Instead, it should be "racehorse duct taped to a scud missile fast" so it "rips through the web like a circular saw through a ripe banana!" Beware the rampaging Droid! It has GPS but it doesn't even need it, because directions are for the weak! If the ghost of Steve McQueen had a baby with Captain Kirk, it would be this phone. It would have back hair and chew with its mouth open. This phone may have killed Tupac. As the ad explains, "It's not a princess. It's a robot." It's not a phone. It's a dick with rollover minutes.

Feeling somewhat more butch? Ready to get out there and engage in some high-speed chases and cut down some trees and shit? Sounds like you need to "wear the pants." And what could be more gangsta, more badass, than a pair of Dockers? As the brand that made everybody's asses look fat in the '90s lurches along the comeback trail, Dockers would like to propose a man-ifesto. (Get it? Hey, you want subtlety, watch Lifetime.) You see, once there was a time "men took charge because that's what they did." But then, "the world decided it no longer need men" and left them "stripped of their khakis … by the side of the road between boyhood and androgyny." It goes on in this tragic vein for some time. Stuff about crumbling  cities and genderless society, until you find yourself pouring two fingers of bourbon, neat, and watching "Field of Dreams" again on Spike TV. I think we all remember the great pants-jacking of American masculinity, which, based on the manifesto's references to disco and salad bars, occurred sometime in the Carter administration. For the love of God, can we put some khakis back on our menfolk at long last?

When the Incredible Hulk goes on the rampage, he is busting out of a pair of Dockers. The only reason to unzip a pair of Dockers is to pee standing up or impregnate a supermodel. If there were a seventh masculine icon of the Village People, it would be these pants! OK, scratch that last one. They're available at Kohl's and JC Penny's! Can you handle that?

Perhaps the best part of the Dockers imperative to "answer the call of manhood" is the links at the bottom to "shop men" or "shop women's." I feel gender confusion and androgyny kicking in. ROARR! WHY AM I SHOUTING? IT MUST BE THE TESTOSTERONE IN THESE PANTS!

It's vaguely consoling to be reminded that advertising doesn't merely prey upon female insecurities. But maybe someday they'll be enough roaming data and trouser wearing in the world for all of us -- male and female, princesses and Droids.

Part I: Why Pfizer thinks you should travel with your dog:

For most people, the holidays are a time of joy and celebration. But some people feel guilty or sad about leaving their dog behind because they consider their dog part of the family.

"In addition, this year, many families are experiencing tough economic times," said Amy Trettien, DVM, Veterinary Operations, Pfizer Animal Health. "The unconditional love from your family dog can go a long way toward helping your entire family manage that extra stress." To help families talk about including their dog in their family holiday, Pfizer Animal Health has prepared seven simple tips, and is encouraging family dialogue at a new holiday Twitter feed, www.Twitter.com/DogOnBoard.

Part II: Why Pfizer gives a damn:

But some families who want to include their dog in holiday travel can't because many dogs get carsick when they travel. According to Pfizer Animal Health research, one in six dogs -- an estimated 7.2 million -- will suffer from vomiting caused by motion sickness.

Which is why Pfizer Animal Health is encouraging dog owners to also talk with their veterinarians about canine motion sickness. Since Pfizer Animal Health's CERENIA(R) (maropitant citrate) was FDA-approved in 2007 to prevent vomiting caused by motion sickness and acute vomiting, thousands of families have been able to get on the road with their dogs, increasing the quality time spent with their dog.

Please, take your dog with you on your Thanksgiving road trip, because we're desperate to move more of our dog-vomiting-prevention product. Lovely.

I saw this ad, in which a short-shorted woman tries to give a serious spiel on the sneakers, only to be distracted by the camera dude constantly zooming in on her sweet ass, while watching Hulu the other night. So this is definitely a real thing Reebok paid for. 

This morning, I saw a Tweet from The Illusionists, asking, "Is this uber-sexist (and NSFW) Reebok ad authentic?!?" with a link to what you see below. Because I didn't want to wake my husband sleeping in the next room and didn't know where my headphones were, I watched it with the sound down -- and having already seen the first ad, I concluded that this must be a parody. I mean, the camera does nothing but linger on a woman's breasts in a demi-cup bra for a full 20 seconds, before it switches to an ass shot, and then the shoes it's actually advertising. Whoever made it had to be sending up the whole idea of using sexualized body parts to sell sneakers to women, right?

Then I found my headphones. And noticed that the ad is called "Dialogue." As in, a dialogue between this woman's breasts.

Righty: Hey, did you see? Nobody's staring at us anymore. 

Lefty: Are we still hot? 

Righty: Clearly! You know what? It's all because of that stupid butt down there.

You get the idea. Now that the ass is 28% more toned and thus getting all the attention, the boobs are jealous. And that, my friends, is how you use a close-up on breasts to sell sneakers.

You know, advertising teaches me something new every day. All those times I got pissed off about a guy staring at my chest instead of talking to my face? My poor breasts were probably hurt that I stole their thunder. Would you believe I never even considered their feelings, much less the real possibility of internecine conflict between them and my butt? I just kept acting like only my brain should be allowed an opinion on whether being leered at is a positive thing, never realizing that my tits might feel all purposeless and empty inside if they go unwatched. What an appalling lack of empathy on my brain's part.

I trust I don't need to repeat my rant from yesterday on why companies trying to sell women products with images that appeal primarily to heterosexual men is infuriating. But the depressing question I didn't get to in that post is: How well does it work? Sterling-Cooper lost the Patio account with the Ann-Margret ripoff Peggy objected to, but Reebok paid for these and paid to run them. (Well, at least one -- has anyone seen the boob ad somewhere other than YouTube?) Some decision-maker was confident that women will be so enchanted by the thought of being ogled more often, they'll run out and buy these shoes. And what's really scary to consider is, they might not be wrong -- not entirely, anyway. When I ran the ads by a feminist friend this morning, she agreed that they were outrageous and insulting, but admitted she was still intrigued by the thought of toning her butt with no extra work. Even if women buy the product in spite of the ads, enough of them doing that will give the impression that the marketing strategy was brilliant.

But here's an interesting data point: According to a recent report, the undisputed market leader in athletic footwear is Nike, a company that's been selling women's shoes with ads that emphasize active participation in sports, not ogle-worthiness, since the '90s. Nike's far from perfect, of course, but when they used boobs, they belonged to Serena Williams and appeared under her crossed, muscular arms and a high-necked T-shirt that read "Athlete," with the caption, "Are you looking at my titles?" When they used close-ups on female body parts and copy about how others might perceive them, it was with text like, "My mother worries I will never marry with knees like these. But I know there's someone out there who will say to me: I love you and I love your knees," and "My butt is big and that's just fine. And those who might scorn it are invited to kiss it." If the new Reebok ads help the company knock Nike out of the top spot, then I'll admit that they made good business sense (after I'm done sobbing), but as it is, the market leader is the one that uses images of strong women who care more about being athletic than being pretty. The market leader is the one that figured out how to sell a major female fantasy: being treated with at least a modicum of respect by advertisers.

 

When the media distributor Go Viral named the greatest spot of all time this week, the winner was an 8-year-old commercial for Agent Provocateur lingerie featuring singer Kylie Minogue, a soundtrack by the Hives and a plush, velvet-covered mechanical bull. (Just curious: Where can you get one of those?) In it, the singer sets out to prove the lingerie is "the most erotic" in  the world, and by golly, it's convincing. Last winter, the clip was also named the greatest cinema ad in a poll by Digital Cinema Media.

The ad, which was shown only in theaters, beat out Sarah Silverman's ode to doing it with Matt Damon, Ellen Feiss' trippy Apple ad,  and even the iconic Obama campaign's "Yes We Can." It's clocked in at 350 million views on YouTube and counting. Take THAT, will.i.am!

Is it the greatest ad ever? Debatable.  But it's proof that if you want 350 million hits on YouTube it helps to be nothing less than scorching hot.

But have you seen the companion Web site, GetMommed.com, yet? Because if not, you might want to reserve that screen-punching energy.

The Web site offers grown men (and women, I guess, although the ad tells us who the real market is) their choice of eight  different nurturers, each of whom will deploy maternal wisdom and Kleenex tissues in her own special, stereotypical way. Click on a mom, and hear her campaign speech for the honor of being your caregiver this cold and flu season!

 "True southern girl" (never mind that she's middle-aged) Magnolia -- the spinach-server from the commercial -- wants to spoil you if she's "lucky enough to be your mama." Phyllis, patterned on Dustin Hoffman's Tootsie and a thousand Jewish mother jokes, loves, "cooking, laundry and buying presents, because if you're happy, I'm happy." East Asian mom Sue will make sure you still get to work during your cold, because she has watched enough sitcoms to understand that "tough love" is what East Asian moms do best. "I don't put up with excuses, procrastination, or being a baby. Not even from babies!" Since there is no South Asian mom option, you'll have to make do with hippyish Amber's appropriation of key concepts like karma, chanting, balance, orange silk accessories, and distrust of newfangled Western medicine. ("The only modern thing you need is a Kleenex tissue!") Ana Maria offers wise Latina advice gleaned from -- what else? -- having an enormous family! Dozens and dozens of aunts, uncles and cousins, who are apparently the only thing she ever thinks about, apart from tending to strange young white men who show up at her door unable to cope with the common cold.

By this point, I was wincing as I clicked on track-suited African-American mom Lisa, just waiting to count the head snaps. She was a bit of a surprise in that her shtick is all about being handy with a glue gun and power tools, as opposed to a sharp tongue and a wagging finger. Nevertheless, her pitch to be your fake mom manages to hit the sassy, preternaturally strong, and happy-go-lucky stereotypes all at once. "They call me supermom!" she chuckles -- but that title really belongs to Veronica, the oldest of the bunch and only one who hints at having a job outside the home. (Her vitals are written out for us on what looks like a business card, rather than what looks like a grocery list.) Veronica is the efficient multitasker, the Martha Stewart on crack, who can make you soup, tuck you into bed, plan a dinner party for eight, close a million-dollar deal and redecorate the living room all before lunch. Because, of course, the only way a woman can work outside the home and remain a good mom (to perfect strangers) is if she puts 110 percent effort into everything, including all of the expected domestic duties, thereby "having it all." All except a free moment to herself, ever.

But wait, don't punch that screen yet! I haven't even gotten to the worst one. That would have to be Jessica, the semi-fashionable blonde who looks about five years older than the dude in the commercial, max. The Kleenex folks don't come right out and say "MILF," just that "Jessica is more like a friend than a mom," wants you to call her by her first name, "likes to do the same stuff you do" and "can remind you of what you need to do without being a nag." Translation: Jocasta Jessica is more like a girlfriend than a mom. And yet, still fully committed to mothering you! It's the best of all possible worlds, if you're a stunted adolescent with a lot of Freudian shit to work out.

Look, the underlying premise here is both relatable and not terribly objectionable: No matter how old we are, we all want our mommies when we get sick. (And, apparently, when we're on "Fresh Air.") But there's a crucial difference between wanting our own mommies and wanting some idealized caricature of motherhood who can be exchanged for a more pleasing caricature the moment she does something irritating. One is human nature, the other is dehumanizing, sexist crap. I understand I'm not the target market here, and that a Man Cold is a far more severe illness than my lady brain can even fathom (see below), but I'd like this campaign a whole lot more if it offered at least one remotely realistic mom. Like the kind who takes one look at this guy, rolls her eyes and says, "You're 25 years old, are you kidding me? Take a decongestant and suck it up!"

(Via Shakesville.)