My friend, William, becomes engorged with anger every time he sees the following Viagra commercial...

I asked him to share his feelings...

The greatest generation may have left body parts strewn on the battlefields of Europe, but the baby boomers leave body parts, specifically their testicles, on the floor of a smoky old garage in a television commercial that strips away the last shred of dignity of their generation.

Five aging garage banders who, in their glory days won a battle of the bands at President Something High School with their kick-ass cover of “Rock and Roll All Nite,” pick up their axes once again, but the tune is different…

Got me a honey gonna set my soul, gonna set my soul on fire…

Sounds good so far. Sure the guitarist/lead singer has a few pounds around the middle and lineless bifocals. But come on, he’s got him a honey. She’s gonna set his soul on fire. The rhythm guitarist takes up the lyric.

At the end of the day, I’m not gonna stray, ’cause she’s my hearts desire…

All right, this guy is clearly a bit of a pussy. What’s fidelity doing in a song about getting’ down and doin’ the wild thing? But, okay, but we’ve all settled down a bit. Let’s give him a pass… especially since the black guy with the salt and pepper hair is compin’ that piano so nice, and the bassist is slappin’ and singin’…

Now this lonesome toad is sick of the road, can’t wait (can’t wait) to go home…

Now the rhymes are getting bad and there’s an odd Waylon Jennings trucker motif coming in. But still, he wants to get home and get it on! Good for him. Here comes the chorus. Let’s rock this thing:

Viva Viagra! Viva Viagra! Viva, viva, Viagra!

What the fuck?! Viagra? And now they’re all getting in their rough, manly cars and driving home to their honeys? So they were all hanging out and playin’ the blues until their dicks got hard? Is that what they were all smiling to each other about – my dick doesn’t work, boys and neither does yours?

Okay, look. There might be a day when I need a little chemical enhancement to get my soul set on fire, but I’m sure not going to hit a dusty roadhouse, pop Viagra with my old gang and lay down tunes until we all pop trouser tents.

Fuck.

Thanks, William!