Your humble comrade watched this video advertisement first on the screen of an iPhone 4. On that tiny screen, it was hard to discern whether I was looking at the real royal family or what I realized very quickly were some unconvincing simulacra.

For less than a few seconds, I wondered to myself whether the cool, accessible young royals had deemed it cool and accessible to shoot a fun video in advance of their wedding. I gave real consideration to the possibility that they had decided that since it was going to be a media circus, why not have a little cool, accessible fun?

As western democracy continues a decline so gentle and slow that it is almost unremarkable, I start to wonder whether we would be better off if the royals weren’t some fairy tale but real rulers instead. I for one would certainly prefer a world where I could not imagine for even a second that they had sold their dignity to T-Mobile.

To those of you who clicked on our link because you thought it was the full video of the wedding ceremony, I offer my apologies and a genuine welcome to Thirty Seconds of Hell. I’m here occasionally, ripping off Ken Layne.

Rating: Thirty Seconds of Hell

reviewed by: 1900s Baseball News Reporter

EXTRA EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT IT.
Baby O baby, this is a grand-slam steal of a deal. This baby is a burgaler, I tell you, free hamburgers are for the winning only, not for ball-players that go out there and play like sleeping babies. Only in my sweet-dreams of candy carts and dandy-candies.

Remember when Mr. Spalding was pulled in on his chariot by two albino stags slippy-zippy right after the calamitous Chicago White Stockings bench-clearin’ brawl in April 1903? Oh yes, surely was that a bench-clearer, yes folks, I tell you, I tell you the truth. I have seen DAMES PLAY BETTER BASEBALL than this.

And whatta dunce this fairy is to drive around in circles all day, whisperin’ dixie, looking like a big douche on a mid-summer’s eve.

How in the hell does this numbnutted, bird-brained, trickle-dick-half-dim-dick-wit, idiot imbecile boob-bomb mustard-gassin’ nimcompoop MEATBALL get grub for FREE? This is a calamity!

Well, the future of baseball is here and now — and this talky-picture portends the future of baseball — in the future, babies will enslave their daddies. This is a calamity, now, isn’t it? Babies have no rights. Babies are not allowed to vote. Babies are not allowed to go to war. Babies are not allowed to play baseball in the white leagues, nor the negro leagues, babies have to play baby ball in separate baby leagues, and they play for bubble gum, not clams. And we all know that with babies, that, well, there are no rules with babies and baby baseball, its’a an all-out CALAMITY.

This cloy moving talky-picture makes fills me with disgust: how can a baby cause an entire business to give free-chow to a child to every sleeping child, and how do they expect to stay in business — or expect to win the big pennant game‽ — with this shitty commercial, it beats me.

Bugs, cranks, cranklets, mother hubbards, yes, even cranklets, they play better ball than babies; babies make playing ball seem more like a crouching crappy cricket match at Cambridge — or even worse — rounders at Rimmy’s by the docks.

This restaurant team looks like a Dutch bed of tulips, and they ain’t even ironed their damn shirt.

What if every team starting throwing the game for gambling babies, now that wouldn’t be a straight game of baseball now, would it? That would be more like shooting fish in a pickle barrel. Imagine if every clubhouse gave seats to every bug, crank, and cranklet that stormed the joint during the pennant game? What if every subordinate baby enslaved their insubordinate Daddy? What if every baby had to fight in the trenches over there in Duetchland? What if babies were in that Zeppelin? What if all babies traveled not in MODEL-Ts, but in pin-striped purple hot air balloons? What if a baby slide into third base, deliberately spiked and picked’a fight whitta Ty Cobb, proceeded to fight’em, and won the skirmish?

Now that would be a calamity, wouldn’t it‽

Rating: 30 Seconds of HELL

By Kim-Jung ill ation

The other night, I was awake — all alone in my castle — and I was looking through the North Korean archives. I tell the truth when I say there are many cool things in the North Korean archives, including gumball machines, pinball machines, and laser-tag. Back during the Korean war, my side won. After we won, the US Government was forced to keep their promise and hand over the prize, the big one. This very old videotape was handed to us.

This videotape is over 300 years old and captures the very first Thanksgiving dinner at the Plymouth Plantation, in Massachusetts. This is a very rare videotape on VHS. This videotape actually captures the very special dinner between the Indians and the white pilgrims. The event was very special because KFC catered the event and this is the reason why we have Thanksgiving every year.

The fun fact is that chicken was the feast at the first Thanksgiving dinner, but over time turkey became the staple dinner because Americans became  fatter and they wanted more food to eat.

It is rumored that the colonial was the master of ceremony, but most people forget that the colonial actually is the Greek god, the baby snake that feed Zeus all of his juicy juice and juicy fruit.

Rating: 30 Seconds of me hungee.

by kim-jun il-lation

Now we don’t allow corn syrup in my country, call forth malaise, for very much that the matter, but if we did, we would not play this commercial, because we don’t have a free-circuit media in the DPRK. My news is permitted, whilst news that addresses the actuality realities of the matters is not allowed; therefore, DPRK not much different than your country, the United States of America. North Korea does not have balloon baby news story, and lady who throw acid on her own face new story, but hey, we are just like you, except me not allowed to use internet, too unpredictable.

Fruit punch: never had the drink, but very much sound like one of those “just for kids” things. I don’t know what to do sometimes, so I try new things, much like other leaders of countries, we don’t allow micdonnald’s in my country, but DPRK does not care, because micdonnald’s just like hy-fruit-tose corn syrup: it make whey the options of 3 american size olypic swimming pools.

ILLATIONS:

I like how Amy Poehler star in the commercial, she is a good actress.

It is tough stuff to win a gold medal.

The next commercial I review is for “LA Lights.”

Rating: 30 Seconds of Hell.

Dear diary, hi again, this is your friend Bi-Bi, and after my daddy bought me baby rollerblade we went to Tahiti, and Bi-Bi and baby rollerblade went rollerblading with mommy. When did many super-fun things.

(1) Went rollerblading. check √
(2) Drank fruit punch. check √
(3) Bi-Bi played with rollerblade baby. check √
(4) Daddy bought Bi-Bi a new doggie. check √
(5) Bi-Bi eat ice cream. check √
(6) Bi-Bi spend money. check √
(7) Bi-Bi throw a hissy when mommy fight with daddy. check √
(8) Bi-Bi throw frisbee with rollerblade baby. check √
(9) Bi-Bi get hungry and go pee-pee. check √
(10) Doggie go pee-pee in hotel room a me hidey. check √
(11) Mommy and daddy take Bi-Bi and rollerblade baby to believe-it-or-not museum owned by Ripley’s. check √

Dear diary, vacation was fun.

Rating: 30 Seconds of Hell

Like, um, like, somebody call the dork police, and the fashion police, because this spot is so totally 30 seconds of dork-alert-5000.

This commercial is a recipe for a dork-disaster: 1) the commercial is driven by a kids’ bop rendition of the “Bly Gotta Feelin’ kick-start-party-song by the Black Eyed Peas. 2) the opening line of the song is, “Didn’t know, couldn’t see, what was around the corner for me. Let’s go!” 3) the kids bop vocalist is dressed in autotune, and this is a textbook example of a creative team shamelessly jumping on the ephemeral autotune bandwagon.

4) The commercial flagrantly targets caricatured demographics — only those who can afford a weber, of course — which, in this case, is the widowed, prim and proper, affluent grey panther; the wholesome African-American male who lives in the suburbs and is happy; the lonesome librarian who lives by herself and has fun by herself; and the jolly bearded gas station attendant (he’s the lil shocker). This blogger will omit the rest of the dorks, because I respect you, and because this dork-ball video-mash subsequently welters into an unsightly meatball — hot and ready to be charred on the ole’ web grill.

However, I do appreciate the female backing vocals, 0:26 in, when we hear a passionate, “Come on — yeah!”

Rating: 30 Seconds of hot-and-ready propane gasy hell

Here’s a fun one. This Willie Horton ad is a classic. Notice how the words “Kidnapping”, “Stabbing”, and “Raping” appear on the screen. Michael Dukakis personally let Willie out of his cell. Willie kept saying “Mike, I cannot wait to get out of this jail cell so that I can commence with the rapin’” and Dukakis was like, “Hold your horses, we’ll get you out on the streets in no time. God George HW Bush would totally kick my ass if he knew I was doing this, haw haw, gimme some more blow (COCAINE), haw, haw.”

The ad played a significant role in getting Bush elected. Dukakis is the president of his cell block in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

And that is why we won the first Gulf War so decisively. And then Ross Perot.

Rating: Thirty Seconds of Heaven

This commercial is darkness. Corporate mania.

Rating: 30 Seconds of Hell.

I’m not entirely clear on what this commercial is supposed to be advertising for, but it sure is offensive. No amount of sentimental banjo playing or smiling black laborers can convince me otherwise.

Confederate Family acknowledges that many other people might feel similarly to me and answers back with the statement, “no matter what they call you, at the end of the day, you’re still just Dad.” Yes, a very racist Dad in a very racist family. Congratulations!

Our next racist ad needs no explanation. If you are not offended by this, there is seriously something wrong with you.
Rating: 60 Seconds of Offensive