Do you ever see an ad on a web site like, "HEY! It's TGI Friday's! Watch a video about POTATO SKINS! Potato skin video here! CLICK IT!" and say to yourself, "Wow, who does that?"
Me. Me you guys. I do that.And in this fashion, I recently watched a video from Miracle Whip. In it, a priest (?) and a lawyer (!) tell me that Miracle Whip is holding a video contest. The prize? Miracle Whip will pay for my marriage or divorce.
The campaign is "We're Not for Everyone!" and the idea is that you send in a video of yourself with your loved one/somebody for whom you've grown hollow, about how Miracle Whip has brought you together/torn you asunder.
If Miracle Whip loves you (in spite of the fact that somebody else maybe doesn't, anymore!), , they will give you some money.If you've ever been through a divorce, or your parents split up when you were young, I think you can definitely agree with me that it is hilarious. I mean, if I had a choice between snowshoeing or re-living my parents divorce, I would definitely choose the latter, because, come on.
I don't want to get all SANCTITY OF MARRIAGE here but, wow. The state where I live just legalized marriage between in-love, same-sex-people after years of finding gay genitals too "matchy matchy." People are angry when two dudes who are in love want to have a quiet little dignified ceremony, but Miracle Whip is allowed to hire fake priests to ask people to get divorced over sandwich preferences? I mean..!Look! I understand the joke/sentiment: Miracle Whip is a divisive condiment. Weddings are expensive and it would be fun to have Kraft pay for yours, I guess. I get the marriage portion. But even if it's a friendly split -- you know, the kind you make a funny video at the end of -- isn't there something a little off about this?
Like, if duct tape kept giving kids scholarships for making duct tape prom dresses, but also for making banners that said, "I DON'T LIKE YOU LIKE THAT KRISTAL, TAKE A COUSIN!" ?The last guy who I amicably broke up with was really grossed out by the fact that I constantly ate sardines. Fair enough! But I think if Sardines had showed up, you know, while I was packing my books and he was crying, and offered pay for my U-Haul, I'd just be like, "Get out of here, you vultures!" Like, what's next? Will barbecue sauce pay for my court fees when I drive into a parking meter on the way back from a BW3, sleepy from too many hickory smoked wings?On the plus side, now I have something clever to say to Ryan Gosling when we simultaneous-die in a nursing home: Do you think our love can create ... Miracle Whip? Because then they will maybe pay for our joint funeral and take the fiscal pressure off of our 10,000 babies. (As long as the music is fair use.)Please let me know if I'm overreacting here.