I’m not all over that.

This year’s Baseball World Series on FOX subjected viewers to two especially smelly commercials. One, which I’ll mention just briefly, was a car commercial (and being the terrible person I am I can’t remember the brand) featuring two cars taunting one another, with the weaker of the two eventually pissing out steaming yellow coolant fluid and whimpering away. During the frequent airing of this commercial I learned to seek protection by turning off my eyeballs and concentrating only on the sound effects. I became convinced that the sounds accompanying the tougher car’s aggressive rumble were made from a blend of a bowling ball striking ten pins and a lion’s r0wr. The bowling pin track is processed so much as to be rendered to be, uh, abstruse (if that word can be applied to sounds). But it’s there. Watch the commercial 30 times – hopefully you’ll be able to ignore the steaming piss-coolant and be absorbed in the ultra-produced bowling roar.

And if it’s not there, and I’m completely imagining the bowling sounds, then I’ll just say that it’s probably something that should be sequenced into a dramatic crash. A strike provides such a satisfying crunchy shatter.

The second smelly commercial is a Bud Light ad featuring archival footage of Babe Ruth doing his famous point of the bat to predict a big home run. The commercial posits a what-if scenario regarding the now somewhat-ubiquitous occurrence of mic’ed players. What if Babe Ruth was mic’ed as he pointed to the out-field and then hit a home run and ran around the bases? Hilariously, we’d probably find that our lovable chub was actually pointing at a Bud Light vendor! But the completely awful part of this commercial is the voice that Bud Light has gone to great liberties to attach to The Bambino. To be straight, if I utilize the same eyeball trick I learned in the last commercial, it sounds like Babe Ruth is not a hero huffing around bases, but instead hanging around in some slobby home-entertainment den, watching and cheering on his bro while he screws the poor prostitute they’ve scrounged up for the two of them, anxiously awaiting his crack at her, and all the while little bubbles of excitement-vomit emerge from the back of his throat. (“I’m all over that!” “Oh, hey, a hot dog!”). I guess it could be intentional… I mean, the familiarity could appeal… forget it. Bud Light is lousy beer.

So how, one wonders, could Bud Light be granted the liberty of replacing the hearty tones of John Goodman that we’ve for so long attributed to Babe Ruth with this pale monstrosity? It turns out that all such business inquiries begin with an extremely simple application to the estate of Babe Ruth. The inquiry is then passed onto CMG Worldwide, who, it turns out, have a substantial roster of dead celebrities to bastardize.

Maybe next we’ll see – and hear – the likeness of Jim Thorpe in an Indian Casino commercial.

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