Sorry it has been so long since my last post, but I was deciding where to sit and it took me longer than I thought.
My crowbar has been gathering dust lately, and there are too many people wandering around without gaping wounds in their head, so it’s time to brush off the cobwebs (I got the old lady who lives in the apartment downstairs to do that actually, just in case there were still spiders hanging around) and get cracking on some deserving skulls. Today, I'm focusing on the fuckwit on the Cottees ad.
There has always been something about this guy that never quite sat well with me. I mean, I get the joke, don’t get me wrong. His name is Elizabeth. He’s a man. He likes ravioli. Funny stuff.
After a few times watching this ad, it dawned on me - he’s a fuckwit. He approaches this poor old duck working doing merchandising at Woolies spruiking cordial and starts laying into her. She’s just doing her job and minding her own business when Captain Fuckwit comes along and starts taunting her for giving away free samples of a refreshing beverage.
"You can make twice as much cordial by using half as much?" asks Fuckwit.
"Yep," replies the old duck.
"Bull-fucking-shit," says he, mocking her openly and loudly.
Why would the guy pick on her about his disbelief for cordial concentrate? It’s not like she invented the stuff - fuck it, she’s not even selling it; she’s giving it away. How much does this guy’s life suck that he needs to pick on people who work at the supermarket to make himself feel better? How does this guy react to mormons coming to his door, or people collecting money for the Salvos? I think it’s safe to assume that he beats them to death with their own bibles, cuts off their ears to make necklaces and hides their bodies in barrels of battery acid that he keeps in his garage. I also think he needs to reprioritise his life if he’s this passionate about cordial, and should stop spending his weekends hanging out at Cottees stands, slugging away at free cordial and giving shit to the old duck who really doesn’t deserve his fuckwit rants. She could be so affected by his verbal assault that suddenly she isn’t having such a good day - she feels old and unattractive, like her job is useless, like she has no worth. She doesn’t care for the fruity, sweet flavour of Cottees cordial, and instead prefers the sour bite of drinking straight meth and begging for cigarettes at the bus interchange.
This guy just needs to do what everyone else in the world has done and accept the fact that there’s been a change in the Cottees formula that allows for better concentration and you can make more Fruit Punch than you could before.
And there’s really no need to look so fucking happy about being called Elizabeth.