Monday, May 23, 2005

Obviously, the chef has never beaten his wife

I saw yet another commercial that pissed me off. It was for some kind of Uncle Ben's rice instant rice in a bag thing. It shows a chef in a busy kitchen, busting his ass, sweating, stressing, yelling, getting frustrated, and freaking out. Then he's on a bus or a subway (I can't remember which) all by himself. He looks exhausted, it's obviously late at night, and he probably just wants to go home and go to sleep. Well, his wife is a lazy cunt so that isn't going to happen.

As soon as he gets home, he's in the kitchen, cooking some lovly salmon fillets. Slaving over a hot stove, as the saying goes. It's ok though, because he microwaved a bag and instantly had some delicious pilaf or something. After he's done cooking he takes to plates of food to his living room where his bitch of a wife is reclined on the couch, bottom half covered by a blanket, and looks as if she just woke up.

What the fuck? She couldn't have made her husband something to eat? Is she some kind of alcoholic who drinks all morning then passes out for 20 hours? The guy was busting his ass in a busy kitchen all day and the whore couldn't even make him dinner? Obviously he needs to start hitting her. I mean, what did she do all day? Sleep probably. Or maybe she watched the home shopping network all day, spending all of her husband's hard-earned money. Then he comes home tired and has to cook dinner for her lazy ass. Something is obviously wrong here. The guy needs to grow a pair and lay down some law. It might go a little something like this.

Husband: Honey, I'm home...boy what a shitty day I had. Pedro, the dishwasher ruined my souffle, and Pepe, that French bastard, thought he could put out a grease fire with water. God, I'm hungry. What's for dinner?
Wife: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...snooore...snort.......gurgle...
Husband: Son of a bitch, she's gotten into the liquor cabinet again. My friends were right. I never should have married her. WAKE UP BITCH!
Wife: Huh! Wah! -YAWN- oh, hey dear, when'd you get home?
Husband: Dammit bitch, where's my dinner?
Wife: Shit Bill, you're the chef, you know where the kitchen is.
Husband: Fuck it! That's it! -Bill slaps the shit out of his drunk bitch of a wife- Now, where the fuck is my dinner?
Wife: -sob-boo-hoo- What do you want to eat?
Husband: Make me a meatloaf and some mashed potatos, and get me a fucking beer! And would it kill you to clean this place up once and a while? Wipe those fucking toothpaste spots off the mirror in the can!
Wife: I...I'll get right on it Bill.
Husband: Fuckin' A right.

See. That's how you handle that sort of thing. Simple. If Al Bundy would have smacked Peg around every now and then, maybe he would have had dinner on a regular basis.