Want to know how I can tell that I’m getting old? Because I’ve reached the stage where I become angered by commercials to the point where I feel the need to write about it. Oh, well. At least I’m not sending it the editor of the local newspaper. Nope. I’m blogging about it. And now you’re reading it. Way to go, sucker.

In case you’re too damn lazy to hit the Play button and be tortured by crappy advertising for thirty seconds, here’s the handy dandy transcript for you.

Transcript:

Woman: [Line of dialogue written by a stupid person imitating what he thinks smart people talk about when he's not around.] Frankly I just feel like some politicians are completely out of touch with 99% of society.

Man: [Line of dialogue written by stupid person of what he would say to a smart person if smart people could stand to talk to him.] Yeahhh…and it’s like…the mainstream media’s fault.

Woman: [agreeing with his assertion that it's the media's fault that most politicians are out of touch with society because she is apparently a head trauma victim as well] You said it—finally someone who shares my struggle.

Man: [haltingly and stupidly, to reinforce that he is, in fact, an idiot] I know, right? Do you want to go to my apartment?

Woman: [in outraged tone similar to tone of voice ad writer hears every single time he goes looking for women] What?

Man: [dumbassedly] Whaaaat?

Woman: [in bitchy tone like all women take when they refuse to let ad writer have sex with them] What kind of girl do you think I am?

Man: [still dumbassedly] Uh…

Voiceover: [in prickish tone] Need a moment?

[Man pulls crisp, new, totally unmelted and neatly opened Twix out of pants pocket and proceeds to eat it, despite the fact that it has been unopened in his pants pocket near the proximity of his ass sweat for the last two hours.]

Man: [spoken in pseudo-intellectual tone, as if being read by one of those commies who work at Starbucks] I thought you were a believer, someone who’d wanna blog about our ideals, buuuut—

Woman: [dumbassedly] Oh, blogging! I love blogging!

Voiceover: [still in prickish tone] When you need a moment, chew it over with Twix.

Blogging?! Yeah!! I love blogging!! Let’s go blog!! On the Internets!! With the Google!

I have several things I would now like to say.

1. In this history of civilization, not ONCE has anyone in the free world ever managed to pique a woman’s interest by mentioning that he was a blogger. It’s the equivalent of asking a woman to your place for a spirited game of Magic: The Gathering. You might as well just pull your trousers down and start doing the Chunk Dance for all the good it’s going to do you.

2. I realize that his true intent is to trick that woman to come to his apartment so he can manacle her up in his hall closet and harvest her organs, but how exactly does he intend to invite someone home to “blog” with him? Blogging ain’t exactly a group activity, unless he’s looking for someone to proof edit while he writes, or maybe they trade seats after each sentence in some kind of bizarre chain blogging experiment. Or maybe, just maybe, “blogging” is a buzzword that the decrepit ad writers for Twix don’t entirely understand, but they heard it mentioned on an episode of the Drew Carey Show five years ago and assumed that it must be what all the young liberals are doing these days when they’re not being snotty or hugging trees or smelling like cheese or whatever.

3. While we’re on the subject, no one actually loves blogging. I, myself, have been blogging for the last five years, and it is on the best days a mild annoyance (which you can clearly tell by my one-blog-a-week output ratio). So if you are ever in an actual scenario where you have been stupid enough to ask a woman to go blog with you and she responds with an overly excited “I love blogging!”, what is really about to happen to you is that she is tricking you into walking out into the parking lot where she can better stab you to death without any witnesses being present. The more you know!

4. Dude, a sweater over a dress shirt? Really? How exactly did you manage to start a conversation with this woman or any woman in the first place without her kneeing you aggressively and repeatedly in the crotch area?

5. Do Twix really have the ability to stop time? Because I’ve been eating those things all my life, and the only time they’ve ever managed to remotely resemble halting the time stream was that one time I ate fifteen of them in an hour and the overdose of chocolate, cookies and caramel in my blood stream put me into a sugar coma for a couple of days.

6. If Twix is plural for the two candy bars in each package, does that mean that a single Twix candy bar would be referred to as a Twick? Certainly seems that way.

7. This commercial would be so much better if it ended with the everyone at that party being eaten alive by the Cloverfield monster. Don’t you think?

Anyway, if you’re like me and started wishing at the end of that commercial that it could go on for another awkward five minutes of halting, skipping Internet video footage, go to Twix.com and play the Interactive Date Rapist game for yourself. Make the right choices and watch Doughy Sweater Guy encounter every intellectual girl’s two best friends in the world, a French man and a homosexual, all the while somehow managing to pull a brand new Twick out his pocket during each encounter (Seriously, how the hell much candy does this asshole have to keep in his pants?). Answer all the questions right (Hint: always pick the more scumbaggy of the choices in each given scenario.) and earn your reward: stopping the video five seconds short of watching them do it.

Thanks, Twix advertising team. You have certainly revolutionized the advertising world with your mastery of modern youth slang and your up-to-date knowledge of the technology of today. My only concern is that they’ll be able to find enough Clio Awards on earth to properly reward you for your efforts.

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