Extreme Advertising!?!

W elcome to Hotel Satire, a place where gals gather to learn how to be the domestic appendages/sex objects they were born to be. 

These are exciting times for gals. No, we don’t mean the so-called abuse in Abu Ghraib and elsewhere where gals got to drag prisoners around on leashes. Please. You can see worse abuse and humiliation every night on reality TV where gals in bikini’s shake and quiver before leaping into a tub of elephant snot. 

We're also not referring to the abuse in the military itself, where there have been over 100 accusations of sexual assault and misconduct within the U.S. Central Command area in the last 18 months—not to mention the war itself, what with the bombing and the strafing of civilians in mosques and hospitals, etc. Says Ellen Embrey, director of the eight- member panel convened to produce a report on the sexual assaults, “Sexual assaults are a challenge to our nation….” 

Good grief. If a president waging a war on false pretenses doesn’t result in impeachment; if bombing and strafing doesn’t raise an eyebrow or two; and if sexual assaults are merely a “challenge to our nation,” why get upset about Abu Ghraib and what Rush Limbaugh describes as events similar to fraternity hazing? Torture builds character, says Rush, “I think the reaction to the stupid torture is an example of the feminization of this country.” 

So true. The important lesson from Abu Ghraib is that gals should not be in the military. War, as well as torture, is about men humiliating other men. How do they do that? By calling them gals and various gal-related epithets, followed by raping their women. Why can’t people GET this? But we digress. 

So what are the gals at Hotel Satire really excited about? Well, all the many examples of how wonderful this country is, like that show “Extreme Makeover.” Have you seen it? You can watch someone (usually a gal) complain in intimate detail about specific parts of her anatomy/face and then have these rearranged or “fixed” so that, between surgery and makeup, she can look like someone else—or in some cases, almost the same as she looked before. In the process, there’s the drama of the bandages being removed while the husband/boyfriend eagerly awaits the results. Will he love her now? Will he love her more? Will he demand more cutting and pasting of body parts? 

Isn’t this fantastic? It’s almost as exciting as watching a half-naked gal get a mammogram on the “Six O'Clock News.” Wow. There should be a show, "Extreme Mammography,” so we can see more gals' breasts on TV than we do already. 

We gals have often felt a void in our lives—a void created, in part, by the fact that, until now, we haven't been able to view the intimate details of someone’s rhinoplasty on TV. 

We love "Extreme Makeover" and hope it becomes a dramatic series like “ER” or “24.”  They could have 24 hours to do the makeover. Or a show where gals are so unattractive to men that they have to be rushed to the emergency plastic surgery room. Or it could be like the “Survivor,” where makeover contestants compete to see who can survive cosmetic surgery or to see who looks best after it’s over. Wait, there is a show like that. It’s called “The Swan” where contestants have makeovers and are then judged for who’s post-makeover face looks the best. 

Another exciting development is the news that jockeys may soon be able to wear advertising on their “uniforms” while riding in the Kentucky Derby and elsewhere. Thank goodness. When we gals are at the track we often bemoan the fact that, for the minute or two when the horses are pounding around the course, we aren’t being reminded of a product we could/should know about. What a joy to watch a race and see the logo for, say, Playtex Tampons, on a jockey’s backside. 

But why stop at the jockeys, why not ads on the horses? Then, as they round the turn and we’re sipping’ mint juleps, screaming for our favorites, a horse’s ass can remind us to purchase a large bag of Puppy Chow on our way home. 

Why stop at jockeys and horses, why not ads on the gals at the Derby—on those big hats they wear? Because when you’re watching the Derby, having bet your hard earned money on Lucky So and So, you don’t want to go for ONE SECOND without being told to chat with your doctor just for the hell of it about your possible fear of crowds or your upcoming inability to sleep, which can be cured by a drug of some kind, which hasn’t really been tested very well and which has side effects that replicate the symptoms you took the drug to cure in the first place. 

Come to think of it, why not skip the horses/people altogether and have the Kentucky Derby become the Palmolive Derby with bottles of green soap on wheels racing around the track? Or packages of condoms? Or bottles of Southern Comfort? Actually, why have a crowd in the stands? Instead, just have various products. Why spend time looking at actual people, when we can look at bottles of Smirnoff’s?