ED NOTE: I wrote this post before the holiday, then left town and had to deal with a few things when I returned. Of course, if you’re reading this, don’t bitch about the first new post since November 2009. You get what you pay for.

I don’t ask a lot of television, and conversely, it really doesn’t give me much back. The basic contract is simple: work with my Tivo to track shows I care about, never interrupt a few top-tier shows with weather-related bullshit and show me the sporting events I care about. Actually, come to think of it, television doesn’t just fail at this simple contract, it wads it up, pees on it, eats it, digests it, makes me sift through the waste product and then buries my face in it. The college football game I want to watch is never on (stay tuned for Nebraska vs. Kansas State while the rest of America watches the most amazing game to ever happen), some of the Stars games are now relegated to some kind of Fox Sports Southwest Plus (and that’s assuming you don’t have DirectTV) and Time Warner’s slap fight with NFL Network forced me to watch the Cowboys at a local chain bar surrounded by a parade of Roy Williams jerseys of all shapes, middle initials and sizes. I don’t even know where I stand on the Cowboys, but I want the freedom to mock, cheer or support in my own home, not while inhaling the deep dish jalapeno popper sampler with extra bacon while holding a $6 beer. Unless my house is going to be ripped apart by some kind of land-locked Super Katrina storm, you sure as hell better not cut away from Lost to tell me that a dripple of angel piss is tickling Roanoke.

Still, even if the contract has it’s issues, TV will have those patented Ike Turner moments of tenderness just when I am ready to pack up and leave. It will offer up a Simpson’s episode from Season 6 when I least expect it (Homer, come quick. Bart quit his tutoring job and joined a violence gang!) It will nuzzle me to sleep with an unexpected showing of “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” or “Tropic Thunder,” saving me the effort of popping in the DVD I already own. If I’m really good, I fully expect that someday TV will magically produce me a magical take-home Zooey Deschanel that will come live with us and get along swimmingly with my wife. GET ON THIS, TV!

As much as I hate to be the guy who bitches about commercials, especially in an era where we can avoid them in ways the Thundercats never intended, there is a current ad campaign that not only blinds my eyes with rage and engorges my hate-boner (Ed. Note: To be fair, he also gets like this when he watches Designing Women before making love to his Delta Burke pillow), but also leaves me feeling like someone should be harmed for what they are doing.  In short, I feel the same way about this campaign that this guy does about the UPS Whiteboard Guy (And yeah, fuck that guy, too. and fuck The Postal Service for not nipping this shit in the bud early in exchange for a sack of cash…hope you enjoyed your 30 pieces of ad revenue silver, Gibbard!)

The target of my hate is - wait for this clever wordplay to sink in - Target. (ED NOTE #2: To add to my hate, I had every one of these damn ads linked and ready to go, and of course, they were all pulled from YouTube. You can’t scrub your failure away, but you can make me too lazy to get on the internet and look for them, you clever fucks).

Depression - isn’t that just a fancy word for feeling bummed out? It was a tough year, Target. People, most likely people your agency people knew, went through some tough times and you probably felt the need to put a spin on this and deal with this new, more frugal reality. These poor assholes have things so tight that they can’t even hide their bitterness towards each other and their lifeless marriage even when opening gifts in front of their kids. That way the kids learn that not only does life suck, but mommy and daddy have no money and Santa is not even real. He’s imaginary, just like your mommy and daddy’s love life and the money set aside for your college fund.

So yes, Target, you were “real” with us and didn’t treat us like things were still all happy and cheery like they were in happy-go-lucky times like Christmas 2001 or the 40s. Life is serious and you need to remember this when you are buying your kids some dolls! But still, it’s not a party until the kids internalize this sense of gloom and start asking to give shit back to their parents in the next ad I saw.

The issue is this. This concept of Debbie Downer Does Christmas is not what I want to watch every time Brad Childress decides to ice the other team’s kicker. Your dumb campaign goes on to shit on budding relationships where the male partner has horse teeth and the timeless scenario of when a wholesome family of four wants to spend some quality time with their Dad’s ass and a video camera.

I actually like the last one. It was probably what they wanted out of each commercial where real and plausible family moments. In fact, I’ve taken the liberty of creating my own additional Target ads. These are concepts only, but I’ve got some production equipment in a van if anybody wants to be in a talkie with me:

1. Your Cat. Cut to little Jenny sitting at the Christmas tree with her mom holding a lifeless cat. “Why did God have to take him during Christmas?” she asks through tears. Mom answers: “Because he wanted to make room for us in the moving van. You’re dad got laid off last week.” Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…
2. The Date. Show a couple on a carriage looking bored and listless. “I just wish we still had that spark we had that first Christmas,” the lady says. The man responds, “Well, if it helps, I just found out your sister gave me herpes.” Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…
3. The Concert. A teenage boy is playing his new guitar in a garage with his band mates, bragging that he got the new guitar for Christmas. His fat, solemn friend chimes in: “Yeah, my parents got me these drum heads to make beats, but we also found out my brother won’t be beating cancer and will be gone by Spring Break.” Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…(with a garage band feel!)
4. Grandpa. 30 seconds of an old man breathing laboriously while connected to a machine. Pan away to show an empty room with one card on the nightstand with a Christmas tree on it. The card reads “should have loved us more when you had the chance, pop. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…
5. The Risk. Little Kenny runs up to his middle school crush at the end of her perfomance in the finale of the school Christmas pageant. He’s holding a box with a bracelet in it and gives it to her with a smile as his parents watch from nearby. The girl opens it, then shakes her head before walking towards Kenny’s dad, who then grabs her and proceeds to thrash her mouth with his tongue. The mom grabs Kenny’s hand and they both walk away sobbing. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…
6. TV Special. A family gathers around a new TV to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” when a group of four armed men in bunny masks burst into the house and restrains each of them. “Hey, nice TV,” one guy says before they all sit down next to their victims to watch the show with them. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…

See, advertising is easy. If Target doesn’t see a strong spike in revenue, they can hold me personally and financially responsible. Besides,  Ad Age taught me that none of these ads really matter anyway. Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…