So, I was watching TV today, on this 2 days before we celebrate the birth of Jesus (I said ‘celebrate’, ’cause I could go on and on about how, according to some theorists, Jesus was far more likely to have been born in the springtime, rather than December, and that Emperor Constantine of the Holy Roman Empire legitimized Christianity in the 4th century, and made it more palatable to the people by having the birth of Christ coincide with a pagan holiday known as Sol Invictus, the supposed day of the solstice and day of rebirth of the Sun – holy hell, that was a long-ass tangent), and I saw the most ridiculous thing ever.

The Rocket Fishing Rod.

When will rednecks stop inventing shit? Have you seen the ads for this? They go something like this:

“Hello there! Do you love things you can launch like a missile, but your home owners’ association won’t let you buy those Russian black market surplus hand-held, shoulder-launched anti-tank weapons capable of firing an unguided rocket equipped with an explosive warhead? Do you love to go fishing, but hate that difficult ‘back and forth’ motion you have to make with your arm, just to get the darned hook into the water? Who needs THAT? All you want is to catch that pesky fish! What if I told you there was an easier way to catch fish AND satisfy your need for wanton simulated destruction? Well, now there is! Don’t sit down, ’cause you’ll just stand up again when you hear about…The Rocket Fishing Rod!

“See how happy little Billy looks, holding his *completely* safe and non-toxic and non-radioactive toy/weapon? Even Billy the Bass (so what? They have the same name. We didn’t name them. It’s a coincidence. Good Christ, focus on the PRODUCT!) is excited, going so far as to say ‘A rocket-launched fishing hook? Hell yeah, I’ll bite!’ And honestly, this toy/hunting tool couldn’t be safer. Even if Billy here (the boy, not the fish) aimed the Rocket Fishing Rod right at a friend’s face, all that friend would have to do is duck, and he’d be perfectly safe from harm. And Billy (the fish, not the boy) suffers no harmful effects from the rod, because a hooked lip and a concussion and post traumatic stress disorder are ordinary, normal conditions with fresh water fish. Just ask him. The fish, not the boy. The boy is dumber than open-toed sandals in Anchorage in February. Seriously, when he saw the finished commercial for the first time, his first comment was ‘How’d you get that fish to talk? He didn’t say ANYTHING to me, and we were together for 2 hours setting up this shot!’ Just pray he grows up strong, fast, and can catch a football, or otherwise he’s gonna be in a world of minimum wage hurt.

“Don’t delay, supplies are running out! Sure, most of the product is being sold in Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Louisiana, Georgia, Florida, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, West Virginia, Texas, part of Montana, Idaho, and to four people in Illinois, but that’s not an idictment on the South and of rednecks, but a testament to how well the marketing ploy – I mean, strategy – works. Order now and we’ll send you a free subscription to the New York Post…so you can have something to wrap your fish in. We know good and damn well you won’t be READING it, unless you stumble across Hagar the Horrible while looking for the Want Ads. Get out your credit cards, your debit cards, your Wal-Mart cards…hell, sell your kid’s Hot Wheels racetrack on eBay and use PayPal. Rob your neighbor and sell HIS gear. Carjack his ride, kidnap his wife, and ransom her for the $39.99 you need for the Rocket Fishing Rod. Hell, once he hears how low the ransom is, he’ll run right over to pay you post haste, unless her ass is trifling, in which case he’s probably glad to be rid of her, and he’s already changing the wallpaper and converting the den to a wet bar and game room. But I digress. Whatever you have to do, you do that. Get this toy/projectile launcher. Billy needs your help.

The fish, not the boy.

If he wasn’t male, he couldn’t count to 21.

Peace (on Earth).

Merry Christmas, people.

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