of actually getting your diabetic body up for an actual activity with your kids.  Yes… this is aimed specifically for you!!!

I don’t need my kids seeing these ads.  I don’t need to see these ads.  I know when I’m being lied too and I’d appreciate it if television stations, advertisers, and the NFL refrained from lying to my children.  That’s my job.  Now, I need to go tell the kids that I just bumped into Santa Clause who said that he’s out of Nintendo DS’s but that they’ll get the next best thing: a National Geographic subscription.

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