I have a theory about infomercials. When they are so ridiculous that you feel they must know they are ridiculous or if not, they are even more so, then the commentary on just how ridiculous they are tends to be laid back and at times gets even literary. Well, Facebook literary.
Take, for example, the Santo Gold infomercial that went around for the Santo Gold. One person said his primary regret in life is to never have seen his infomercial. Laid back, right? Said another, Santo Gold is comparable to the National Taxpayers Union brief against porkbarrel spending. But this next phrase I do love-freakin strange and absurdly beautiful.
Yet I am not drawn to watch this infomercial or purchase this wrestling video of an alien with a human wrestler nor buy his 24 karat five year guarantee gold. Why? If it is good enough as bribes by illegal immigrants to Canada border guards (who, it is said, also like walkmans) then why not me? Or them, for that matter, meaning everybody else except the Canada border guards.
I mean it already comes with a Blood Circus Scream Bag are we swine? Lost film for 23 years, and waiting for a producer to buy them? Hollywood? Bollywood? Anybody wood?
Wouldn’t anyone want to go to his website because he has generated such a comparatively serious tone in the art of infomercial ridicule and its fine practitioners. Imagine the genius of wedding fine Santo Gold with spacemen and wrestlers and the original Santo Gold Song music with original lyrics. As one person articulated, “What? Huh?”
Santo Gold is Bizarre and awesome. But then, one man’s garbage is another man’s Santo Gold.
