Dante would be oh so proud
September 21, 2008 (12:25 a.m.)
Of all the commercials that drive me bat-guano insane (and there are many), the Bacardi Mojito ad probably tops the list. It's this one:
I was complaining about it to a friend of mine, and he seemed surprised that I had a problem with the commercial's rampant bootie-shaking. There's nothing wrong with bootie-shaking, I told him, but this commercial seemed to depict a bootie-shakin' realm of eternal punishment, where all of these seemingly happy club-goers have been dancing forever. Whatever their sins were -- and we will never know, for the dead cannot tell what lies on that other side -- they are compelled to shake their moneymakers for all eternity.
The cartilage in their joints has been ground to dust. Bone grinds against bone. And still they dance.
Their thirst is slaked only by mojitos made from their own tears, and still they dance.
Their souls scream from within them, unable to get past the grim rictus of their smiles, and still they dance.
And controlling it all is the bartender, crushing leaves with a mortar and pestle, keeping a fiendish rhythm that would have been considered inhumane on any prisoner-powered slave ship throughout history. He stops for a moment and the crowd stops dancing, for perhaps the first time in eons. They look confused, not realizing their freedom, as if they're chickens that have been raised in a chicken house all their lives and don't know they can go out into the pasture. As the calm settles over them, surely they begin to realize their opportunity. But too late. The bartender smiles, shakes his head at their doe-eyed foolishness, and resumes the beat. On and on and on.
Mojito, thou art the devil's cocktail!