One of my favorite guilty pleasures, especially when I have insomnia and am snowed-in (as has been the case this week), is to watch late-night informercials. Nothing soothes like bad acting, loud booming voices and incredulous claims.
A current favorite of mine is the Magic Bullet, which, according to perky hosts "Mic" and "Mimi," can replace A WHOLE CABINET FULL OF KITCHEN APPLIANCES. I usually don't use all caps to type, but Mic really projects when he speaks, and I imagine he would type in all caps, too.
So the fake scenario is that Mic and Mimi's friends are visiting and all hovered around the kitchen, waiting for their hosts to provide for them. Did they have a sleepover or were they promised a breakfast buffet? This is not addressed. There is an assortment of fairly attractive middle-aged people (the types of actors that are usually cast as "everyday" people in commercials), an overweight hungover guy and some strange older chain-smoking woman in an old housecoat who doesn't seem to fit in with the rest of them. I get the feeling she was some cantankerous neighbor who just wandered in and they were too polite to tell her to leave.
In just SECONDS and MINUTES, Mic and Mimi not only make smoothies and omelets using the Magic Bullet, but also salsa, guacamole, quesadillas, pasta sauces and blended cocktails. If my friends were that efficient and cheery before I had my morning cup of coffee I'd have to smack them.
Who needs to dirty a knife and a cutting board when you can just throw onions into the tiny little Magic Bullet to be chopped? Of course, I'm not sure how the onion was peeled and quartered to begin with. Maybe the system works best if you buy really tiny fruits and veggies and only bring home cheeses that come in little cubes.
The claims that you can prepare EVERYTHING you need for your gastronomic pleasure using their product reminds me of an older informercial I used to enjoy that featured a sandwich grill: You would put in bread in, close the lid, and two hot slabs of Teflon-coated metal would enclose your bread and seal and grill your sandwich to perfection. Grilled cheese sandwiches? You bet. But that's not all. You could also make a breakfast sandwich with this, putting eggs and sausages and what-not between two slices of white bread and then closing the grill. Also, a hot-pocket meal that involved scooping some canned beef stew between two slices of white bread. And of course there was dessert, easily made by scooping canned apple pie filling between two slices of white bread. I imagined families ordering this and running out to buy loaves of white bread and perhaps a bottle of Metamucil for the ensuing constipation.
As I like to tell my kids: "Just because you can, it doesn't mean you should."
The following are some of my other favorite infomercials, in no particular order. I hope you find them as enjoyable as I do, but keep in mind that I'm easily entertained.
- Dual Action Cleanse: If a greasy-looking guy named "Klee" tells you that you have a TON of fecal matter stuck in your intestines; talks about how thick and round his healthy four-year-old's poops are; and suggests that his product will help you lose weight, gain energy, eliminate acne, and prevent cancer, by golly, listen to the man. Not an informercial for those having a snack.
- A variety of exercise equipment "programs," including the Gazelle by Tony Little (a disturbingly tanned bodybuilder) and anything piece of equipment that you strap to your abs.
- Kinoki Foot Pads: From Japan? Really? I know the Japanese are generally a very clean people, but I've never heard of them attaching to their feet special pads that will draw toxins out of their bodies as they sleep, resulting in disgustingly brown pad in the morning. But if they say it's true, it must be. I wonder if I can skip using this if I'm already using the Dual Action Cleanse.
Do you have a favorite infomercial? Or am I just "special?"