I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not going to take this anymore!

In my life, I’ve put up with torture. You’ve read my posts, I presume? If not then go through the archives. You’ll see what I mean.

And I’m not alone. We all have had our share of trials and trauma.  Isn’t that enough? Isn’t it too much?

Cable TV wasn’t around when I was a kid. We had the three networks, plus independent stations on UHF frequency. I saw some really cool shows, movies and specials, like Christmas themed variety and cartoon shows.

But through all those years, I also had to put up with the garbage of TV, the commercials. It wasn’t fair. Luggage, sandwich bags, Wesson oil, Gulf gas stations, ugly cars someone always sang jingles about, brassieres like the Playtex Cross Your Heart Bra (which was always fastened around a mannequin’s truncated torso, rendering an ad that was somehow nightmare inducing), PSA ads by Larry the Label, Bayer Aspirin, Joy and Palmolive ads (Madge was a sadistic liar), Ajax, and UUUGHHH!

Now I understand that if you weren’t around yet, back then I mean, none of that means anything to you. But see, the thing is, after my time with those ads, and you came around, those commercials got worse.

By then I considered myself immune to everything except the annoying breaks in a good movie. And even that wasn’t too bad. I still watched network-made movies until the early 1980s, which is pretty much when the decline of Western Civilization began. Well, actually it started in the mid-70s, but I’m not going to push it.

There were rumors — some reliable but most not so much, of tricks in commercials that used subliminal messages. A veteran character actor and Cracker Jack commercial star was doing a spacewalk in one. The mutt could never eat his Cracker Jacks and so it was with this one; he opened the box in space and forgot his visor was down and the delicious caramel popcorn floated away. Supposedly, while we’re focusing on him, his tether to the space capsule twists about in zero gravity and spells out an “S” and an “E” and an “X” and I don’t know if that’s true or not.

But that wasn’t disgusting even if it was true. By the mid-1990s, I think I pretty much knew our doom wasn’t far off. And a Cracker Jack commercial was nothing compared to Klingman. As Carrie Nation sought to empty every saloon in the country, so Shannon Klingman wants to stamp out smegma, even though I’m sure she’s an antivaxxer. Just what kind of doctor is she, anyway? Maybe she’s a twat doctor, or maybe the “Doctor” part is made up. Next we’ll see her with a hatchet, going around scraping scrote cheese into an empty wine cask. This whole world is so fucked I will probably never be shocked at anything again.

Thing is, with Madison Avenue there used to be some clean American competition. Not anymore. And it doesn’t matter.

Because here comes a reason for you to invest in a Vaultech room reservation. It’s positively sickening, disgusting and barf-making. It makes me think I’m not merely mentally ill, I’m downright insane. I can’t find the first ad she did, but here’s “Doctor” (I doubt it) Shannon Klingon–excuse me, Klingman still looking demented and horny at the same time, which can actually happen. In the first ad she’s sitting on a porch, feet bare, looking kind of seedy and dirty. She says to run your hands between your butt cheeks and along the sides of your “schnitzel sack” and then sniff your hands.

Okay, STOP.

This is not okay. It’s not. First, her eyes gleam as if she’s ready right now for a run at some poor guy’s schnitzel. As in, any guy’s schnitzel sack.

She’s referring to the male scrotum, and smegma. Hey! Don’t blame me, I would never have done this if she wasn’t Weirdo Wanda looking for guys on the street to sample her deodorant, which customers say smells worse than smegma.

In one ad she cornered a guy on the street, forcing him to listen while she did her thing. That ad I can’t find either but she was dressed like a house painter. Good grief.

Fortunately, there’s someone who made a different version of her schnitzel commercial ad, and it is oddly close to how the original ad is remembered in my exhausted brain. It’s all like a fever dream.

Shannon, you’re not a doctor. You know it. I know it. A lot of people know it. Stop talking about scrotums and smegma, stop leaning into the camera because it’s freaky and I think you’re a total Karen, and take your stinky deodorant and your bare feet and take a shower, use SOAP, and get yourself a new wardrobe. At Macy’s. You’ve fleeced enough people to be able to afford it. And stay off my damn TV!