Bring me the head of the State Farm Insurance Spokesdouche

*Warning I am fully aware that, ironically, this rant will inevitably lead to more click-thru’s on State Farm commercials, and pointing that out will earn you a smack in the face.*  

I’d really like to taint-punch the people who coined the terms “Generation X” and “Slacker.” And by that, I don’t mean Douglas Coupland and Richard Linklater (or by extension, the writers of Back to the Future). I mean the clownfuckers in the marketing departments of the corporations whose sole purpose on this planet is to think of new ways to sell soda and shoes to people in their 20’s. A major difference between the vast majority of Baby Boomers and the generations behind them is that very few of us, if any, think of being roughly the same age as a good reason to go on a back-slapping jag with one another.  

Using generational iconography and politics as a way of moving cheap, disposable crap to people who probably don’t have the money because they haven’t developed the good decision making circuits in their brains yet – but are of legal age to mire themselves in credit card debt – is hardly new. The hat trick isn’t so much in denying all commerce with corporations – which is pretty much impossible – as it is adapting to commercials to the point where they become white noise. I’m just glad I’ve lived long enough to see the music of my parents’ generation used to sell really strange shit.  

You can’t enjoy that kind of irony without your chickens eventually coming home to roost. You can only laugh at “Revolution” in the Nike commercials, or at Buddy Holly’s “Oh Boy” as it gradually devolved into Toyotahon’s “We make it easy on you” jingle, before karma catches up to you. Then again I can’t recall a time when a song I like hasn’t been used to try to sell me something. I just have to come to terms with the eerie fact that “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” at some point, will probably be used to sell Bean-o. “Here Comes Your Man,” is already the goto song in commercials for romcoms.  

Like a recurring anal cyst, the State Farm Insurance spokesdouche is there

 

Maybe that’s why State-Farm Insurance has adopted a new approach to try and get me to buy the same insurance my parents, and grandparents, bought. We “slackers,” as adults, have to get responsible. It was our frivolous spending that got this country in the hole in the first place… And we’re too bloody smart to fall for gimmicks like talking lizards and urbane cavemen. But a heavy handed message like that isn’t bound to win many fans. Rather, folksy, nebulously 30-40 year old, working-class-but-in-a-Tom-Cruise-way Eddie Matos – whose favorite movie is clearly Singles – lays out a simple, practical plan for chaotic and troubled economic times: the easiest way you can save money is by buying their insurance.  

But let’s not confuse working actor, Eddie Matos, with a corporate character. After all, I and many of my actor friends would jump at the chance for a national commercial. Eddie has to be loving life now. He probably bought his boyfriend a new car. Thus, I call him The State Farm Insurance Spokesdouche.  

I’m sure you’ve seen the commercials:  

Why cut back on conspicuous consumption when you can just buy insurance? That alone will secure your future. Especially when the country goes (even further) tits up; there’s a wide-scale disaster; and everybody and your grandmother is trying to cash in their policies at once so they can move the fuck to Canada??? Don’t go granola! That requires discipline and personal responsibility! Go vanilla!  

However, the commercial above isn’t the problem. In fact, I’m either looking like a collossal asshole, or a very obsessed freak, by now. I’m not saying that I’m not either of those, but what I am saying is that the marketing and advertising departments couldn’t take their own advice, and be frugal with their money when it came to their budgets. Either that, or younger people are still having to make the choice between food and rent, and a full-package insurance plan – and the dinosaurs at the top are so out of touch, they think the answer to the problem is throwing more commercials out there.  

So the commercials have increased in number to the point where the Spokesdouche isn’t just a ubiquitous presence, but a fucking annoying one as well. Familiarity breeds contempt – and apparently on both sides. He’s gotten smug. Almost every mug to the camera is a poor parody of Tom Cruise’s “Come on!” look – throwing up his arms in exaspiration with people who try to save money in any other way than buying State Farm Insurance.  

Exhibit A:  

  

I like how they call this one “Lunch With Friends.” Whether they are his circle of friends, or just work friends, they need a beating. I don’t know, assholes, what about offering to pick up your buddy’s meal? Pick on your buddy for trying to save money??? Fuck your mothers in their asses!!! Obviously, though there’s no reason for this guy to do so, he wanted to hang out with those other jagoffs. I hope he learned his lesson.  

The Spokesdouche only adds to the overall asshole subtext to the commercial. Note that, when they cut to him, he’s laughing at the cocksuckers who are laughing at their friend because he wanted to hang out with them, but couldn’t even afford so much as a grease burger in a shithole. Then he blythely states, “The things people do to save money…” which in reality means, “Look at this fuck. His best friends are busting his balls because the cheap son of a bitch brought a sandwich to a restaurant. Buying State Farm Insurance will keep you from having to look like a social retard.” But I still point back to the “pals” If I were busting a friend’s balls, and some fucker dressed like Ross from Friends, chimed in – I don’t care if he’s agreeing with me, I’m going to tell him to shut the fuck up.  

This guy really hates people who bring their lunch to public places. Or maybe the subtext is that State Farm is anti-proletariat:  

  

Look in the background. Clearly, the guy in the beard is a mute, and his friend, Sack Lunch Sam, is retarded. But even a retarded guy knows that fifty bucks a week is a pretty nice chunk of change right now. So Spokesdouche doesn’t even acknowledge their presence. Rather, he heads to his seat while other fans of The Genericton B’s (it’s on the hats) agree with him. And notice, they have ballpark snacks. That’s right! You can save so much by spending money with State Farm that you can afford a 7-dollar hotdog!  

Then, just when you think all the appropriate sharks have been jumped, Spokesdouche revs up the boat and heads for the ramp again. This time, he even steps on the toes of a fellow State Farm shill:  

  

See? It’s kinda kooky! It’s almost like a comedy bit… kinda… except it’s not funny…. and…  

LOOK! HE CAN ANNOY PEOPLE IN TWO LANGUAGES!!!  

  

It feels… oh, I don’t know, just so much more authentic to have him prattling on in a nice marketa, amongst the real people. But just like in the english-language version, he degenerates into picking on even his Latino brothers and sisters. What a prick!  

  

Yeah, great job asshole! Like that kid doesn’t feel bad enough, and the mother isn’t only embarassed by not having enough money to just go to the barber in the first place, NO! These dumb foreigners don’t know the simplest way to save money, AND be able to afford a haircut is to buy State Farm Insurance. Silly immigrants. Will they never learn?  

I like how this one insults not only a guy trying to save money by buying cheaper gas, it insults Latinos again with a character that says, in his best Pedro de Pacas impression, “Que? I cannot hear you.” And it’s another one that makes me wonder if my friends are just exceptionally nice, or nobody in the marketing department has friends at all.  

  

In the immortal words of Vince, The Shamwow Guy, “I can’t do this all day.” My final example has been altered. Not by me, but by State Farm itself. If these terrible commercials, and the constant presence of the Spokesdouche have annoyed you as much as they’ve annoyed me, you’ll notice the change:  

  

What happened here is that they took out one of the weirdest non sequiturs I’d seen in a commercial. The commercial is in english, but just before it fades into the State Farm logo with a bluesy whistle, a waitress brings him his coffee, he looks at the camera and says, “La Familia.” I mean, sure, kids raised in pretty much any city in America would know what that means, but why say it in the first place? Is his spanish that bad and he thought he was saying “Thank you?”  

I don’t know what to state in conclusion, because I don’t really know a conclusion can be reached. The commercials will continue, unabated – of that, I’m sure. Bad will toward his face alone will that Eddie Mato will never work again. He will go to auditions, the casting director will say, “Hey! Aren’t you from those State Farm commercials?” he will say, “Yes,” and he’ll be lucky to escape with his life.  

And the twisted bastards at State Farm already have the next generation in their crosshairs as the oldest of them begins to reach their earning potential. It’s obvious they think young people are doorknobs with this “State Farm agent as genie,” approach. Man, are they in for a surprise or what?!  

Xavier Cugat made Roman Polanski look like Ashton Kutcher

The shit that happens when you look up “Charo” on wikipedia because you don’t know the correct spelling of gootchy…

Did you know that Xavier Cugat falsified her age on her work visa? His “protege” was only 13 years old! I taught junior high for a year. It’s a bitch when you can’t find a synonym for “yuck.” I guess abstaining from child molestation gives Desi Arnaz the trump card. Although, it would be kind of funny if the Cug-ster got the sitcom. Can you imagine, “I Love Charo”? Most. Uncomfortable. Sitcom. EVER!

Actually, it’s “cuchi.” I try to make a point of learning something new every day. I’m allowed a fucking mistake or two. I fucking know the BJ and the Bear theme song! BY HEART!

I saw her in Hawaii once. True Story. I don’t mean I was hiking in Hawaii and bumped into her at a waterfall. Didn’t see her snorkeling or tanning. I don’t even mean they were shooting a Love Boat reunion and we crashed the set.

Lono and I paid actual money to see that. We share a morbid fascination with icons of 70s and 80s shit television. To date, there have been only three people I know of that can keep up with me on TV Trivial pursuit: my brother, Carl Cleaver, and Lono.

So it wasn’t surprising that the first thing he told me, upon moving to Hawaii, was that Charo performed regularly at one of the hotels there – to be followed by, “Taj Mahal has a place on one of the islands too, but he doesn’t perform.” That is how Lono is. Naturally, he got to the beaches and rain forests, but anybody can talk about that. It’s, like, right fucking there in front of you!!!

I remember there was some kind of hang-up in getting tickets to Don Ho, but I digress.

You know the old saying, “When you assume, blah, blah…” Yeah. That.

The room was packed, which is not a bad thing. However, Lono and I were two of five people in the room under seventy. Before we get on this “Vinehamner’s an agist” bullshit, the collective age of the room wouldn’t be a problem either. I mean, a conga-line’s a conga-line, no?

We’re not talking about Helen Mirren, Sean fucking Connery, or even those fun-loving seniors you see in commercials. I didn’t know about the world of seniors’ sightseeing tours. The things where they schlub a bunch of semi-erect codgers around in a bus because they worked their asses off for three quarters of their natural lives and goddammit! They’re going to see HAWAII before they die.

That would be a great slogan for the tourism industry:

Hawaii – see it before you croak!

So the rest of the room was basically a George Romero picture without an editor. We had drinks with umbrellas. [Coincidentally, the Charo revue is about the only place in Hawaii you can get a big, colorful drink with an umbrella in it. The locals don’t cotton to that bullshit.] We’d also had several joints, several more drinks at another hotel, and a couple lines prior to even reaching the place. WE WERE SET TO CUCHI-CUCHI MOTHERFUCKER!!! FUCK YEAH!!! CUCHI ON!!! The rest of the room had split-pea soup.

That wasn’t how we behaved, actually. I mean, we started dancing and everything, but it just got depressing watching people fall asleep at their tables. So, of course, we just sat there and drank more.

What can I say about the act? You think Charo’s going to go out there and play “Stairway to Heaven” and blow your fucking mind? Didn’t know about her juggling talent, did you??? SHE’S MORE THAN JUST A BODY!!! Coincidentally, Charo is one of the best guitarists I’ve ever seen. But she only did one of those songs. Frankly, if it was an evening of that, I fucking-ay would tell you it was one of the best shows I’d ever seen.

So the act was, well, cabaret. Not particularly good. Not particularly entertaining. A couple of show tunes (she had a chorus of 4 guys behind her) ; a couple sets of badly written, Catskills material (but I wasn’t exactly expecting Carlin); one very beautiful tune on the classical guitar [I understand Cugat’s attraction to a girl who can wield an axe – but… thirteen, dude.]; and about twenty minutes – I shit you not – of “The Cuchi Cuchi Song.

“Why twenty minutes? Well, the seniors who’d plunked down a lot of bones to be shuttled about in an insulated, pollution-spewing tube across some of the most beautiful land on the globe (hey – just because I don’t tan don’t mean I don’t love the outdoors!), also got a picture with Charo. Imagine a rave where somebody locks the doors from the outside and puts “Barbie Girl” on a perpetual loop. It’s like that, but without the x to get you through.

We were getting excited. She was going around to every other FUCKING table in the place, taking pictures with people. Except the five people who were actually dancing. Little old ladies were pulling their husbands’ heads out of the fucking soup to smile at Charo! It’s like Movieland Wax Musem without the energy! She bounced her geriatric tits at every other FUCKING table in the place. Except the five people that were dancing.

Fuck you, Charo. Fuck you.