–Clever Title Regarding Casino Commercials–

They take your money… but even worse, they subject you to their terrible commercials.

I don’t think I ever saw a Casino commercial until a few years ago.  I guess the shit economy was the catalyst for these joints to start up their advertising departments again.  I love casinos… I’d live in one if I could… but I can’t, and I’m not happy about it… so I’m gonna shit on their commercials instead.  Some might say that’s the next best thing.  … Shut up, some might.

The first ad is for the Cosmopolitan of Las Vegas, which is the only casino on the strip I’ve yet to go to. “Whoaaaa, sick brag dude!”

This is one of the most poorly executed commercials I’ve ever seen.

As you know (probably don’t) I fancy myself a writer.  I also fancy the expression “I fancy myself…”

Now I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I’m an expert at the craft, (you can see I’m clearly not by this blog) but I do think I know a thing or two about great dialogue (Which is comedy, because I interact with about 11 real people a month.)  One of my favorite things to do is seamlessly slip song lyrics into conversation.  I like to make it as subtle as humanly possible. If two people catch on and see what I did, it was worth it. Its fun, it’s unexpected, and it adds a nice little joke to the scene. State Farm attempted to do this recently with a Journey song.  It was a better try, but they were ultimately too ‘on the nose’ as well. This Cosmo commercial does the exact opposite.  They don’t even try to make it work.

Nothing about their use of “Bohemian Rhapsody” lyrics is natural… not one line.  And the falsetto singing voice on Petty Mercury is terrible.  How does he land the chick after that?  Dude has no balls and a pompadour.

If some random dude ever came up to me and asked, “Will you do the fandango?” I’d punch him square in the jaw. (Truth is I’d probably run away in fear.)  That sounds like some kind of come-on.  At least slide me a champagne glass with an origami swan in it, bro.

They thought they were really clever with this one, almost as clever as “Petty Mercury,” but nottttt quite.  How the fuck does this advertise a casino?

Here’s one for Caesar’s Palace.  Zach Galifianakis line about the real Caesar or pagers, hehe.

We watch this bellhop schlep other people’s shit around like it’s some kind of glamorous job, not a grind that pays $7 an hour (Oh how I envy him.)

He meets all types of interesting people, like a Paris Hiltony heiress chick, her little shit dog, and a token black guy by the pool (total miscasting there… I know, I said I’d stop…) Hey look there’s a tiger.  Nice wink-wink to the folks at home.  “Remember the tiger in the Hangover?!”

He walks through a sorority pillow fight and doesn’t even pause to admire the surroundings.  Granted, they blast him in the face with a pillow full of feathers… but come on man, try to get in on that shit.  I guess it makes sense that he is thrilled to meet… Celine Dion.

He delivers her 12 dozen roses.  Now, if I was told I had a delivery for Celine Dion, I’d be seeing dollar signs.  Celine Dion’s net worth is $400 million.  Jesus Christ, how is that possible?  I hope you’re happy with yourselves, women.  You ate up that Titanic shit so bad, you almost made Celine Dion  a half-billionaire.  Name 3 other Celine Dion songs…

Speaking of “titanitc shit,” I’m truthfully going to take one.  BRB.

Back!  That was a relief!  I think I just released my inner child. “Shut up, already. No one cares!”

So the Bellhop gives Celine her floral bounty and she gives him… a rose.  This ain’t “The Bachelorette” you Canuck bitch, give the man some money!  A rose?  Come the fuck on.  I’d rather get tipped a piece of chewed up Fruit Stripe gum than a rose.

This dude accepts the rose and smiles like he appreciates the gesture.  What a simp.  She doesn’t even take the rest of the fuckin roses; she just closes the door and makes him take them away.  What was the point of the delivery?  Did she refuse to accept and return to the sender?

The song in this commercial is annoying as shit, so I don’t even care about the further adventures of Ramon the rose accepting bellhop.

Here’s another one from Caesars…

This is just highly implausible.  The guy gets locked out in his bathrobe and slippers… but it’s ok, he was wearing his swim trunks underneath, so he can conveniently go swimming and hot tubbing.  “Alright, time to stop messing around and go to the front desk so they can unlock my room…”

“Nah, ya know what?  I’m gonna go buy a suit.  I have clothes in my room, but fuck it, Yolo right?” He had his wallet on him?  I doubt it, as he just carelessly left his robe by the pool. I guess he was able to credit the clothes to his room.   Does that store also sell underwear, socks, shoes…?

“Whoa, must be my lucky day, this hot broad is eye fucking me… I’ll take her out to dinner.”

“What’s up Bobby Flay?  Nah neither cash nor credit, just charge these overpriced hunks of meat to my room.”

Then he gets great seats for Cher… I guess they were comped.  Who the fuck still wants to watch that leatherfaced slob perform?

Now he’s playing craps?  Bullshit.  You can’t credit casino chips to your room.  He doesn’t even have I.D.  Am I to believe this chick loves him so much she’s letting him gamble on her dime?  Maybe… she did hold his hand and kiss him on the cheek.

Oh shit, he’s gonna get his hammer wet… but “Fuck!  Keys!  I’ll be right back.”  He just flat leaves her outside of the room.  She can’t go with him?  “Hey!  What are your legs broken?!”

Speaking of broken legs, and wanting to shoot myself in the head (I don’t know if I said that, but I’m always thinking it.)  Here’s an ad (one of about 10) that ran every 5 minutes about a year ago from the Empire City Casino…  This friggin horse….

Was that a joke?  I’m serious, I don’t know if I’m supposed to find that funny.

You know why people drive 2 hours out of their way to go to other casinos?  Because they are casinos!  You have slot machines.  That’s not a casino, you subpar bootleg Mr. Ed.  To the glue factory witcha!  They basically admit their commercial sucks with the “You can’t judge a book by looking at the cover,” song.  Screw Yonkers, they’re just a wannabe borough anyway.

Here’s a “classic” from Mohegan Sun…

Do I really need to discuss this one?  I’d rather listen to your hilarious “I’m Rick James, Bitch” impression for the 12,000th time than this bastardized version of an already shitty song.

Step your music game up Mohegan Sun.  I’d choose Foxwoods over you any day, if only for this classic jingle…

And with that greatness, I leave you.  No more bets… or commercials… or me, thankfully.

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