I’ve always wondered what fat-cat, moronic CEO is paying hacks to come up with the vapid blurbs TV watchers are forced to endure.
The occupants of corner offices in marketing firms have convinced clients of the effectiveness of these campaigns, probably through subliminal messages on promo vids. I can imagine the popping of champagne corks in posh board rooms during self-congratulatory celebrations, and gloating over how another clueless insurance company executive has been fooled.
Granted, there’s not much room for creativity. I figure about half of the blurbs are plugs for either insurance companies or Big Pharma. Most of the Big Pharma adverts are aimed at people like me, who have psoriatic arthritis. These periodic interruptions are generally feel-good ditties guaranteeing you’ll feel good if you persuade your doctor to prescribe. But even if the insurance of the put-upon patient covers these drugs, he’ll be paying $70 a month to his friendly pharmacist, for a pill the fine print at the bottom of the screen warns will damage your liver with long-term use. If I’m going to have liver damage, I’d rather turn to vodka, which is cheaper and arguably has other benefits.
I’m guessing Big Pharma is counting on the fact that most viewers just catch the high points of the commercial out of the corners of their eyes, and don’t read that fine print or listen to the softly intoned warnings of the narrator.
I used to take Jardiance for Type 2 diabetes until at the beginning of 2018, my insurance company decided I needed to take Invokana instead. Invokana didn’t work nearly as well as Jardiance, but it turns out the insurance company — Blue Cross, at that time — did me a favor. To my consternation, I happened to catch a snippet on a Jardiance commercial shortly after I stopped taking it that admitted users might be subjected not only to “cardiovascular death,” but to “necrotizing fasciitis of the perineum.” If you don’t know what that means, look it up, and get ready to retch. The insurance company then decided that I needed Farxiga instead, and although it worked much better, I read that perineum problems have been known to occur with that medication, too.
Finally, my “primary” — that’s what they call non-specialist medical professionals these days — got me on Ozempic. By that time, I was eligible for TriCare owing to my husband’s military service, but it took some coaxing to get them to cover it. At least Ozempic’s commercials aren’t offensive, although they could well afford it. I understand diabetics without insurance coverage will pay about $1,000 a month. I’m still waiting for President Trump’s promised 1500% cut on pharmaceuticals. I can attest that Ozempic works; I’ve lost so much weight that I look like a balloon with four sticks attached. The balloon is the gut. I still can’t figure out how to get rid of that.
Insurance companies used to put out pretty funny commercials. I was disappointed when Geico turned in the cavemen for the gecko, especially when they had a human woman mouthing “I love you” to the lizard and swinging him around in a slow-mo sweep on a beach. I’m pretty sure touting the merits of human-reptile romance wasn’t selling many policies. The camel, which wandered through an office bellowing “Mike-Mike-Mike!” and asking what day it was — Hump Day — wasn’t too bad. The woman whose husband was having trouble with squirrels (“He says it’s personal this time!”) and who called her James Bond-ish son to pass on the information was good for a laugh. The Farmers Insurance spots featuring Emil Skoda elicited a grin now and again. The best of the lot may have been AllState, with one story line spotlighting the antics of Mayhem (portrayed by Dean Winters), and another — the “Are you in good hands?” inquisitor — with Dennis Haysbert (whom I still think of as the stoic Cerrano from “Major League”).
But why “Liberty-Liberty-Liberty… LIBERTY” Mutual threw over the earnest bits in front of the Statue of Liberty for “LiMu Emu … and DOUG!” is beyond me. I did see another clip shot in the harbor, but it offered up some guy who had lost weight and gotten hair plugs, and it didn’t make much sense. But the emu deal is the worst of the latest lot. Why would a man — even if he is a nerdy, bologna sandwich-eating one — partner with a large flightless bird wearing sunglasses to sell insurance? I’ve never thought about buying a policy when I’ve seen this dubious duo. I’m not sure these two are worse than the “Liberty Biberty” guy who mistakenly thinks he’s attractive.
It’s gotten worse. The Progressive commercials with Flo have always been annoying, but practically everyone I know can tolerate her. It’s Jamie with whom we all take issue. He is a bona fide dork if ever one existed. Some of my friends also say they are irritated by the monotoned short chick they call Mara, and I have to agree with them.
My husband can’t stand any commercial, even the clever ones, so he either flips the channel or turns down the sound. But I’m equally put off by some of the characters in the shows he streams. The most repulsive one — to me, anyway — is the scrawny British fellow named Mason who stars in “Dead Like Me,” a long-defunct series with Mandy Patinkin that lasted only two seasons. Mason is another “reaper” — if you know, you know — but he always steals and mooches off of other people, and I’m fairly sure he neither brushes his teeth nor bathes regularly.
Thank goodness I watch so little TV. I don’t enjoy throwing up.