GO BIG PAPA GO BIG PAPA GO INTO THE STREET SO I CAN HIT YOU WITH A CAR.
ESPN played at least a thousand Papa John's commercials last night, and we pray that a real Don Draper, somewhere in this world, will pause from drinking himself to death for an instant, meet with America's premiere garlic butter merchants, and then tell John Schnatter that the ad agency that agreed with his horrible idea to base an entire campaign around him was horrible. Then he'll tell him to leave the offices if they don't like it, bang his secretary in a drunken stupor, and cry alone at night while thinking about that damned Samsonite campaign. IT WILL BE AWESOME AND IT NEEDS TO HAPPEN.
But yeah, enough with grandiosely stroking your ego by filming commercials where you show up in your muscle car loaded down with barely edible lard and horsesnout frisbees in cardboard boxes, walk into a party, insist everyone calls you "Big Papa," and then go around throwing a football while everyone in the commercial asks like Wilt Chamberlain's sainted penis just walked in the door. Don't involve us in your sad old man fantasies, John Schnatter. We're going to have plenty of our own: our failure to own a submarine brothel at this point, our pitiful lack of flying monkey assassins, the fact that we haven't yet actually re-enacted the scene in the Simpsons when new gun owner Homer, wearing a sash reading "MAYOR," spins his pistol on the veranda of a white-columned mansion while Marge does the twist in a bikini.
None of this has happened yet. In fact, we're not even the CEO of a huge national chain of lucrative horsemeat pizza parlors, which you in fact are. And yet there you are, saddening up our television with your Dockers and your magical pizza joy wizard fantasies.
"Holy shit! John Schnatter's here! Get out the football so he can show off his arm! Get out the lube so I can masturbate while looking at his sweet muscle car! Keep my wife away from him because you know how that guy is! I bet he can go on mountain biking excursions and sit in twin bathtubs by the sea with his beautiful wife without the benefit of either Flomax OR Cialis! I'd kill three men just to live an hour in his flesh!"
Watching three hundred of these commercials last night was more irritating that watching Gus Malzahn lower the hemline on the Auburn offense in the second half and nearly cost Auburn the game. In short, we despise the commercials, and suspect John Schnatter actually drives around in that car singing the "Big Papa" song all to himself. If he were attacked by an angry condor while driving and someone filmed it, we would enjoy this beyond all reasonable standards of pleasure. In fact, if you have an angry condor and can make this happen, we will pay you at least sixty dollars for the footage.
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