by T.H. Cee

Pharmaceutical Vignette #1:

The scene opens. An obese man edited into a cheesy one-dimensional outer space backdrop flies on the back of a rocket freakishly reminiscent of a red jalapeno as it orbits Uranus.

The spokesperson for the commercial begins their rant: “Before Walter used Gluttonize to treat his IBS, he never could imagine enjoying his favorite Mexican foods. But today—only his taste buds burst— and when we say burst, we mean with joy!”

Flash to the next image of the same man. His spaceship now gone, he’s on some random street. He walks away from a vendor with a smile on his face and an extra spicy taco in his hand. As if his taste buds are multi-orgasmic, he passionately bites into his meal and lets hot sauce drip down his shirt. The spokesperson in the commercial continues.

“Gluttonize for IBS prevents stomach distress before it starts! For around-the-clock protection, it’s the smart choice. Available now in 10mg, 20mg—and for those of you nutritional overachievers who love super super-sized portions—a whopping 50mg tablet! If you can’t afford this medication, ask Edacity Pharmaceuticals if you qualify for financial aid; in some cases, assistance can be provided by Shysters national hamburger franchise, home of the world famous Triple-Bypass Burger, and Big Jim’s All-You-Can-Eat Pork and Ribs. This of course is contingent upon being on both companies’ mail order auto-pay food delivery plans.”

There’s a brief pause and the spokesperson’s tone changes. In a race to give his tongue a charley-horse, he begins to speak like an auctioneer after snorting too much methamphetamine, his words in teeny tiny font, scrolling just as fast across the T.V. screen.

“Warning, use of Gluttonize can have the following side effects: ringing in the ears, double vision, loss of smell, increased sense of smell, acute nasal discharge, sore testicles and breasts, decreased sex drive, increased sex drive, erectile dysfunction, sleep walking, insomnia, compulsive gambling, compulsive drooling, a metallic taste in your mouth, sudden hunger and urges to eat everything in sight, including inanimate non-digestible items leading to serious intestinal blockage, weight gain, weight loss, increased flatulence, explosive diarrhea, constipation, and depression (but only if accompanied by explosive diarrhea and E.D.).”

The spokesperson, without taking a breath, returns to his earlier voice. He downshifts gears and moves back into an overly zealous cheerful tone. “Ask your doctor today if Gluttonize is right for you!”

The scene transitions once again to Walter. The taco now eaten, like a cannibal on a three-day fast, he licks his fingers ravenously. An apparent casualty of what some would consider a pharmaceutical crapshoot, he turns and walks toward the sunset, his large white pants from behind showing a humongous brown stain.

Pharmaceutical Vignette #2:

The commercial opens on a middle-aged man sitting at a table using a laptop. He types a few of his symptoms into a popular search engine, hits the enter key, and begins to groan as he stares apprehensively at the results.

“Is this you?” says a voice.

The scene freezes on Laptop Man. In front of this stationary image, a brash young narrator who looks part used car salesman, part evangelical game show host, walks into camera view. “Have you ever used a leading medical information website to determine the origin of your flatulence only to be informed you may have Epilepsy, Tourette’s, or Nasal Polyps? Do you scour the internet for hours on end trapped in a merry-go-round of Cybercondria?”

The narrator laughs. “Perhaps you’ve even had a physician, or three, jokingly tell you that you suffer from Whineorrhea or Notsickatitus and to get the @&*#! (insert loud two-second censorship beep) out of their office. If so, are you sick and tired of feeling sick and tired? Then I have some great news! First—ignore the doctors—especially the proctologist. If he has an attitude, it’s because he sees assholes all day.” A cheesy laugh track explodes in mass-chuckle. The narrator half-shrugs reassuringly, his grin implying some form of hidden knowledge.

“While many might think you’re just faking it. Or as some would say, ‘suffering from Anal Glaucoma because you can’t see yourself going to work,’ there is now hope. So, relax. Don’t have a Crapacardiac!” Through a wink, the narrator uses his hand to create a finger gun aimed in your direction as he makes a solo clicking sound. “We have a new medication for you!” A brief but loud brass fanfare crescendos and quickly fades.

“With Hypocondracone,” the spokesperson rants, “you can forget about all your symptoms. Just one pill a day and all your healthcare worries will melt away! Made using only the finest of natural sugars, our clinical trials confirm the decreased urge to worry about one’s health a whopping 33%.”

The scene changes to the man who’d searched the internet. As the camera zooms in on his hand, he holds a pill that magically expands in size and glows, compliments of hi-tech special effects. He pops the medication into his mouth and, exaggerating a swallow, rubs his belly while his scowling face transforms into a huge smile. The announcer continues.

“Warning: because of your condition, use of this product will most likely result in every side effect known to man, of course— but the good news—you’ll now be too unconcerned to care!”

Over this last piece of information, Laptop Man gives the camera a double thumbs up.

“Are you ready to turn that frown upside down?” the announcer inquires. “If so, ask your doctor if Hypocondracone is right for you!”

Pharmaceutical Vignette #3:

The scene focuses on a perspiring middle-aged man on a small sailboat at sea having boat problems. Unable to get his mast to work, his face grimaces while he pulls and pulls but cannot get the fabric to rise. “Is this you?” says a voice. “Suddenly unable to hoist that sail?”

The setting shifts to the same man now at home, trying to take care of his yard. “Or do you find you just don’t have the power you used to?” asks the voice. The man smiles at the hose in his hand as water spurts out, but his expression switches to a look of surprise when it abruptly goes flaccid and dissipates into a trickle.

“Perhaps, you’re just not hitting the target like you used to?” the voice ponders. The scene once again changes; this time, the man tries to hurl a football through a tire that hangs from a tree six yards away, but hits the rubber instead. His face transitioning to a frown, he runs over to the ball and notices it’s gone flat. Bewildered, he turns toward the camera and stares.

“Let’s face it,” says the voice. “These days, you may be one of the many men having what we call a Cuban missile crisis. If so, don’t have a Mangina; or be like the millions who are too embarrassed to talk about it, and giving up hope, decide to settle. Yes, you have the power to fix this problem today!” The man’s image flashes back onto the screen while he rolls his eyes and taps his head as if to say, silly me.

The voice continues. “If you currently can’t give a fu— (insert mandatory FCC two second beep), ask your doctor if Mycoxsafailin is right for you.

“Originally developed as a blood pressure medication, in clinical trials Mycoxsafailin was soon discovered to have a common side-effect.” The scene momentarily shifts to a testing facility hidden somewhere in Area 54, where all the men walk out the front door in assembly line robotic fashion and have an unmistakable bulge in their pants. As the pharmaceutical supervisor at the clinic notices, a greedy smile forms on his face. Dollar signs, which fill an inner dialogue bubble, manifest above his head.

The scene changes to the man back at sea as he pops a blue pill. Not even breaking a sweat, you see him turn and effortlessly hoist his boat sail while two attractive females, sunbathing on the deck in bikinis, cheer. The voice resumes. “So seriously, don’t be a Homo Non-Erectus. Containing deer antler velvet, bull urea, caterpillar fungus, rhino horn, and monkey semen, Mycoxsafailen is manufactured using only the safest ingredients.”

The scene returns to the man’s front yard. This time, his hose in hand, a raging torrent of water explodes out of the end and lands a whopping fifteen feet away. Considered the ultimate of landscaping money shots, its downpour plasters the entire lawn.

The setting shifts again, and you see the man using a manual air pump to inflate his flabby football. Once filled, he confidently hurls it through the center of the swinging rubber tire. He jumps up and down, his arms raised, signifying a touchdown.

“Warning,” the voice cautions. “Use of Mycoxsafailen can cause the following side-effects: blurred vision, bleeding eyes, flushing, profuse sweating, headaches, unexpected appreciation of modern pop music, fruity smelling flatulence, strange whistling sounds that come from your penis during orgasm, dry mouth, stuffy or runny nose, insomnia, rapid heartbeat, rectal spasms, muscle twitching, and in rare instances—even death. Also, in certain cases, use of Mycoxsafailen may result in an erection lasting over four hours, which if not resolved by imagining your ninety-year-old great aunt naked, can make your johnson turn blue and lead to penile amputation. To prevent this from happening, please go to your nearest emergency room immediately to make them all laugh, and of course, seek treatment.”

The commercial focuses back on the man. With newfound vigor, and a smirk on his face, you see him in his garage, pounding a large nail into a two by four. From there, the next scene shows him in a tuxedo as he enters a nightclub. The two hot girls from before, like arm candy, are at his side in miniskirts. Looking like the epitome of confidence, he winks at the camera.

The voice ushers a final reminder. “Ask your doctor if Mycoxsafailen is right for you!”