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We know that our customers have been complaining about our pizza for years. That's why we're taking steps to make Domino's better. And the first step to getting better is to admit you have a problem.

So we'll be the first to admit our food is not the best. In fact, it's pretty horrible. In all honesty, we've served you the worst garbage imaginable for decades. We are not legally allowed to refer to Domino's Pizza as food in 23 states. We wouldn't feed a starving war criminal the swill we try to pass off as pizza. If you knew half the stuff we put in our sauce, you would beat us within an inch of our lives, and no jury would convict you.

That's why we gathered all our test kitchen chefs together to give them all of your helpful feedback. We locked them in a windowless, unlit room and projected that feedback randomly on the walls for 15 hours, while "The Flight of the Valkyries" blared at half speed with extra bass boost from enormous speakers. The cooks came out of this experience with a renewed commitment to excellence, at least the few who weren't driven to the brink of madness.

This brainstorming session also enabled our chefs to tap into some childhood trauma and humiliation that had previously been buried deep within their psyches. And those repressed experiences have provided the inspiration for our brand new menu!

• Try our new buffalo chicken pizza! The improved blue cheese dressing was the brainchild of chef Greg Sanchez, whose mother threw a full jar of mayonnaise at him in frustration when he was only 6 years old. This incident is deeply imprinted on his brain and is probably the source of his frequent, uncontrollable fits of rage. Comes with a free order of mozzarella sticks!
• Who doesn't love the spicy, tangy taste of the Southwest? Chef Marty Bellows doesn't! He's still scarred from when his parents took him to a Mexican restaurant and he accidentally peed his pants, but wasn't allowed to go to the bathroom and dry himself off. He still has body image issues and difficulty trusting others. But we trust you'll love his barbecue chipotle pizza!
• If you like a more traditional pizza, you'll love our improved sauce, made with fresh tomatoes, garlic, cilantro, and other hearty ingredients. It's all thanks to the hard work of chef Denise Russo, or rather her overbearing neat-freak mother, who scolded her when she stained her bedsheets with her first period!

We know you're gonna love our new menu! Because if you don't, we're making our cooks march around the corporate office in their undies!

I'm a busy man with an active lifestyle. A lot of people count on me at my job. And a lot of people count on me at home. But that doesn't mean I don't have time for joint pain. On the contrary, I take time every day to have at least one crippling bout of arthritis.

Some guys my age slap on some Ben-Gay, others take prescription drugs. I even have a golf buddy who swears by acupuncture. Not me, though. I set aside an hour a day to make sure I can find myself beset with agonizing rheumatism flare-ups.

Because only when you're in the midst of true suffering do you really know the complete limits of the self. Only then can you know exactly what you're capable of, and how much you can withstand. Am I right, people?

Everyone's coming and going so fast in this crazy, mixed up world of ours. Why not take time to smell the roses? Or, alternatively, to find yourself in the grips of searing agony?

Of course, joint pain doesn't just come and go on command. That's why I make sure to put myself in an extra-humid environment, like a sauna, or the Everglades. That usually gets my bones a-achin'!

And if that doesn't work, I sit on my hands in a weird stress position, until the blood flow's constricted and my fingertips turn purple. Just like Mistress Ilsa taught me.

Ever had your pinkies smashed with a stiletto heel? How do you know you don't like it if you don't try it?

Y'ever see Hellraiser? I have. Sixty times. Truly underrated film. I think it's got a lot to teach us. Don't you?

How 'bout whips? Is that something you might be into? If you're not, that's cool. Just sayin' is all.

So remember to take some time out of your busy schedule for pain. Nine out of ten dominatrices recommend injuring yourself at least four times a week. Jump down a flight of stairs. Hold a lit candle to your groin. Or just cut yourself! It works for me.

Pain: It can't stop you unless you stop for it.

This message brought to you by your local Winger's and The Pain Council. SUBMIT.

Quizno's has a history of questionable ad campaigns. Their most recent one featured a commercial in which a sentient oven with a voice akin to HAL9000 commanded a chef to build a Toasty Torpedo. It ended with a perspective shot from inside the oven, and the HAL-oven saying "Scott, put it in me." Scott shot the oven a baffled/horrified look. And...scene.

And that's just the condensed variation shown in my market. For a truly horrifying experience, check out the full-length commercial. In this version, Scott is totally on board with humping a red-hot oven.

This ad generated a lot of buzz. And by "buzz", I mean "vomit". Google "creepy quizno's commercials" and you will be treated to a plethora of WTFing over this ad. Quizno's must have decided it was a bad idea for a restaurant to nauseate potential customers. So they altered the voice-over, but the results aren't any less weird.

Now, instead of the innuendo-filled line quoted above, the oven says "Scott, I'm waiting for it." I suppose this could be interpreted in the same dirty way as the original line, but you'd have to stretch pretty hard to do so. And you probably wouldn't have dirty connotations in your mind unless you'd seen the original version.

All Quizno's did was alter the line. Everything else about the commercial is the same. So Scott the Chef still gives the oven a terrified look, which is just baffling. Why does the line "I'm waiting for it" frighten him so? It's disjointed and bizarre and unreal. It's been transformed from creepy-in-a-weird-German-porno way to creepy-in-an-Eraserhead-way.

I think Quizno's should've stuck to their guns and kept the original. Because now tons of fast food franchises have debuted their own dirty slogans:

My place of employ provides free soda. I appreciate this, because I wasn't doing enough on my own to destroy my body.

Since I'm trying to shed a few lbs, I opt for a diet sodee pop with my lunch. But Diet Coke is a hot item in these parts, so I'm usually left with Diet Dr. Pepper as my only option. Which is fine, because the commercials are true--it really does taste like Dr. Pepper!*

* Which, by the way, has to be the most idiotic ad campaign ever. Wow, it tastes like the thing it says it tastes like! Praise Jesus! Next up, we're working on steak-flavored steak!

When I first began this job, the Dr. Pepper cans were all emblazoned with the characters from the last Indiana Jone movie. Actually, they must have only had a partial marketing deal, because every can I ever got had Mutt on it. Try to eat lunch with Shia LeBoeuf staring at you. Go ahead, I dare you.

But the Indiana Jones cans ran out, and were eventually replaced with a seemingly generic version. The only difference between this version and a totally unadorned can is a row of laces between the Dr. Pepper logo and the nutritional info.

I literally drank this soda for months before it occurred to me, "Wait, what the hell is this supposed to be?" I can only assume they're supposed to be football laces, except for two things:

1) They are the fattest, ugliest football laces you've ever seen, and
2) There is not a single mention of football anywhere else on the can.

No famous football player. Not even a silhouette of someone doing the Heisman. There's no football related contest or giveaway or anything. The only things football related at all are the ugly, ugly laces that look more like they belong on some morbidly obese dowager's corset.

My guess is, the Dr. Pepper people wanted to attach themselves in some way to The Exciting NFL Season. However, not only did they fail to land an NFL endorsement deal, but their creative department was filled with people who had never actually seen a football.

So they went to Modell's and bought one and brought it back to the office. By that point, a whole half hour had passed and no one was really hot for this idea anymore. Still, they spent like 15 bucks on that football, so they might as well put it to good use.

If you look closely, you can actually see everyone involved in this project losing interest in it.

I wasted at least a dozen people's time this weekend discussing the bizarreness of this ad. So allow me to waste your time, too, won't you?

Perhaps you've seen Budweiser's latest ad campaign. In it, a man who appears to be a Bud employee schools various beer consumers on the finer points of Bud's brewing process. "Lager Lessons" if you will. Which you will, since that's what Bud is calling them.

I'm not sure who this ad campaign is intended to sway. Beer snobs will poke holes in their claims. You know, like how Bud brews their beer with rice, not because it adds any unique flavor, but because it's stupid cheap.

Everyone else won't give two doodies about their brewing process. Budweiser's slogan should be, Hey, you've been drinkin' it since high school--why stop now?

But there's one ad in particular that has me scratchin' me noggin. In it, we see two schlubs bring their beer purchases to a convenience store checkout. Their six pack holders have no names, but based on their color schemes, we're meant to understand that they're Miller Lite and Heineken.

The Loyal Bud Employee says, "Oh, it's 3 o'clock. You know what 3 o'clock is, don't you?" He then rattles of Bud's impressive daily inspection process, which shames them into changing their beers for Bud. Because as well know, Budweiser is the only brewer who actually inspects their beer. Every other brewing company lets rats and dogs swim around in their vats.

But as the two schlubs leave the counter to exchange their choice of beer, the convenience store clerk/owner/whatever says "You're veddy good!" (because of course the convenience store guy is Indian)

My question is, Why does the convenience store guy care what beer the schlubs buy? Maybe if they were going to buy smaller craft brews he'd care, since presumably he'd make less of a profit on those. Poor guy probably loses a couple cents every time he sells a sixer of Sierra Nevada.

But since the schlubs originally intended to buy other Big-Ass Beers like Miller Lite, what's the difference between that and Bud to this owner guy? It should mean pretty much the same amount of dough in his pocket, unless he owns stock in InBev.

It's not even that horrible a commercial, particularly by Budweiser standards. I just don't get it. Am I missing something? If so, please inform me, gentle reader.

Hey, what's the deal with that quote-unquote truck you're driving?
Do I know you?
Um, yeah, you should, if you've been living on a little place called PLANET EARTH. Howie Long: pro football hall of famer, sports analyst extraordinaire, and Chevy truck spokes-beast. I'm here to school you on that hunk of junk you call a truck. What kind of mileage you get in that thing?
I dunno, 19 mpg or so.
Oh, so you must have a V8 on it, right?
No, actually...
Hey, Einstein, I know that truck is only a V6, okay? What do you think, I just fell off the turnip truck? Grow a pair and get yourself the new Chevy Behemoth. It's got enough torque to pull a sequoia stump out of solid concrete.

GIRL 1: Ooh, Jen's texting us from her big date.

GIRL 2: He brought her roses!

GIRL 1: That's sweet! So anyway, my supervisor is such a bitch! She's always giving me a hard time about...oh, it's Jen again. 

GIRL 2: Did something happen?

GIRL 1: No, she just wanted me to know that he took her to Chez Francois.

GIRL 2: That sounds like a made-up name for a French restaurant.

GIRL 1: Totally. So anyway, my supervisor...oh, for fuck's sake, what now?!

GIRL 2: Just turn your phone off.

GIRL 1: You don't know this broad. She will totally call me to make sure I got all of her riveting text messages. And then she'll tell me the exact same things that are in her text messages. She's nuts.

In case you hadn't heard, the economy's in the toilet. As such, this year's holiday ads have taken quite a different tack than usual. Rather than pressure you to SPEND SPEND SPEND, most commercials emphasize the relative affordability of their product/service/store. Companies realize that many Americans are one paycheck away from wearing barrels with suspenders.

Even Lexus seems to understand this, which is amazing, since they could always be counted on to construct the most hateful Christmas ads every year. After all, any wealthy man can piss away money, but it takes a special kind of clueless plutocrat to spend an extra 30 grand on a Toyota because it has an L on the hood.

This year, their ads still feature The Red Bow. But rather than show entitled jerks surprising their spouses, they've decided to tap into The Childhood Wonder of Christmas. Their commercials show little kids, filmed in grainy old home movies style, explaining how nothing could ever top their best Christmas gift: Atari, Big Wheel, etc. And then it cuts to the kid, grown up, seeing his brand new Lexus in the driveway, his face lit up with a childlike glow.

Manipulative? Yeah. Exploitative? Definitely. Still, infinitely less douche-tastic than their usual holiday ads.

Plus, it features some classic toys that many viewers remember treasuring as children. They're toys that lots of kids, regardless of background, spent thousands of hours with in their formative years.

In other words, these commercials do a much better job of tapping into universal holiday experiences. Few of us will wake up to a new car in the driveway on Christmas morning, but most of us know what it's like to get one of these toys under the tree.

Of course, Lexus does tip their elitist hand in one of their commercials. Unfortunately, it's the only one that features a girl/woman as gift recipient, which gives it an uncomfortably misogynistic feel. What is the little girl's treasured childhood Christmas gift--a Barbie doll? An Easy-Bake Oven? A Light Brite? Nope, it's a pony.

I know this will totally come across as a Won't Somebody Please Think of the Children?! post. But if there is one point on which I agree with the Helen Lovejoy Crowd, it's anger over the premature sexualization of little girls. It's always bothered me, and now that I have a daughter of my own, it bothers me even more. The biggest perpetrator of this crime is, of course, Madison Avenue--although Roger Clemens has certainly done his part.

To be fair, this trend is part due to the fact girls now hit puberty at ridiculously young ages. Thanks to all the hormones we pump into the animals we eat, if you poured some milk and slapped a raw steak on a bowling bowl, it'd start growing breasts. But I also wanna say it started with Britney Spears, 'cause hey, why not?

Way back in the late 1990s, Britney Spears made music that was squarely aimed at the Radio Disney crowd, while cultivating a persona of Slut In Training. She had all the confused sexual politics and virgin/whore complexes of a Rock Hudson/Doris Day movie, but with better production values and half the self awareness.

The creepiest part about it was, when you heard her talk at this time (and God help you if you did), she seemed blissfully unaware of the Lolita Vibes she gave off. When the subject of sex was actually broached, she sounded like Kenneth the Page from 30 Rock trying to fake-hit on Tracy Jordan's wife. She was clearly being manipulated by a publicity machine capitalizing on the Look But Don't Touch Appeal of an underage hottie. Not to be alarmist, but look how well that turned out for her.

I don't have a problem with the commercialization of Christmas. Or at least I think it's pointless to rail against it. Christmas is a holiday whose main purpose is to buy presents for other people. In other words, commercialization is built right in. You might as well hop in the ocean and complain about how wet it is. "What the hell--this ocean is full of water!" You know when Christmas wasn't commercialized? Never. Don't like it? Deal with it, Linus Van Pelt.

What I do find gross at this time of year is commercials that equate Spending A Lot Of Money with A Demonstration Of Love. There have been many offenders in this category over the years, but my least favorites have to be the Lexus Christmas ads. These spots return every December, a lot like the old Norelco ad. But rather than show Santa tooling around in an Electric Shaver/Sled, these ads want you to drop 80 grand on a luxury sedan.

The commercials vary slightly every year, but they follow a basic formula: One family member--almost always a father/husband--uses a clever means to reveal his purchase of a Lexus to its lucky recipient. Sometimes, children are involved. Sometimes, carolers are put to work. Whatever ruse is employed, it's twee and precious and ends with the revelation of a brand new Lexus in the driveway, topped with an enormous red bow.

As with many ads that infuriate me, I don't understand what audience this commercial is pitching to. If you're rich enough to swing a Lexus, you buy one, end of story. The Rich don't need a holiday as an excuse to treat themselves to a brand new automobile. And they don't need to be enticed with the oily aromas of Dealer Incentives and Year End Rebates.

If you're waiting around for an Annual Sales Drive or Factory Surplus to buy a Lexus, guess what? You can't afford one. Putting these commercials on the air, at this time of year, is just a slap in the face to every Working Schmuck laboring under a mountain of debt and expectations.

The use of popular songs in commercials has been much maligned, and rightly so. I don't mean when a relatively new tune by a relatively unknown band is used in an ad. The landscape of the music industry has changed so dramatically that I realize an up-and-coming group has to find new ways to get exposure. This would have once raised the hackles of my Punk Rock Sensibilities, but I've mellowed with age. I still wanna strangle whichever Chevy exec greenlighted the "This Is Our Country" ads, though.

What I'm really referring to is commercials that use very popular songs of the past. Songs that were huge hits, are still played constantly on the radio, but are nonetheless co-opted for ad campaigns. There's a whole generation of kids who probably think Who's Next was penned as an album-length homage to Nissan. But hey, I'm sure Pete Townshend really needed the cash.

However, at the same time that I hate Robert Plant transforming into a Cadillac spokesman, I'm not 100 percent sure this is any worse than the commercials of my youth. Back then, music was generally used in commercials in one of three ways:

1) A new, snazzy jingle about your wonderful product. Usually sung by a full-throated man or woman, or in the most hateful example, a chorus of screaming kids. *shudder*
2) An old standard that commented on the action in the commercial, however vaguely. This would almost never be the original version of the song, but performed by a Generic Commercial Crooner, invariably off screen.
3) A popular song with rewritten lyrics.

And this last example haunts me to this day. Because I watched a bajillion hours of TV as a kid, I have tattooed on my brain alternate versions of famous songs. And when I hear these particular songs, I immediately think of the ad-altered versions.

My favorite example was by Wendy's. This commercial features Kool and the Gang reworking their hit "Celebration" to laud the arrival of Crispy Chicken Nuggets. I have no idea what it was about this commercial that made such a huge subliminal impression on me. As you'll see below, there's nothing particular outstanding about it. Unless you consider a guy juggling chicken nugget boxes outstanding.

Regardless, this commercial became imprinted on my psyche. It's inexplicably famous in my household. To this day, whenever me or any of my brothers hear this song, we sing along There's a party goin on right here/Crispy Chicken Nuggets are new and here this year...

I am equal parts delighted and disappointed that I was able to find this ad on YouTube. Because in my memory, this ad was like one of those borderline racist McDonalds commercials, with lots of black folk shufflin' and jivin', double dutchin' and eatin' fast food. Which is pretty much what The Media told us all black people did in the 1980s. That, and live in beautiful Brooklyn brownstones with broods of preternaturally witty children.

This video will prove that my memory was inaccurate. In fact, you'll see it's mostly white people dancing like idiots. You will, however, see some preteen popping and locking, because it was impossible to show a black kid in a commercial in the 1980s and have him not breakdance.

I don't expect you, the reader, to see anything special in this ad. But if for some reason you do, please let me know what it is so I can finally find out why it haunts my dreams.

* Rugged-looking men in cowboy hats at a diner argue over how to split a check seven ways.

* Amelia Earhart suppresses a belch.

* A man proudly polishes his classic convertible, oblivious to the rusted undercarriage that has completely destroyed its resale value.

* Apple-cheeked kids choose up sides for a sandlot baseball game, with the one unpicked child running home to write a devastating three-act play about isolation and despair.

* Abraham Lincoln pulls an ambulance out of a ditch thanks to the amazing towing capacity of his Chevy Silverado.

* A tearful elderly veteran salutes a parade, unaware it is a part of local Gay Pride Day festivities.

* Football fans in a sports bar cheer as the opposing quarterback suffers a torn Achilles tendon.

* Hippies dance barefoot in a verdant field, are tear-gassed by National Guard troops.

* An office worker laughs nervously at his boss's vaguely racist joke.

* President Warren G. Harding waves to an unseen crowd, the weary smile on his face indicative of the physical and emotional toll of the Teapot Dome Scandal.

* Middle-aged men enjoy river rafting while contemplating the benefits of natural male enhancement.

* Giddy newlyweds burst through a church doorway, pursued by angry parishioners.

* Grainy kinetoscope footage of Thomas Edison, where it totally looks like he's flipping off the camera.

* A woodsman takes a break from his hard work, rests on a stack of felled trees, is promptly attacked by wolves.

* Construction workers mill around at a job site, wondering where the hell the new guy is with the coffee.

* Teddy Roosevelt returns an ill-fitting pair of jeans to the Gap, without a receipt.

* A grandmother leaves an apple pie at her kitchen window to cool, sighs, looks deeply and utterly hopeless.

* Bobbysoxers scream for Frank Sinatra, are tear-gassed by National Guard troops.

* A carefree young girl blows bubbles, triggers a unexpectedly violent allergic reaction for her mother.

* Enraged man punches temperamental office copy machine, injures his hand, brings unwanted attention from his supervisor.

* Vince Lombardi kicks Saddam Hussein in the crotch.