(Or, You're Gonna Love My Nuts!)
I'm not big on watching television, but sometimes you see something so inconceivable you just have to share. I was sitting here the other day folding laundry with television on as background noise when I heard this:
I swear to you- I thought that my head was going to explode from watching this. This is some absurdist theater group pulling a prank on American television, right? Please say it is. Vince simply CANNOT exist in real life. That level of douchebaggery would take YEARS of pedophilia and public service to master. As far as I know Vince is your plain ole everyday pimp-smacker.
I know that this commercial has been out for a while now but I never paid any attention. Physiologically I'm sure that I heard it, but psychologically my mind couldn't conceive the sheer insanity of it and therefore dismissed it altogether. That's the only reasonable explanation.
Besides every other reason that this commercial (and Vince's very existence, for that matter) is just absurd enough to be categorized as surreal, the guy says "frettuccine" instead of fettuccine. And in the context of "Taco, frettucine, linguine, martini, bikini..."
You may be thinking to yourselves: Man, life is so unfair. Death sweeps in and takes Billy Mays but leaves Vince? What the hell?
You're totally right. But please find solace in this: For every Miami Beach hooker that gets slapped in a seedy motel room, there's always the one that fights back.
And Vince had the misfortune of getting the business end of that hooker's rage. Once again, the universe has reached a balance.
(P.S. WHOA. Not only does the television camera add ten pounds, it apparently also smooths the tell-tale craggy lines of your crack and hooker habit, AND makes your bizarre Joker smile appear slightly more symmetrical. TV is magic.)
P.P.S This douche's name is actually Vince Shlomi. Hahahaha.