Fandango: My Greatest Enemy

Just as Samuel Jackson has had it with these motha-effing snakes, I've had it with these damn Fandango commercials that play before every single screening. The ads might not be such a big deal for people who see a film a week, but I have to suffer through them four or five times a week, sometimes more. After a few years of this, the commercial - which is only changed every other year or so - starts to penetrate your brain and lobotomize you "A Clockwork Orange" style.

I can recite the lines of those paper bag characters verbatim. "You have the power of Fandango, my son. Use it wisely." ARGH! Those paper bags haunt my dreams and torment my days. I've gotten to the point where the first frame sends me into shellshock me and has me cowering for cover.

If I wasn't locked in by people sitting on both sides of me during last night's screening of "World Trade Center," I think I would have ran out of the theater for 15 seconds until it ended and it was safe to come back in. Since I couldn't escape, I closed my eyes and covered my ears like a 5-year-old who doesn't want to be told its naptime. Unfortunately - or maybe fortunately, because I looked so stupid while I did it and would have continued to do so if I'd had any success - the plan didn't work, and I could still here the paper bags pound their marketing message into my head. I never thought I'd find myself missing the annoying fat guy who used to star in the Fandango commercials, but I'm at that point right now. My greatest aspiration in life is to reach through the screen, grab one of those Fandango paper bags, blow it up and pop it. Please, Fandango, stop tormenting me like this!