That's the only message I'm gathering from the new ad campaign from Wonderful Pistachios. What else could possibly motivate them to cast such fresh faces as Levi Johnston, that developmentally disabled preposition-happy beauty queen from South Carolina, a big guy who was probably on "The Sopranos," a dominatrix, and, um, Dara Torres (why Dara why)? And the campaign presents a wonderful thought experiment. What's worse? Being lashed open with a whip, or touched by Levi Johnston*?
Perhaps the ad exec's mother was killed by a mutant pistachio, and he's been biding his time until he could exact complete vengeance upon the industry. And what better vengeance than forever attaching the wonderful nut to people whose 15 minutes ran out in 5? No longer do I associate the pistachio with good ice cream, or the unfortunate color palette of the 70s. No, no, now when I crack one open I'm thinking of a satellite celebrity with strong seed, or places like the Iraq such as wheretofore. Clearly the pistachio people were too busy trying to get that red dye off their fingers to approve the ad, and here we are.
And how is it that someone can appear so awkward, Mr. Johnston, when all that's required of him is to walk forward, stop, and open a pistachio? Let's keep in mind that your shoot took no less than eight hours, and what we're seeing is the absolute best thing that happened in that eight hours. Take a look, and note the awesome NASCAR-font tattoo of his own last name on his forearm (for when he's that shitfaced):
Well done sir. From obscurity to notoriety to pistachios to Playgirl, all in less than a year. It's like the life cycle of a monarch butterfly. So mysterious. So fragile. So douchey.
Just remember what you're really paying for, next time you open your wallet for Wonderful Pistachios.
*experts† agree this is worse.
†the expert is Bristol Palin.
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Pistachios are clearly in a downward spiral!
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