Sex sells. That’s advertising 101, and it’s why I want to fuck the Arby’s Mitt so bad it ruins me for human lovers. But there’s a danger in getting too sexy with your advertising, and sometimes the only way to find that line is by hurtling past it at the speed of sound while screaming apologies, the air exploding with your regret long after you’ve disappeared over the horizon.
We are here today to talk about a gum commercial. Maybe that wasn’t clear.
To set the mood we must travel back to the bygone year of 2015. We kept our funk uptown, and identifying the color of dresses was tearing us apart as a nation. Ashton Kutcher was still our best Fuckable Dimwit. It’s a character, of course – the real Ashton Kutcher is actually the fake Liam Neeson — but we loved his shtick. America always needs a hot guy just barely smart enough so that fucking him won’t count as a crime in every state but Mississippi.
There’s no question Ashton Kutcher is a beautiful man, and for some reason we decided the best use for this walking Roman statue was having him pretend to enjoy the taste of paste on our televisions. We just really liked the idea that, before we could fuck him, we had to settle an internal philosophical debate about whether or not he understood his surroundings well enough to give informed consent.
This is an article about a gum commercial!
We open on an apartment, where our reigning National Fuck Dope is about to get busy with a woman who has settled the moral storm raging inside herself, and now wants to replace that void with reigning National Fuck Dope.
Then a saucy Italian woman chides him from off camera – is he cheating on her? Did he think he could get away with it? Does saucy count as a dad joke if I use it before I show you the Sexy Pizza?
It is so clear nobody at the ad firm thought about this beyond the premise stage. Because something terrible happened here. She’s the only pizza left in the box, and you can see the grease stains that say she didn’t start that way.
Ashton has either devoured the cheesy tits of all nine of her sisters, Attack on Titan-style, or I guess rolled them up and fucked them until they lost their structural integrity, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure-style.
Because this is a sex thing — it’s not just a weird design. Sexy Pizza cut in when Ashton was about to get busy. She’s jealous that he’s with another woman.
She demands to be his one and only, but Ashton is having none of it. He-
Oh, hold on.
You were probably worried. I know. But don’t be.
I’ve got you – of course they rendered Sexy Pizza’s titty physics, and of course I giffed the bounce of the cheese breasts for you.
Ashton doesn’t want to marry a pizza and have little half-pizza, half-Fuck Dope abominations — that’s how we got Steve Bannon — so he grabs his Orbit brand gum, and Sexy Pizza shows us one flash of pure terror-
Before she is obliterated totally.
Sorry, sorry! Orbiterated. Jesus, that was close!
There are many troubling questions about this dark world Ashton leapt into, but there is one that rises above all: What poor motherfucker got the call from this ad firm asking him to design pizza with tits?
Some mysteries only the void can answer.
But not this one: It is a riddle I can solve for you today. The Sexy Pizza guy wrote a design bible taking us through every step of the death of his soul. He did it for 20 thumbs up.
I’m familiar with Seanbaby’s work. I know where two of those thumbs come from, but the other 18 shock and sadden me.
Now, since the designer put together this portfolio after the job was completed and his spirit had already been mashed between the uncaring teeth of the universe and spat onto the sidewalk, leaving him a soulless gum husk, he had this to say:
If you run that through Google Translate and set it from Husk to Human, that’s how the hollow spot where a person used to be begs you to destroy it — not out of hatred for the monster it is, but out of respect for the man it once was.
We are still talking about a gum commercial. It is 20 seconds long.
The Gum Husk then takes us through all of the many variations and refinements he made to Sexy Pizza, so others can recognize the emptying process in themselves before it is too late.
Clearly, nobody comes back from this. The Sexy Pizza is a one-way ticket. There’s no return trip. You’re the Fuckable Food guy from here on out. When Wholly Guacamole contacts you later, asking you to sex up their avocados for an ad campaign, you won’t even have to do it. You’ll just pull out a file you had already.
Anyway, that was it. That was a man’s life.