It’s not often that a television commercial has the power to send me into a white-hot rage. You know the ones to which I refer: skinny, cooler-than-thou hipsters stuffing their faces and singing their songs of youth atop the roofs of a land that responsibility forgot. I tuned them out at first, assuming that the scruffily adorable trust-fund babies were shilling for vodka or the Brooklyn Chamber of Commerce.  Sure, they were annoying but they were harmless, right? Wrong. To my horror, I realized recently that these ads are for something much more soul sucking-ly lame than smart phones or American Apparel. These ads are trying to put a positive spin on something that is pure, unadulterated evil: Miracle Whip. And now I’m pissed.

It seems that the fascists at Miracle Whip have decided to take their product off the shelf, blow that thin layer of dust off the lid, and market it to the kids as something cool, even rebellious. Because what I really want, more than world peace or universal health care even, is a condiment that doesn’t take any crap from anybody. Ooh, look at that Miracle Whip go! Miracle Whip is dancing in a cute little pool! Miracle Whip looks androgynous and wants to take your picture! Come over here, Miracle Whip wants to tell you about the art installation it’s planning! It’s really going to make people think, you know? Um, no, Miracle Whip is not sorry that it slept with you and never called you again. Miracle Whip doesn’t have to answer to you, buddy; Miracle Whip doesn’t answer to anyone! Miracle Whip will not be held down! Miracle Whip will not be silent!!

Are you kidding me with this, Miracle Whip? Clearly, you’ve never tasted yourself because these commercials would fill you with shame if you had any idea how unbelievably disgusting you are. Instead, you’re forcing America to feel the shame for you. I mean, do you hear yourself? “Made from a mixed up blend of one-of-a-kind spices” — oh, and what exactly are these magical spices, the tears of colicky babies and the soils of Chernobyl? My grandmother used to spread that crap on everything she served and just the memory of her smearing it onto my cheese sandwich is enough to trigger my gag reflex. I can still hear my mother throwing a tantrum upon coming by to pick her children up and seeing that jar of pure white depravity on the kitchen table: “My husband and I worked very hard to be able to afford a house and I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow you to feed my babies like they’re trailer trash! I mean, what the hell are we, Protestants? That’s a Protestant condiment, that’s what that is. A Protestant. Condiment. My children will eat mayonnaise or butter, the way God intended!”

Take a tip from my mom, Miracle Whip: You’re not cool and you never will be. Stop trying to be hip and leave the air time to more appetizing spreads, like Vegemite. Seriously, don’t make me get all Stephen Colbert on your creamy white ass. You’ve been warned.

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