In college, I’d come home from the bar in a highly inebriated state; and I’d flip on the television.
There was nothing worth a shit on at those hours, so usually I’d make due with whatever channel first came on the screen.
And I admit, there was slightly more then a half dozen times that I sat and watched this very info-mercial in absolute amazement. These people, happily gathered around their kitchen had my undivided attention (for about 20 minutes until I would pass out on my futon).
They were living the good life.
Look at the perfection of those smoothies. Those omelette’s. Those muffins. They were having the time of their life with their Magic Bullet.
How easy it would be to achieve that very same dream myself, I thought. I pictured myself becoming a world class chef, entertaining friends at my future home and in between games of jenga or taboo!
I remember not long after that I told my mother that I wanted nothing for Christmas but the Magic Bullet. Being the good mother that she was, she delivered in buying me the full set.
I had all the accessories, everything. All the shit that they used to reel you in with; it was now mine. It wouldn’t be long until I was making those smoothies.
One day at my new home I fired up my brand spankin‘ new Magic Bullet device. I was going to make some of that great fresh-looking salsa that those lying fucks created on their little commercial.
Things didn’t go as planned.
I liquefied the first tomato. Completely fucking shredded the shit. It was like V8 in a cup with the skin floating all over.
A friend suggested maybe I was doing it wrong.
I threw in another tomato. Liquefied again. This process continued until the entire bag of tomatoes were fucking shredded.
By this time, not only am I not entertaining my friends like a good little Suzy Home-maker that I aspired to be, but I was pissed off about the results the Magic Bullet had failed to yield and now being a complete and utter prick to everyone in my home.
Long story short, the piece of shit Magic Bullet still sits in the cupboard at my house.
It’s fucking useless, okay people? I don’t see the bullshit commercials on for it anymore, but it goes without saying that I pity the fool who is duped in to buying this piece of garbage.
Fuck you, Armen; you Croc-Hunter sounding piece of dick. You people waisted my mother’s hard earned money, and you wasted an entire bag of produce that I bought as well!
If I’d ever see that commercial all these years later pictured above I’ll tell you what I’d like to do. I’d like to climb through the television screen and fill their little blender with my yellow piss and serve it up to their house guests.
How’s that taste coming out of your bullshit bullet?
Man, the month of February really is the worst. It’s compounded on a Sunday night when there’s no football and baseball seems so far away; and there’s a full...