Monday, August 19, 2013
Does it have room for my gun rack, free weights and chewin' tobacco?
Raise your hand if you are sick of being buried by the horseshit which permeates every single commercial for ever single truck (but is ESPECIALLY noxious and overbearing in Ford commercials.)
Each one of these horrible, suffocating blankets of faux-patriotic steaming garbage reaches out of the television to grab American males by the....err...neck....and pummel into us the message that if we really want to be considered something more than females with penises, we'd better have a three-day growth of beard, dirty hands, and a big-ass truck to haul junk around in. We'd better live on a ranch which has easy access to suburbs and contains big bales of hay to throw around, fences that need fixin', women who need lovin' and calves that need findin' and savin'. We'd better master our silent, strong, confident stares, and everything we do must be done in a totally natural, Matter-of-Fact, "get 'er done 'cause it's what we do" manner.
And they all leave me with the feeling that Ford does not consider me as even living in the same UNIVERSE with it's target audience. I don't have a big house, and haven't loved the same woman all my life, I don't rope steers or milk cows or stack hay or ride fences on the weekends and I can't remember the last time I had the opportunity to haul anything with massive heavy chains. You couldn't set my life to a cloying country music song. Hell, I even shave on days off.
Ford seems pretty determined to convince us that their trucks ought to be added to the freaking flag, or at the very least be inserted into what I guess is our new National Anthem, "God Bless America."* And to convince those of us who aren't interested in owning one of these monstrosities (because, not living on ranches and having white-collar jobs, we really don't need them) that we are pathetic wussies who don't really deserve to live in this great open country with all of it's haul-able rocks and hay bales just waiting to be stacked and creeks which need to be crashed through and let's not forget those fence posts which aren't going to sink themselves...well, you can just bite me, Ford. I'm not buying one of these f---ing things, no matter how many country music artists you employ in your attempts to separate me from my money.
*At Major League Baseball parks, the universal signal to use the restroom or grab another beer before sales are cut off at the end of the 7th inning.