Aiiieee

One of my hot-buttons... a serious hot-button... is all those damned eee-dee drug ads on teevee.  I was only ten days into my most-excellent blogging career before I published my first rant on the subject (and you know there may be more), as a matter of fact.  What the sergeant said at that time:

Viagra, Cialis, Levitra. How many awkward conversations have there been in America when an eight year old asks "Mom (Dad), what's EEE-DEE?" For God's sake, why don't they run half hour soft-porn infomercials on CNBC at 2:00 a.m. or advertise in Golf or Field and Stream magazines? Not suitable for prime-time. Ever.

Still true, that.  I had categorized the drug ads in the "Bad" category of teevee stuff, but the ads in question are the epitome of good taste and discretion... especially the silliness of twin bathtubs sitting in unlikely places...  compared to this offense to one's sensibilities:



Apparently this ad has been around for quite a while... at least a year or so, judging from the comments at The Tube of You.  But I saw it for the first time during my epic bout of insomnia night before last.  I'll give The Military Channel credit where credit is due: the ad ran sometime around 0300 hrs and NOT in prime-time.  Still and even... perhaps the ultimate offense to my sensibilities is this device is Medicare Part B approved.  Our tax dollars are paying for something that might well be called Peter-Pumps-It-Up, a name only slightly more outrageous than Pos-T-Vac... a device formerly available only in sleazy establishments with "adult" in their bid'niz name or by mail order.   Grok THAT if you will, Gentle Reader.

Added, 45 minutes later:  Why can't I think of this stuff at the time I actually post?  So there I was... in the shower... and I'm thinking the women in this ad deserve an Academy Award (or the advertising equivalent thereof) for keeping a straight face while filming this thing.  Along those same lines... can you imagine foreplay scenarios involving this device?  I can't, coz nothing deflates the male ego... amongst other things... faster than laughter.  Nothing.  And I've not known one single woman in my life who wouldn't have collapsed on the floor in paroxysms of similar laughter had I brought one of these things home.  Or on a date.  Or whatever.  This simply does not compute.