Can I talk to you for five minutes about a recent trend in television advertising?  I don’t know about you, but I’ve been feeling downright neglected by my TV lately.  It’s like it doesn’t even recognize my existence anymore.  Granted, it’s never been the most attentive appliance, but it at least used to stop what it was doing every ten minutes or so and talk to me about shampoo, HD TVs, acne medication, or whatever else was on its mind.  Not anymore.  My commercials, those bright nuggets of affirmation and opportunity, have been stripped of their intimacy by a disturbing trend in marketing known among business professionals as “Mine’s Bigger Advertising.”

You know what I’m talking about.  Mine’s Bigger Advertising is the kind of commercial that feels less like an intimate conversation between your wallet and your favorite fast food chain and more like a domestic dispute between two corporate rivals.  No longer content to settle their beef in the privacy of their own boardrooms or trading floors, advertisers have brought the bickering into the living room and we can do nothing but sit awkwardly on the couch, listening to the name-calling and the ugliness, wondering if it’s our fault that mom and dad are always fighting.

This is the modern television commercial. Read the full story

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This is not the article I wanted to write.  When I set out to write a review of MTV’s controversial new reality show Jersey Shore, I had a pretty good idea of how it was going to go.  I was going to write my standard (dare I say “trademark?”), long-winded rant which would combine obscure references, big words, and level one swears to express my deep displeasure with the show’s public displays of douchebaggery.

It seemed pretty straightforward. The show is a vocal proponent of self-ascribed nicknames, the state of New Jersey, and Italian-Americans engaging in non-mob activities. I had (and have) no interest in any of those things, and was confident in my ability to heap scorn on Jersey Whore.

But that was before I watched my first episode.

Fifteen minutes into “researching” my article, a strange thing began happening to me.  It’s the same thing that happened to John Smith in Pocahontas.  And the main character in Avatar.  And Secretary of State Hillary Clinton.  I fell in love with that which I set out to destroy. Read the full story

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Can I talk to you for five minutes about corporate life?  As of this writing, I have spent sixteen consecutive months in the wasteland of the working world.  This is far longer than I initially intended, and is especially shocking when you consider how popular it is to be unemployed these days.  From what I hear, there are literally dozens of people out there who would love to have jobs but don’t.  It seems almost immoral for me to continue working every day when I am so obviously unsuited for it and so many others would love to do it for me.

What is it about work that I find so unsatisfactory?  Almost all of it.  The bad coffee.  The expectation that I wake up earlier than The Price is Right.  The pervasive sports analogies.  The existence of “workplace humor” (a.k.a. the handicapped cousin of comedy).  The requirement that I spend several hours a day thinking or talking about things unrelated to sports, movies, attractive women, or gambling.  It’s all insufferable, but there is another, even more unbearable aspect of employment that has me plotting my escape from the professional work quicker than you can say “stay at home dad.” It can be summarized in one word: accountability. Read the full story

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By: Dave McCloskey

Nickelback kicked off its North American tour in front of a capacity crowd at the Staples Center in Los Angeles on Friday night, its first of three shows in southern California.  However, what should have been a classic, mind-bending rock performance in the typical Nickelback style is being heralded by many as a total flop.  The reason?  Lead singer Chad Kroeger.

“I show up ready to grind on my girlfriend to some kickin Canadian rock n’ roll, and that jag Chad Kroeger tees off and kills a classic Nickelback song,” reported Dane Strump of Riverside, “That guy gives Nickelback a bad name.”

Sources report that Kroeger went on to ruin at least 25 more amazing songs during the show, including “How You Remind Me,” “If Today Was Your Last Day,” and “Photograph.”

“I’ve got my cell phone in the air, my eyes are closed, and I’m rocking out to “Rockstar” by the greatest band of all time, and then all of a sudden, this raspy voice starts bellowing and I’m like, dammit, this song is completely toasted,” noted Ben Howell, a police investigator.

Kroeger (front and center) ruins another Nickelback publicity photo.

Read the full story

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Can I talk to you for five minutes about the Friday after Thanksgiving?  Those of you who have been with TTM since our humble, semi-literate beginnings may recall that last year I was on the receiving end of this dark day in my capacity as an overwhelmed assistant manager for The Target Corporation.  Unfortunately for me, 12 months of counseling, electro-shock therapy, and recreational alcoholism (just kidding, mom) have driven all memories of that day from my mind.

As I tried to write this article, I came to the troubling realization that if I wanted to comment on the parade of poor discretion that is Black Friday I would have to drag my turkey-laden body out of bed and experience it all over again.  So that is what I did.  Like a victim of violent assault with self-destructive tendencies, I returned, on the anniversary of my assault, to the back alley where my last holiday season was bludgeoned to death with the lead pipe of low prices. This is the first time I have intentionally “researched” anything for this site, and – in light of the exasperation and exhaustion that ensued – it will likely be the last.

For those of you unfamiliar with the madness of Black Friday (i.e. anyone possessing sanity or good sense), the closest parallel in common human experience would probably be attempting to walk up a downward escalator.  While intoxicated.  At Texas Stadium.  Immediately following a Bruce Springsteen concert.  It’s an uphill battle against a sea of humanity.  Every step you take winds up on someone’s foot, child, or stack of $2.99 DVDs.  Any direction you head, you are met by a stampede of carts going the opposite way.  It’s like being a groomsmen at a wedding rehearsal.  You’re always in someone’s way.  Fortunately (and surprisingly), most everyone seems to be in fairly good spirits (again, not unlike Texas Stadium following a Springsteen show). Read the full story

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Being a member of a youth group at Church will teach you a lot of things. You may (hopefully) learn about the Christian faith. You may learn about friendship, romance, or conflict resolution. Maybe you’ll even witness for the first time that yes, farts can indeed be ignited into flames (and it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen).

What you’ll definitely witness and likely take part in, however, is the time-honored practice of the Christian Knock-Off. You see, we Christians don’t like to be original. We’re rip-off Jews, what are we supposed to do?

We take what the “secular” world produces, and we say “Hey, that’s super rad! But since it’s secular it’s probably going to hell along with everyone at MSNBC and Stephanie Meyer. We should make our own version of it so that we can make sure it goes to heaven too!” From music to movies to t-shirts, if you make it, we’ll take it, throw it in the washer a bunch of times so it shrinks and fades, draw a cross on it with a Sharpie, and sell it at LifeWay. Read the full story

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This article was published this week by our partners in parody over at The Big Jewel.  If you haven’t been to The Big Jewel yet, this blurb will tell you everything you need to know:

“It’s about time there’s a Web portal aimed at large Hasidim like myself. I applaud the launch of TheBigJew.com, and hope it will prosper!”
– Michael Colton, Co-Founder, Modern Humorist

You can check out the site by clicking here, or the link in our blogroll, or the other link at the bottom of this article.

Enjoy.

TO: Tom (My current boss)

I’d like to add you to my professional network on LinkedIn.

– Kent (the guy with the funny ties)

TO: Cheryl (My high school guidance counselor)

I’d like to add you to my professional network of people on LinkedIn who thought I’d be dead by now.

– Kent

TO: Susan (My old boss at JoAnn’s Fabrics)

I’d like to add you to my professional network of past employers on LinkedIn who were unaware that I was spending most of my time at work jousting with curtain rods and fitting myself for capes.

– Kent

TO: Sam Jones

I’d like to add you to my professional network of college graduates on LinkedIn whose future in advertising depends largely on whether or not I have courtside seats at The Garden this Saturday.

– Kent Read the full story

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Dear Dumbass,

You’re not a morning person. I get that. Do you think I enjoy mornings? Newsflash moron, I really don’t. Every single night you think you’re going to climb Mount Everest and you set your alarm for 6:15 when you don’t have to leave for work until 8am. You’re gonna read the paper, right? And then have a big breakfast? Some eggs, sausage, or some French toast. Maybe do some push ups, or finally start that blog about your office culture “which would be like The Office, but way funnier because it’s like, real!” Yeah. I know.

Each morning, though, you flap over from the other side of the bed like a stoned walrus and slap the hell out of me until I shut up. And you yell at me too,”shut the hell up you annoying piece of crap!” you’ll say, or “nooooo! I hate you! be quiet!” you’ll scream at me. I’m just doing my damn job, sir. You set me, and I go off. I can’t even help it. There I am, snoozing away all night, having sexy dreams of the new GE Blender you got when BAM! I get this electrical zap you-know-where and I just start screaming uncontrollably. Try connecting your nether-regions to a car battery and see how quiet you can be. Read the full story

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I’m a 24 year old bachelor. I have a girlfriend, but because we’re both God-fearing Bible-beaters and because we’re both still afraid of our parents (mostly me being afraid of her father) we don’t live together. So since my woman isn’t around to do what women were born to do, I have to “cook” for myself.

If you’ve ever had a bachelor like myself or Kent cook a meal for you, this article is going to resonate with you like Snoop Dogg resonates in the hearts of suburban white kids. Understand, though, that I mean real bachelors, not one of these Food-Network-watching yuppie bastards that took a cooking class and can cook you anything that has “a la carte” or “flambé” in the name. If he’s not a professional chef and he can cook you anything that has any kind of French in it, he’s a douche and I want to fight him. End of story.

Anyway, real bachelors like us cook… creatively. For instance, breakfast for me is frequently a Pepperoni Pizza Pocket and a Dr. Pepper. If I have juice – and that “if” is very functional – I’ll drink that, because I guess it’s healthy or something. Kent has, on a few occasions, poured excessive amounts of sugar into his cereal in order to cover up the taste of expired milk. Lunch is almost 100% fast food, unless I decide to buy some bologna and cheese for sandwiches. That’s usually complimented with a side of chips (the legit kind, none of that liberal “baked” crap) or popcorn or candy or french fries that have been under my desk since last Tuesday, but who’s counting? Not me, and not my stomach either. Read the full story

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I’m sorry, but I’m going to need five more minutes of your time to talk about California.  I don’t usually like asking for extra time like this, but the state has the girth and ego of three states so there’s really no way I could describe the full extent of its problems in a single article.

It is a known fact that God has been trying to destroy California for some time now.  Conservative pundits are quick to remind us that the state is riding a slip-n-slide straight into the Pacific, which to their way of thinking can only be explained by the existence of Sodom Francisco.  Geologists offer up some Discovery Channel mumbo-jumbo about why this is happening, but anyone who’s ever sat through a college geology course knows that listening to a geologist is almost never worth it.  Between the earthquakes, the mudslides, the bear attacks, the fires, The Hills, and the terrorists on Alcatraz, it’s hard to deny that God is doing everything in his power to get rid of The Golden State.  (To be fair, many believe this is only because He wants an unobstructed shot at Las Vegas.) Read the full story

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