Why I Hate This Angie’s List Commercial (Video)

Mr. Plumber is working at Mrs. Homeowner’s house, obviously located in an affluent, upper-middle class neighborhood inhabited by upwardly mobile professionals. Mrs. Homeowner calls Mr. Plumber from an unknown location, supposedly from work, or maybe the spa, where she is sipping a mimosa and her face is plastered in mud, and eyes covered with cucumber slices, to ask that he stop what he is doing and take her little ankle-biting, fluffy, cute bastard of a dog outside, and parade it up and down the street until it shits in the neighbor’s yard. Mrs. Homeowner thinks this is great stuff; that Mr. Plumber would sacrifice his “time and dignity” to do her bidding without pay.

Personally, I would like to extend a heart-felt, and enthusiastic, double bird to the ad agency that came up with that degenerate ad, and the amoral pricks at Angie’s List for thinking that ad depicts a social model worth glorifying for the sake of profit.

In my zealous opinion, Mrs. Homeowner, as depicted in the commercial, represents a character whose own mental sphere is compressed into an infantile, egocentric blackhole of self-delusion wherein she imagines herself to effectively reside at the center of the universe and the people that work for her in her home are her own personal spear carriers in the aggrandized drama that is her life.

“Oh, pretty please, would you take my little Pomeranian outside so it can go poopy?” she asks of her plumber. “For free,” she adds.

“Ma’am, I have four other stops to make before the day is over, and it is four in the afternoon right now. And I really can’t be in the business of giving my time and energy for nothing. You can count on me to do the best possible job for you as a plumber, but consider that I am in business to make a profit, and I have bills to pay and a family to take care of.”

“Let’s get something straight, butt-crack. Because of my social status, I am inherently better than you and deserve to be treated special. Do you want me to fire you, and tell all my neighbors that you work for that you tried to grope me?” she asks rhetorically.

“Where’s the fucking leash?” he capitulates.

“Oh,” she exclaims, happy. “You are so sweeeeeet.”