If I have to watch one more commercial where a hot chick gets her clothes ripped off by magic, I'm gonna go on a gun-toting, crotch-firing rampage.
The latest Super Bowl, I mean Shmuper Shmol , commercial has a guy eating a Dorito, I mean Shmorito, and a girl's clothes flying off.
Now in my experience, the more a guy eats Shmoritos, the more I want to keep my clothes on. Stinky breath, orange dusty fingers and the accumulation of transfat, calories and orange tongue is not hot.
And I am so tired of looking at teeny tiny ghosts of women who men can't seem to get enough of... It's because they're not even there. I want a man who loves a real woman with real breast, real hips, who eats carbs without shame and yes, wants desert.
If he exists, I'll find him. And if not, then keep the TV on. I'm gonna be on the 9 o'clock news, surrounded by dozens of downed men in the fetal position.