Fry Day

That would be a cleaver title if it were hot outside. But it’s not. I should have saved that one.

Well, it’s that time again. It’s Friday and the new TAM cartoon is up!

Other than that, I really have nothing interesting to say. So I won’t say anything. It wouldn’t be fair to you. Really.

 
Fun Fact:  I saw another disturbing commercial this morning. It had nothing to do with fat kids. It had to do with oranges.

I don’t know if you’ve seen the commercial, but I’m pretty sure you have. I think it’s for Tropicana Orange Juice. It’s the one where the oranges work-out, trying desperately to get into shape so that they can save you from a heart attack.

These oranges have been sent to a training facility in order that they may perform some sort of suicidal jihad against heart disease. Personally, in the wake of September 11th, I find this commercial in poor taste (he, he, get it…poor taste? You know, because the heart-smart orange juice is bland?...forget it).

But that’s not the disturbing part. I’m not even disturbed by the insinuation in the ad that there are male and female oranges. The part that sickens me is the part where the oranges go swimming.

They’re swimming in orange juice!!

The twisted minds at Tropicana (the same people who brought us Tropicana Twisters) have crossed the line this time. They’re worse than the Foster Farms ad people. Sure, those chickens are hell bent on being eaten, they get x-rayed, they wrap themselves in plastic, they’re grotesquely huge in comparison to real live chickens, and they’ve even learned to drive a car – but at least they don’t bathe in their own blood before they attempt suicide.

What is the world going?! To hell in a hand basket, that’s where.

 
Oh, wait! If you eat fried chicken today, then my title will be cleaver again! I recommend KFC, though; Foster Farms chicken may contain unhealthy levels of puppet.