Let me qualify that. Male Puerto Ricans. Puertorriqueños. From his bangs to his jaunty mustache, to his feminized clunky yellow sandals, to his flesh belt matching flesh socks, to his choice of stool, everything is wrong wrong wrong. Even 41 years later, his lady friend looks stylish and composed. But Enrique, not so much. I mean, look at his jean hem! Look at the cut of it!
I know Puerto Rico wants to be able to vote, and I don’t blame them. Really, the main barrier I can see is that we’d have to add another star to our flag, and OCD people would go nuts with an odd number of states. It wouldn’t line up correctly on the flag. We’d have to adopt yet another state to make it even. Or Texas could secede! Most folks my age still think we have nine planets; we’re not going to suddenly remember 51 states. Or we’ll say it with finger quotes, as if it isn’t real yet.
But maybe Enrique’s problem was that he was lit, juiced up on the rum for which he was plugging in this ad.
The thing is, they knew they were being photographed. Ingrid should have offered spously guidance. Could they even possibly still be married, after this atrocity? Or is the rum that good?
Not until artist Haddon Sundblom illustrated Santa Claus for Coca-Cola advertisements in 1931, did Americans associate a large snowbearded man in a red suit with the image of Kris Kringle. Below is Sundblom, enjoying a frosty bottle of his labors.
Most of us grew up with the image he created and cannot fathom a slender Santa, much less one with dark hair or no facial hair at all. In 2015, this model tried to offer a trimmer version at Yorkdale Shopping Center in Toronto.
What do you think? Should Santa be svelte and hipster, rocking a Beat It jacket? Possibly even vegan?? I don’t think so. I like my Santa jolly and obese, and borderline diabetic from all that Coke and plates of cookies we leave out. I’d tell skinny Santa to beat it.
Unless you like a frothy mouthful of head, do not pour your bottle into your glass this way. I watched a patron at a pizza parlor pour his pitcher (that’s a lot of p’s!) into his pint sans tilt, and he wound up with a pint o’ foam. Nasty. And he was well into his middle years, so he should have known better.
And the award for best illustration of ale with squirrels, accordions, and ascots goes to…
Schlitz! Y’all, this ad did its job. It actually makes me wants Schlitz, despite the fact that I would never order a 4.6% ABV beer because that’s just wasting my time. My mouth tells me to rebuke the “Schlitzness” but my eyes say “Carry on, my wayward daughter.”
Seriously, tell me, doesn’t this look like more fun than a barrel of monkeys?
Actually, it was during this very year of 1955 that Coca-Cola expanded its packaging from the standard 6.5-ounce contour bottle to include 10-, 12- and 26-ounce contour bottles in the U.S., giving consumers packaging options to meet their needs. My need for a Coke would never be 6.5. That’s like going to a Mexican restaurant and eating one chip with salsa.
This pinterest pic is trying to make the point that Coke adds belly fat.
I drink Coke. I have belly fat. But I also have no discipline and an overpowering sweet tooth, coupled with an inability to disobey Sprite Boy (who was only used in Coke ads, and had been discontinued by the time Sprite came on the market in 1961).