If, like me, you work from home because you dropped out of college and therefore don't have a real job (woo! Suck it, English majors!), then chances are you've probably seen one of the many infomercials floating around out there where overly cheerful white people lose their shit over a machine that will inevitably break after about three uses. And if you're like me, you stare at them the same way you stare at clowns or the spider standing between you and the bathroom: with sheer, unadulterated horror.
Think about it: the occupants of infomercials live in some sort of pocket universe, a microcosm where their joy and, to a lesser extent, their entire being, revolves entirely around one specific little contraption. To properly conceptualize this, walk into your kitchen and pick one appliance. Imagine you live your entire life around it like some sort of inanimate, benevolent dictator who, on occasion, makes toast. See what I'm getting at?
Nothing encapsulates this theory more than the commercial for the baby bullet! Yeah, someone out there figured that mothers would line up to buy crappy smoothie makers if they called them baby bullets. I know, right? Anyway, when played at the regular speed, the damn thing is pants-shittingly terrifying. But when slowed down, it offers a passing glimpse into the soul of a man as he watches everything that he is die. I'm pretty sure this video was playing on a loop in HP Lovecraft's mind for his entire life. Needless to say, it is hysterically funny, but NSF YOUR SOUL.
