Have you ever seen a commercial that was so horrible, so gaudy, so blatantly retarded that by the time it was over you actually considered suicide as an alternative to changing the channel? If your answer is something along the lines of “Yes, all the time!” then put down the paper, unplug your television and seek professional help because, seriously, that’s kind of freaky.

Though I would like to think I’m somewhat mentally stable, there is just something about those Old Navy commercials that loosens a screw or eight in my head. I can’t really put my finger on it. Perhaps it’s all the colors. No. The catchy jingles? Don’t think so. All the beautiful people speaking like they are in an English-dubbed Japanese cartoon? That’s not it. Any intelligent human being asks him/herself the same question as they watch, and that is the age-old and time-tested one of… “Huh?” The simplicity of the advertisement is far below the bottom of the human comprehension barrel.

That is why I’m now convinced nobody gets it. The Old Navy commercials are not meant for humans. In fact, there is not an organism in the entire animal kingdom that would react any different to it than us. Show it to a colony of beetles and watch them explode one by one. The only benefits are reaped by photosensitive bacteria in a proximity to harvest the cornucopia of lights emitted, producing, through a complicated cycle, a negligible percentage of the oxygen we breathe.

I also have to mention the concept of a “sale.” Why the quotation marks you might ask? Because, gulli-Bill, it doesn’t exist. I could advertise bags of my own feces as being “therapeutic to your health,” charging $5 a pop, and everyone would think twice about it if I said they were on “sale.” Don’t go rushing to try it though; it’s just an example I’m using to get my point across. And I already have the trademark on Fecal Bags.

Worse, still, is a slogan like “For the whole family!” Trust me Morgan Fairchild, I would not be caught dead wearing the same thing my mother does, however “groovy” you say it is.

Despite what the commercial may lead you to believe, Old Navy is an actual store, not just a magical land of unemployed actors and defamed musicians. I will admit I have been there recently, but vowed before I stepped inside that I would purchase not a single item from such a corporation. Although, the painter’s pants did fit rather nicely around the buttocks, not to mention the performance fleece felt really warm and soft on my shoulders. And I found a great hooded pullover to go with the pants. Oh, and I also got three identical maternity turtlenecks, but they were on sale.

Cole Pilegard is a junior film studies major.