5 Hour Energy: a homage

I was watching TV when this little gem of a commercial came on, and my finely-tuned media mind began ticking and whirring and emitting sub-sonic blasts like Hermes-the-winged-god’s own turbo engine. So many questions! There’s the subtle overriding motif of the plight of the American Worker ripped out of bed at ungodly hours with nary a cup of joe to ease the way into the carnivorous world of free-market capitalism. And then there’s that coffee–so incredibly difficult! However has mankind coped in the 400 years we’ve had coffee in the Western world?

But what really set me a-thinkin’ was the protagonist himself. What was his motivation? In that vein, I present this “spec” character treatment of “The Guy” in the 5 Hour Energy commercial. This should be read as somewhat of a stream of consciousness; the thoughts coursing through his head as he is torn from his Jungian Dreamtime into the harsh morning by his scold of a digital AM/FM radio alarm clock:

“Shit, I promised myself that I’d never again drink cocktails with Hypnotiq in them, and I swore up and down that I’d never again take home girls from the bar who were A) 200+ pounds or B) wearing any Winnie the Pooh clothing or accessories, even if it was 1:47 am but here I am this morning with Debbie the 250 pounder in the pink “Tigger” sweatshirt–who snores like a goddamned trucker by the way–who’s already asking me what goddamned colours I’d like on the goddamn afghan she’s going to knit for me; clearly I’ve crossed a line…shit, maybe it’s rehab time again?”

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About siegfrieddarling

About umpteen times a day, I'll read or see something that will instantly inspire me to write; perhaps rant a little--but in a *good* way. Walks in The City, cooking, music, street fashion, movies and TV, books, celebrity gossip (I know--it's a weakness), worst roommates ever, memories of being a high school band geek/mod girl, MUNI, and, mostly, politix all make my fingers start twitching like a Walking Dead zombie in search of a keyboard. Up until now, with the advent of siegfrieddarling, I was pestering my mum and dad with fire-breathing topical emails, to which they'd return polite one-sentence answers in the key of "that's nice, dear." So, be pleased and secure that mum and dad's emails have returned to non-tirade conversations: I've saved the tirades for YOU!
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