One of the best perks of working for The A.V. Club is that I get to spend about half my work day at home, on the couch, with the TV or stereo on as I pound away on my laptop. I love writing about pop culture with the hubbub of pop cultlure blaring away in the background. But it's not all monkeys and puppies, I'm afraid. An occupational hazard of working at home (not counting the damage done to my side of the couch from sitting on it so much) is enduring the exceedingly dumb commercials that air during daytime television.
I've long believed that TV programmers conspire to keep our nation's unemployed mired in depression and irresponsibilty by feeding them a steady diet of half-hour "Judge" shows and personal injury lawyer ads. Watch TV from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Monday through Friday and you'll never want to work again. Now the good folks at Freecreditreport.com have upped the ante, unveiling an omnipresent ad campaign that won't just make you want quit your job, but life itself. (I exaggerate only slightly.)
Maybe you've seen the commercials featuring the boyish slacker guy dressed like a pirate and singing about how he should have gone to Freecreditreport.com. Or the one where said boyish slacker guy is singing about how his dream girl didn't have good credit and now he's living in her parents' basement. Wait—you haven't seen these commercials?! Well, here you go!
Oh, and here's a new one (A fake rap? Goody!):
Maybe you feel a strong urge to check your credit. Or maybe you feel like going down to the nearest coffee house with an open mic and setting it on fire. If you lean toward the latter, I'm with you, brothers and sisters. The guy in the commercials is named Eric Violette, who bills himself as a "comedien" on his website. I can't read the rest because it's in French (vigorous language training in high school notwithstanding), which makes me wonder whether that whiny, Barenaked Ladies-esque voice is really coming out of his creepy/cheery/dazed-looking mouth.
So, anybody out there got some hate for this guy? Or am I missing the charm of Violette's distinctive brand of credit-lovin' comedy-folk?