I don’t want to go with the Flo

One day when I was in fourth grade, I got into a fight with a kid named Greg. That night I tried telling my parents how much I hated him, but they wouldn’t have it.    “Don’t hold hate in youheart,” they said, “Forgive and forget.” So I did. And today I no longer have any hard feelings toward Greg.

In fact, I haven’t seen him in years, so I don’t really think about him at all. I just naturally assume he’s out there somewhere, quietly living his life as an impotent, crack-addicted welfare recipient married to a disease-ridden prostitute.

So you can see that I do not hold a grudge. Nor do I have hate in my heart. Truth is, hate is bad for your soul.

You really shouldn’t hate anybody, unless it’s someone really despicable, such as a murderer, or pedophile, or personal injury lawyer.

You can also hate that weird brunette “Flo” from those incessant Progressive Insurance commercials. I certainly do.

She doesn’t make me want to switch insurance companies. She makes me want to push her into a vat of industrial waste.

Harsh? Maybe. But I’m not alone in that sentiment. There are several “I hate Flo” websites out there. That’s the good news.

The bad news is that Flo’s official Facebook page has more than 100,000 fans. This depressed me at first.

I couldn’t understand how that many people in this country could want to actually see more of her, until I remembered that even Adolf Hitler once received more than 11 million votes.

Not that I’m comparing Flo to Hitler. That wouldn’t be fair. After all, you could watch 30 seconds of Hitler without changing the channel.

The insurance industry in particular seems to have a lot of nerve-grating pitchmen.

I have a reoccurring dream, in which there’s an insurance mascot convention and mass rioting breaks out and everyone dies.

The Hartford elk uses his antlers to ram Flo. The Aflac duck bites the head off the Geico lizard.

I don’t know who ends up killing the Geico cavemen. Maybe the black guy from Allstate is armed with an Uzi.

Fast food mascots are almost as bad. Remember the Arby’s oven mitt ads from a few years ago?

They featured a talking oven mitt that pranced around a kitchen and smiled a lot. It didn’t go over real well, which is completely understandable. If you have to stick your hand into something, you usually don’t want it to smile back at you.

Even creepier are the new Burger King ads. You’ve seen them. The Burger “King” runs around with crazed, permanent grin on his oversized head.

One commercial promoting their breakfast menu has him, (true story) sneaking into a guy’s bed, followed by the tagline, “Wake up with the king.”

They’re trying, of course, to get you to buy some more ham and cheese Croissan’wiches, but the whole time you’re wondering if you really want to eat at a place where the spokesman is probably listed on the National Sex Offender Registry.

I just wish we had the innocent ad characters of my childhood back in the late ‘70s.

Our most famous advertising campaign involved three young brothers who sat at a breakfast table, not wanting to eat a bowl of Life cereal.

The older brothers pass the cereal on to the youngest one, Mikey, who “hates everything.”

But once Mikey gets a taste of the Life cereal, he devours it, to which the brothers respond:  “Please don’t squeeze the Charmin.” Or something like that. It was a long time ago.

The point is that we need to get rid of the Geico lizards and the Cialis-popping couples sitting in twin bathtubs.

And those violent, annoying, anti-meth ads run so often during local news, it makes you want to start taking meth out of spite.

We especially need to get rid of Flo. Let’s set her up with someone and marry her off so we’ll never hear from her again. Sure she’s evil, odd-looking and irritating, but somewhere out there is her perfect match.

In fact, I have an old classmate named Greg who’d be perfect for her.


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