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2022-03-07 - 2:20 p.m.

Flo from the Progressive Insurance commercials is without a doubt the most unfuckable woman on television this side of Mayim Bialik. She’s repugnant and foul with her shapeless doughy mayonnaise face and resembles every lone woman you see dancing to the band at any bar in Bangor. Still, they’ve allowed this woman as their spokesperson for almost two decades. They feel so strongly about this behemoth they’ve even permitted her to do characters to show the level of range she has. So as of late I’m suffering through multiple Flos.
So away I hammer at my remote clicking for something else to watch and find commercials on every single channel. On one a soulful black man serenades me about diarrhea, on another a group of toilet paper obsessed bears brag to me about how they no longer have dingleberries. I solider on though more commercials and this time find a young woman who finds it frustrating to sing with her band because she can’t stop defecating. Next, it’s onto a special adult diaper that allows female Boomers to twist at local functions without having their urine spray about and leak down their legs.
I leave to make a sandwich and when I resume my couch position the television alerts me that there is now a better way to shave my balls. They’ve created specialty razors for grooming your cockbush that promise to not cause mishaps. As I ponder the possibilities of a shorn scrotum Jimmy Walker shows up to discuss signing up for Medicaid. Call me a cynic but I have no desire to discuss finances with a man who hasn’t had a job since Good Times. After Tom Selleck arrives to lecture me about remortgaging my house and Joe Namath comes to reiterate what J.J from Good Times already spoke to me about, I am assaulted with ads for boner pills and erectile disfunction remedies.
By this time, it’s after midnight and the commercials blossom into half hour infomercials. I have the option of either sitting though a hillbilly showcasing all of the various knife collections he can sell me on FlexPay or a giggling slutty redheaded girl demonstrating the functions of the various dildos and vibrators she’s pedaling. She seems very familiar with the products, I might add.
None of this matters though, and the transgressions of all previous ads have been forgiven due to the last commercial I watched before I turned the damn set off.
It would seem that we’re currently living in the golden age of progress, because now, ladies, we finally have Vaginal Deodorant. Apparently, there are people out their who’ve suffered their whole lives enduring the shame of an odorous feminine canal. A stench so vile had been permeating from their nether regions that disrupted their lives so feverously, that a product had to be created to remedy the situation. At last, we now have the means to disguise the miasma of crotch rot.
What in God’s name is this world coming to?
I apologize to all of the women with something rotten in the state of their meat wallets, but if soap isn’t fixing it then go to a fucking doctor. Clearly something terrible is going on down there because the vagina is a self-cleaning mechanism and if smells worse than the killing fields of Cambodia medical attention needs to be on your horizon. Masking the unwholesome effluvium with a stick of Right Guard will never cure an infected crevasse.
Thank you cable television for making me aware of all of the grotesque issues this county has to deal with, but I’m not sure how much longer this relationship can carry on.



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