On “Marry Bacon” and other SB XXX Ads

Oh, I know it’s like LXVI or something, the XXX is for the um, XXX of the ads and game. Here, let’s take a gander. So, yes, I watched the Super Bowl. I’m glad the Giants won; I’m from NYC originally, I can root for the hometown team even if it hasn’t been my hometown for 27 years. I got a Nu Yawk accent, that’s reality. And yet, did I care who won? No, it would have made no difference to me. As it probably made no difference to the vast majority of Americans, and even not to a significant majority of the Americans who watched the Super Bowl. The teams don’t matter; it’s the halftime show and the pageantry and the bigness of America’s biggest sport. And of course, it’s about the ads. Oh, the ads are the thing. They are a far bigger and wider target for public analysis or opinion making. I shall join the fray, of course.

 The game is for aficionados of football; you know, all that pass rushing, and running, and what the tight end or the wide receiver and the quarterback did all that they were supposed to do. One team always does of course, and that’s the winner. Winners always do the right thing, even if they don’t know that they did it until it’s analyzed later on. People asked me, “Who do you think will be in the Super Bowl?” And I answered: :The ones with the most points in the last game that counts.” And then they asked “Who do you think will win the Super Bowl?” And I answered: “The one with the most point.” For it could go either way, and it did this time, in the strange “always to be remembered” plays that are often not that well remembered a decade later.

 It’s only football; even if in $1 billion dollar publicly funded stadiums that are barely used and sit otherwise empty and unused for weeks on end, months, even, perhaps. For economic development no doubt. And so that multimillionaire spoiled sports stars can throw a ball and run around and touch each other in ways that are some was provocative, of either violence, or sexually. Oh, it’s homoerotic if you’re a homo. But it’s not really, if one is just the 95%. Meanwhile, the 1% of the Occupy Movement, which I hear is still bleating around, did not dare to argue “Occupy Sports Stadiums” or “Occupy Billionaire Sports Teams” – for they are fat cats on the public dime indeed. One does not get a One Billion Dollar club house without some perception of importance. Welfare of a sort, without doubt. Perhaps they should all be drug tested, from lowly towel boy to big time coach. You know, to keep the public money pure from the evils of drugs. Still, the Occupy Movement was nary to be seen, or reported, nor did they apparently make a peep about the public funds expended on a game that not all Americans benefit from. Probably would have been beaten up had they shown up at the stadium.

 Not unlike the 8 or 9 rather motley folks who walked incessantly through the ignoring throngs at the Staten Island Ferry terminal that I passed through several times last week. They walked around with their placards, and they chanted, well, mumbled something or other about the 1% and the throngs looked at the iPods and talked on their cellphones and chatted with the fellows and basically not only ignored the tiny rabble and gave scornful looks of “what are you doing interrupting my glorious life in the greatest city in the world, the very capital of all that you oppose, and the very font of my own well being?” The Occupiers did not seem to notice that they were not only ignored, but shunned to a degree. Oh well, better luck in the next revolution. The ads gave lie to all that you preach, you Occupiers.

 Ah, the ads, yes, well, they were the thing. And they sold products, as ads are wont to do. Sometimes it was hard to figure out the point of the ad. For instance, apparently FIAT thought that near 1 minute of buxom broads in bikinis and sexually alluring positions galore is what makes the FIAT the next great car in America. Probably it was thought up in Milan in Italian and translated by Google Translator to English. But what of the FIAT? Beats me, the ad was a parade of bimbos, with nary the car to be seen. Though I wonder if the “family values/NO GAYS!” groups will complain about the raw wanton display of sexuality and sex itself, that might even cause Madonna a blush or two, of that ad? You know, to protect the children?

 KIA too had a bikini, teddy, Victoria’s got no secrets whatsoever clad buxom blonds filled ad, that supposedly showed you could get almost 72 virgins with every KIA – and in this lifetime! Yee ha! (note to self, reference http://powip.com/2012/01/teh-gays-and-teh-fashion-of-starvation/ – where he pointed out something to wonder about – which I call “gay-perplexed” which is not at all “homophobia,” but a true, “I don’t get it. Can you explain?” – And that’s the gay-straight conversation we gays have been having with you straights since Frank Kameny stood outside the Johnson White House and shook his fist. And what he wondered was if emaciated woman models were chosen by gay fashion designers as some ideal woman? And the answer is well, no. As was proven by the plenty of fashion, or not so much when one looks at the amount of fabric that was missing from the not so demur ladies on screen for millions of eyeballs to ogle at with puerile thoughts required for adequate understanding of the ad –> KIA = bimbo babes. Buxom curvaceous was in, anorexia was out.

 And will Rick Santorum and his ilk, who must heartily appreciate such ads, for these gentlemen for the sanctity of marriage and the pedestal on which woman must stand to be the perfect mothers who never raise a gay son again (say, if it’s our parent’s fault why are we blamed? Well…) must be, they never mention the raw sexuality of these ads as demeaning to women and promoting teenage sex and sex before marriage at least, and adultery, and well, objectification of mere sexual lust, (there didn’t seem to be any married people in any of the ads, that’s for sure,) and even sex all the time with multiple babes, and even orgies of rambunctious cupids, or even, Polygamy! (At the least the raw sexuality of some Valentine’s Day special ad presented only one bimbo,) Oh, the heterosexual licentiousness of it all – the perfect sex partner, by the dozens, all in heated display! Will Rick & friends finally realize that this does absolutely nothing for us? And that perhaps, then, they should listen to us and ask questions, and wonder “why?” like Powip did, instead of bleating, “End of the world, end of the world,” like lost sheep on a cliff side meadow. I mean really, does Rick believe that all the babe oglers will all of a sudden run down to the gay bar because a way-too-tattooed Beckham displayed his abs and pecs and dorsals and even a dash of gludious maximus (I ain’t no doctor, the butt,) in a pair of skin tight whities? Hmm, ah, what a homoerotic ad if one is a homo, and what a ad, finally, one, for the women of America to ogle at in tern. The men in the rest of the ads were nerds, geeks, freaks, fatties and pointless appendages to the male of the species, and in start contrast to all the he-men of the football field.

 And GoDaddy (oh, go link yourself, you’re so wonderful, you claim) came right out with the PussyCat dolls, and website, and raw near naked buxom babes so as to convince us all that the daddy of this feral feline menagerie is the place to go to do whatever it is that daddy does. And frankly I’m not sure. Perhaps a search engine? Or a “I like this” coagulator? Or some sort of dating service and social network? Hard to tell, don’t care. One of the nice things about the “homosexual lifestyle” is that we have our own sites, and our own networks, and quite a separate thing it is, that I don’t need a daddy on the net, but can act quite the decent fellow all by my lonesome. “Go Daddy”? Is that the way they perceive their customers? To be all men, in search of childlike women, girls even, who are without their own devices and means so as to require a daddy?

 Hmm, that’s something for the Concerned Woman of America should concern themselves with. What with them being all important politicos. And the One Million Woman of America, or something, which is hardly a lot, considering there are 150,000,000 or more women to be concerned with America. But these two are freaked that Ellen Degeneres is going to walk around in her trademark not-so-tight jeans and vest over a loose shirt, and looking more the librarian that would run the Christian section of the place, be the spokesperson for JC Penney. Oh, geez, ladies, go talk to Go Daddy about licentiousness and the breakdown of the moral order. Egad. Meanwhile, I shall not join the boycott, for I don’t shop at Penney’s anyway. But my sister will certainly continue to shop there, I’m sure. She’s more concerned for me than any other concerned-about-any-man woman in the nation, I assure you.

 Then there was the very strange bestiality of Career Builders – some website I’m sure that will pocket good money to do what only real people can do – build careers. What was the monkeys? What was with sleeping with the monkeys? What was with the monkey’s arm extended so that the hand was on the inner thy of the man laid prostrate in bed in his boxers and t-shirt – surrounded by monkeys in various states of slumber or conspiracy? Egad! It was gross. Well, I’ll continue to build my career without the assistance of this fine company. Why, I would join any boycott (or rather, continued never-used service, on my part, in which case how do I join a boycott of a company I don’t use?) that any of the NO GAYS! Movement would propose against this company on the basis of bestiality. I mean, really, to think that some female monkey is going to allow some hairless beach-creature to … oh, really, now, the bizarre idea. Or will, some freaked out Maggie Gallagher accuse gay marriage of now permitting this bit of monkey-business in the living rooms of America. To ask the question has Peter LaBarbera asked about a gay kiss, “How many boys will choose to date monkeys now?” Well, that’s their logic, and being logic, must apply everywhere, no? Yes.  And will the girl-named unmarried gay-boytoy-looking Mr. Stacey Campfield, demented and ill informed State Senator of Tennessee come out and say something about this demented ad alluding to man & girl-monkey sex and how it could lead to heaven knows what sort of diseases and he laid at the foot of us? Egad, some hetero Africans ate Simian AIDS infected money brains and chops, and the world has suffered for it apparently since the 1950s, even, perhaps, and the 1970s if more accurate tests are correct. Mr. Campfield, learn your facts prior to showing yourself the fool you be.

 Ah, but then, the clincher of the weird ads. The title of the post ad, even. But well, one should wait to the end for the best. It’s “Marry Bacon” time – yes, with their own website! Yes, a website I refrain from going to. For it’s to promote Jack-in-the-Box’s new bacon something other. The health authorities and the First Lady are no doubt lamenting the advent of this no doubt fattening froth of calories, fats, salts and lards of dubious merit to one’s waistline. Ah, but the thing is sold with the sanctified word “marriage” – till death do they part (which, if too many of these sandwiches will be sooner than the public purse might be able to pay for.) Ah, showing the groom before the preacher, holding the bride in hand, (not permitted before the magic words, right?) with a veil, yet. Yes, a burger with a veil, you saw it there first – the heathen practices of idol worship somehow invoked – mere pieces of beef and pork (itself a mixture of species many religions abjure, for God said “No”,) elevated to the status of holy matrimony. Not even a somewhat-thinking monkey even, but perhaps in the Jack-in-the-Box Thailand version, the monkey meat too, but mere chopped beef and smoked hog. My my, what a sacrilege!

 “You may eat the bride” says the beaming preacher. The congregants applaud, the man sinks his teeth into a slab of beef! Egad, bestiality and desecration of holy marriage inside a church with a preacher and the symbols of god all about, with a raw sexual innuendo, nay, a command even – for Oral Sex! Egad! The horrors, for my somewhat prudish public nature, and my rather well founded insistence that sex and sex talk is between like species and sentient beings of whatever sort. Oh, speak of the way Kangaroos hop to it, I don’t care. But don’t have the Koala jumping in to the fray. But eating meat, in a church, with a preacher – on and on the very symbols of decency and religious faith debased for mere unseemly corporate greed. And will I hear any group or person opposed to gays getting marriage speak up about the assault on marriage this ad shoves in our faces? (Oh, anyone can talk like outraged religious preachers of a fundamentalist sort, why, I can even quote the Bible with fire and brimstone.)

 I doubt it, they’ll either not mention it at all — or blame gay marriage proponents for opening the box lid to the slippery slope of monkeys in bed and eating brides and raw sexuality on the public airwaves to impressionable youth and demure damsels and no doubt un-frolicked teen boys, while preserving holy wedlock between two virgins for the very first time matrimony with not so much as a straying eye (Jimmy Carter, “I have lusted,” and Jimmy Swaggart, “I have sinned” come to mind) Well, maybe I’m wrong, as sometimes I am, and often like to be, but somehow, I think the ads will be merely “shocking” and even “tawdry” and some will say this or that opprobrium and the companies will re-run the ads for cheaper rates for a month or more, to let the message in. And what is the message? Sex, sex is everything. Go get some sex, and buy something we sell along the way.

 And who will be blamed for all this somewhat raw and unseemly by past standards sexuality on the public TV? Well, to hear Tony Perkins and Peter Sprigg, Maggie Gallagher and Brian Brown, and the National Organization for Marriage, and the Family Research Council, and all the rest of the wackos who blame gay folks for everything from hangnails to earthquakes, babies out of wedlock to hurricanes, and Lord knows everything under the sun, “if only homosexuality is allowed to exist we wouldn’t have any of these problems – we’d all be pure and decent and live in sex-a-few-times unicorn land.” Yeah, it sounds good, well, no, it doesn’t. But the Super Bowl ads were a continuum of sex and sexuality. And barely a gay thing to be seen, unless one was well, gay (what, you don’t think we can either slip them in, or you heterosexuals don’t do something which we perceive a tad different? Yeesh,) – or if one is of the NO GAYS! Movement which spends endless millions of dollars and countless hours perusing the culture and conjuring up the menace of a few tiny percentage points in the population. They are obsessed with us. But don’t seem what heteros do. And well, what they say over the next week will be as funny, tawdry, absurd, fantastic, and unintentional as what the ads themselves presented. At least to gay folks. Most straights I find are clueless about the FRC, NOM and others who work diligently on their behalf to rid the nation of gay folks or at least any positive mention of gayness or any gay individual. And get as many laws passed against us as they can muster, lest the peril of our existence wreck the nation already besotted in debt, deficit, corruption, social problems galore, endless government and too many busy buddies — you know the stuff that matters. And not whether two sissies smooch with a piece of paper in their hand and their happy families surrounding the happy moment, to which thanks, Macy’s — which did just a tiny ad of two grooms on a cake, with nary a speedo in sight, nor navel presented, but tuxedoes! And the terrified puppies of the Theocratic Right went into a hissy fit. I shall await their histrionics over the Super Bowl XXX ads.

2 Comments

  1. a screed of epic proportion!

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