Jared: The Galleria of Feces

If I had a time machine -- and, for the record, I don't -- I think the first thing I would do is go back in time and strangle to death whoever is responsible for the "he went to Jared" commercials for Jared, which, if you didn't know, is not a jewelry store, but rather a galleria of jewelry.

I don't know that I've ever hated an ad campaign as much as I hate the "he went to Jared" campaign. It's like fingers on a chalkboard every time I hear those fateful four words -- discomforting to watch. It was even physically and emotionally uncomfortable for me to type the words. The abominations that pass for jewelry store -- er, I mean, galleria -- commercials are the only commercials in recent memory that I actually change the channel to avoid.

My favorite (read: least favorite) commercial is the one where there are two future spinsters getting hammered in a restaurant. Rather than looking for mates for themselves, they find it necessary to text message their friend, who is, of course, enjoying dinner with her own male companion, or at least WAS enjoying dinner until her bat shit crazy friends started text messaging her. To get these bitches off her back, this money-grubbing whore starts texting about all the romantic (read: expensive) things her man has done for her: flowers, nice restaurant, and, to top it off, "he went to Jared." I assume the dude was taking a dump at this time because I know that when I have taken Jessie to a fancy dinner, she has never in my presence felt the need to incessantly text her friends about the flowers I bought for her, the expensive restaurant in which she is currently texting her friends instead of eating or talking to the man who brought her there, or the fucking jewelry galleria where I bought her a generic piece of jewelry. The worst part is that, after this strumpet reveals that her man bought her said jewelry from Jared, the other two women simultaneously climax while looking in each other's eyes and saying "he went to Jared."

It's far-fetched. It's categorically unlikable. More than anything, it's just creepy. What kind of a woman creams her shorts upon getting a text message saying that another woman's husband went to a particular jewelry galleria? The kind that will probably end up stabbing you with her stiletto heel because you failed to set the table with the correct symmetry, which she takes as a revelation that you have been unfaithful. She also boils rabbits and cuts herself to show you how much she loves you. Apparently the geniuses at Jared think that this type of woman who should be the face of their galleria.

Rest assured, I will never shop at Jared because of their horrible choice in an advertising campaign, which obviously promotes domestic violence, mental illness, and self-mutilation. Not that a galleria of jewelry needs one man's business in order to stay afloat, but good God, I'd rather support Procter & Gamble than support Jared, and everyone knows P&G is owned and operated by Beelzebub. They kill babies, people. Human babies. Without birth defects. Thousands a day. It's a fact. Yet it is impossible for me hate P&G as much as I hate Jared.