Well, here we are again, with another round of sexist ads, brought to my attention courtesy of my dear friend Mental Mama, who also has a sick, twisted mind.
These ads rarely surprise me anymore.
This is an ad for slacks, not a gang-bang clip. (Sorry to disappoint.)
Ring around Rosie, or Carol. Even Eleanor. I guess it was okay to treat woman like dirty playthings back then. The use of subtle sexual innuendo seems to be the norm.
Which broomstick will she pick, I wonder? I’m voting for the guy in the back, he seems to be having a jolly time.
Her mood ring must be faulty, it’s on sex kitten mode.
The day I lay on the floor staring at my mans dress shoe is also the day I start wearing a babushka and answer to the name of Maw.
Which means never.
“Here, darling. I made some fresh squeezed orange juice for you! That bitter taste is my tears.”
Or arsenic, perhaps.
This one has me a smidge puzzled. There are many times I can’t open my bottle of Xanax, then ask my husband to try. (Oh, I do so enjoy when he struggles.)
I can assure you that my mouth never made a Cheerio hole smile like Rhoda up there. (I do have the deer caught in the headlights look down pat.)
I’m really excited right now, because during my travels on the retro circuit, I found the crowning jewel of my collection.
I know, I’m whigged out, too.
Yes, you are seeing correctly. That girl is getting ready to perform fellatio on that 7 inch burger. (Hold the pickle. Light mayo.)
I suspect someone will be way too full to finish off those fries.
So again, thank you Mental Mama for sharing these fucked up ads with me.
Stay tuned for next week, for something, I haven’t the foggiest idea what.