Hot Sexy Babe to Wash Your Car
So I'm innocently watching football on a Sunday winter afternoon when I see on the TV a wet, half-naked woman writhing with a garden hose and washing some chump's car. Whoopsies. It looks like you accidentally got some water on your little pink top, hardly able to contain your bulging boobs, and kind of dribbled some soap suds on your naughty short shorts. I, um, paid attention to this commercial and learned it was an ad for a contest in which the grand prize is to have, I hope you're sitting down - Pamela Anderson Lee Durst Rock come to your house in Bumchuck, USA and wash your pathetic rusty car, presumably gyrating in the same outfit as in the commercial. "You bad boy. Your car is so, very, dirty. It will take a lot of scrubbing to clean it off."
I can hear some of you guys out there. "Why do they make those ads? What an embarrassment to American culture, to men, to humanity. I certainly am not interested in them. In fact, I avert my eyes and stair lovingly at my wife throughout those barbaric odes to cavemen." Liars. Part of us responds to those commercials. Exactly which part I will leave unsaid. For me it is not the part that makes the decisions about what I buy. That part is the brain, and the brain says... um... hot, wet babe washing my car... No! The brain says, I don't need that satellite radio system and I'm not going to buy it. So you keep your suds to yourself Ms. Pamela Anderson Lee Durst Rock (kind of rolls off the tongue doesn't it?)
St. Paul, MN in January - the other morning I left the house to a tasty -4 degrees with just a pleasant aroma of skin-scraping wind. Imagine the reality of this contest. Let's say I win. How does that work? Does Ms. ALDR roll up in a limo in front of my Midway house in St. Paul, MN? Does she come to the door and ring the bell? Do I take her out back and show her my '92 Geo Prizm? (I was going to write "show her my muffler" but thought better of it). What about the washing - do I provide the bucket, soap and water? I can see it now. She starts washing, but the water freezes on the floor because it's so cold, and my garage turns into an ice-skating rink. It gets tougher to stand. What's with the coat you're wearing? I thought you'd be wearing a tight pink top and daring to wear short shorts. Get frolicking! More writhing! You missed a spot. More water on your pink top! More soap suds! I thought you would know better how to work a hose than that. Geesh. This is the prize for which I must pay taxes on the "approximate retail value"?
We must react to this contest. We can't let this kind of unbridled sexuality run rampant across our land without taking a stand. This is an opportunity to rise from the sofa, to lift our voices above the fray and for God's sake let our opinion be known. I say we join together and engage in an enormous act of collective lust! We could hold a lust-in. Lust for the Homeless? Maybe we could bring back some 80's sex stars for Lust Aid. Wait, I know -- Lust Across America. It's kind of like the charity event except no actual money will be raised. At the designated hour we'll all sit on the couch and simultaneously oogle the cheerleader, the dancer, the construction worker drinking a Coke, and the sweating stud-muffin, in a cathartic act of unified animalistic lust.
Ok so the united act of American lust is a little out there, but hardly more surreal than the contest. In fact, after learning about this contest I felt it was impossible for me not to enter. How could I not throw my name into the hat? This is America! Where else can you win a sexy babe to come to your house and wash your car in sub-zero weather? But there's only one problem - the entry deadline passed and I forgot to enter.