I met you as Stephanie Courtney, New Haven, in the year 2ooo- you were my partner in improv. We had fun. You made us all laugh with your sillyisms, your loser-girl gags, and your left-of-center profanity. I rarely say this about women, but Steph...
You were funny.
Then came the chance to do a national TV spot. You took it. All of us would. Well... most of us. Not me I’m Bryan Liberty. But you grabbed for the cash and oh, hell, it was cute... kooky... kind of. The first time.
Right now, by my watch, it’s half-past two thousand thirteen, going on the late 2o5o’s... half a decade and counting of the same claustrophobic character, the same scorched perm and false eyelashes, the same white-cyclorama & smock: comedic suicide on a national stage, the daily raping of your talent to push policies on your economically-oppressed countrymen.
Steph... enough with the car insurance.
You see, TV commercials are never funny. I’ll say it again so you don’t miss the hidden meaning: TV commercials are never funny. They are consumer propaganda designed to get inside your head, to shape your thinking, to squeeze out the sponge of your mind, leave you dry-rag, incapable of independent thought. These traits can then be passed down genetically to your offspring... just ask the monarch butterfly.
TV commercials are designed to destroy your sense of self and spirituality and convince you that the answers to the questions in your heart, mind & soul are in a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.
Steph: the answers are not in a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.
This little skit, this little skit, this little skit, on repeat- it’s lower than child pornography. It’s much worse- more perverse. It’s commerce.
I know, you’re in the machine now. It feels good. The paychecks cover lots of pimples but in the long run... in the long run... every month you’re losing eggs and inspiration and the cardboard cutouts of you are too sad for me to deface. Your fate, it’s been bundled, you’re a painted clown leading Jewish children into the toasty ovens of Auschwitz...
You’re a frigid logo mascot monster creature traitor to your species. You could have done so much better... you could have been in my movie.
But I guess I’ll keep my mouth shut when my friends make chuckle at your pre-digested pantomime in the name of pushing discount auto insurance. You’ll understand if I don’t admit to having known you: as far as I’m concerned Steph Courtney died a long time ago.
All my best,
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