You Fondle My Trigger, Then You Blame My Gun

Okay, so to Yes-And my own post about the dirty, dirty whores demographic and bizarrely targeted marketing, I submit the following piece of amorality as evidence:

WHAT. THE. FRESH. HELL?!?

"My hair's limper than my boyfriend after a few drinks"?!? (and yes I know that last bit of punctuation is wrong, but we have a MORAL APOCALYPSE on our hands, people!!! Suck it up!) Why are we degrading our whiskey-dicked mates in the name of HAIRCARE?!? Isn't this the kind of talk we save for after we've broken up with the guy? You know, where you swear you're not going to trash him to your friends because you're "better than that," but one night, after a few too many Belvedere dirty martinis with the blue cheese stuffed olives, you break down and whisper to your friend, "You know, he never could keep it up when he had a couple of beers in him."

Why, in the name of all that is bouncin' and behavin' are we stooping to this?!? What's next, America? A campaign for Champion stating: "Because I want a tube sock that doesn't sag as much as my girlfriend's tits." ?!? (Again... APOCALYPSE) "Secret (TM): So your pits don't smell like your husband's balls."?!? What the fuck?!