Die, Old Navy, Die

It’s that time of year again. The time of year when shopping becomes an all-encompassing activity and television advertising reaches new lows. And no other company has sunk so low as Old Navy. Their Christmas advertising is so terrible it makes me hate television; something I cherish above family, friends and even sex.



Every year I wait with anxiety to see what batch of fresh brewed shit Old Navy has in store for me. It’s like waiting for a cold – you know something awful is coming but you can’t do anything to stop it. Your nose starts running, your throat gets sore and you know that any day now you’ll be feeling terrible. This is what Old Navy has reduced me to; a shivering, terrified young man waiting for his impending doom. I would much rather be waiting for an enema or a gun shot wound than the cheery, sing-song crap Old Navy serves up every year.



And, each year it gets worse. They keep the same cast of white-toothed, sweater wearing assholes, but somehow they find a way to make these clowns more intolerable. First they cast that old lady with the big glasses. She had a dog, wore all black and has since, thankfully, died. She was bad but Old Navy wasn’t satisfied yet. “Well, our ads are doing well. I see we’ve successfully pissed off most of the north east but we really haven’t broken through to the conservative mid-westerners. I think we should up the songs and get the teeth whiter. And maybe get a little gap-toothed kid to hold something?” The country may be more fractured and divided than it has ever been about politics but we can all agree that Old Navy Christmas advertising is just about the worst thing in the world.



Other companies make bad Christmas commercials. Sears will show a happy minority family opening power tools and cheap jewelry. JC Penny will taunt you with visions of your 80 year-old self in their clothing. Wal-Mart will produce commercials that make it appear as if there are items on their shelves which aren’t Jeff Gordon Signature and have no affiliation with NASCAR. Bloomingdales will try to convince you that people still shop there. But Old Navy” they are on a plane by themselves. This year is the worst so far.



Chances are that if you have turned on your television in the last two weeks you have caught one of these gems. This year’s hell features, yes, a perfectly diverse group of young people with shimmering teeth and brightly colored sweaters. Some have zippers and some do not; a fact they gladly point out to you in song. This group of do-goody assbags sneaks up on shoppers perplexed by what to purchase for their loved ones. “Hmmm” the shopper thinks, “if only someone could tell me where I could find everything I need for the holidays.” Luckily, the Old Navy Douchebag Choir is right behind them to help out. They sing a little song about Old Navy’s wonderful variety of ugly clothing with some of the more annoying members taking solos about their particular favorites. “We have half zip pullovers in red and green!” one enthusiastically intones right before I put a .50 caliber bullet through her eye (in my mind). The musical ads always end with a little tyke, positioned in front of the choir, spouting off some random fact like “It’s going to be a great new year” or “my testicles haven’t dropped.” Then, for now, the hell is over. You can let go your white knuckle grip on the remote and breathe easily for the next eight minutes.



The men and women behind this campaign must be stopped. Liberals, take all your anger at the election and Bush and channel it this way. Conservatives, take all that American pride and punish these bastards for making us look like fools. Nader voters, go smoke some weed and call us if you’re going out. This can go on no longer.



Maybe if enough of you band together and help me, these terrible commercials will no longer afflict us? Maybe next year we will all gather round the TV and not be assaulted by the Old Navy Ass-Squad and their trifling songs? Maybe we can kidnap the Old Navy advertising executives and roast them alive as we dance naked amongst there burning carcasses? Maybe next year I might actually enjoy watching television? Maybe the world will be free from their terror and next year will be one of love and happiness?



Or, I could just kill myself.