Dysfunctional Commercials

It’s Monday Night Football time, once again.


I wish I could launch into a detailed conversation about my Fantasy Football team, the merits of each quarterback and the coaching techniques for my favorite teams… but I can’t.


Football hasn’t hit my radar screen lately.


What I do find so bizarre about Monday Night Football are the commercials. I just watched a gimmicky advertisement for an erectile dysfunction medicine.


I do wish these commercials stayed off of prime time. I know, I know, I’m a prude, but I find it more than a little disturbing to be watching massive men wearing spandex hot pants one minute and then listening to a smooth-talking dude chanting a litany of scary side effects the next.


Why would you ever take this medication after knowing the possible side effects?! Take a look:


Diarrhea; dizziness; flushing; headache; heartburn; stuffy nose; upset stomach. Severe allergic reactions (rash; hives; itching; difficulty breathing; tightness in the chest; swelling of the mouth, face, lips, or tongue); chest pain; fainting; fast or irregular heartbeat; memory loss; numbness of an arm or leg; one-sided weakness; painful or prolonged erection; ringing in the ears; seizure; severe or persistent dizziness; severe or persistent vision changes; sudden decrease or loss of hearing; sudden decrease or loss of vision in one or both eyes.


Am I the only one who thinks that’s an awfully long list of potential consequences for a roll in the hay? Did you notice the warning you might go blind if you use it?!


Now, come on! Use some sense! Is there anything worth that list of potential “oops” times after turning to the little blue pills?


(Oh, yeah. I just realized the fundamental problem with my line of thought. I’m female. Males thrive on risk-taking…)


My favorite story related to these commercials comes from my Aunt. She was hanging out with her 13-year-old granddaughter one day when one of these awkward commercials came onto the television.


With a worried look on her face, she shyly asked her grandma, “Grammy? Does sex really last four hours?!”


It was a “do or die” moment for my young cousin, the moment she’d worked up enough courage to ask for sincere knowledge about the act.


And my aunt? She has the same sense of humor that runs in our family and causes us to have a slightly warped view of the world.


“Why, yes, honey, it does last four hours,” my aunt cheerfully told her granddaughter. “Remember that before you decide to be with someone. Four hours is an excruciatingly long time.”


We’ll be lucky if the kid every gets married. At least she likely won’t be knocked up if she gets married!


And that, my friends, is how we encourage abstinence in our family.

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