You have a small penis. I know this because an infomercial told me. Whether it’s two inches long or hangs down low and wobbles to and fro to the point where tape is necessary to keep it from impeding your movement is irrelevant—you have a small penis and need a pill/pump/complex system of pullies and levers to fix this problem, or else everyone will laugh at you behind your back. Don’t worry, female readers, because there’s a barrage of hour-long infomercials brutally exploiting your every insecurity, as well. Have a skinny butt? Psh, everyone knows that guys like Brazilian butts, so you’d better start getting some meat on that. Have a Brazilian butt already? Girl, you need to tone that down or else you’ll be alone forever and wind up drowning in a river of your own tears.
Basically, you can’t win. This is the genius of infomercials; they trap you in this crazy alternate reality where real life becomes a one-person parade, a place where everyone else in the entire world exists solely to stare incessantly at your every insecurity. There’s no individuality in this twisted world, just a consensus among the opposite sex about what the most important physical attribute is. A hair commercial? You’ll see an hour of attractive women running their fingers through hair. A weight-loss commercial? You’ll see an hour of skinny women running on the beach with guys who have six-pack abs. Even things you’ve never been insecure about before start to seem like problems in light of this relentless assault of “you’re not good enough.”
I love it. I really do. Not only is it brilliant in its subtle manipulation of your wants and desires, but it quite literally takes every one of your deepest needs (usually the needs for acceptance and to be loved by others) and holds them hostage until you buy their product. It’s emotional kidnap and ransom. Watching an infomercial is like having a company spokesperson in front of you with a gun pointed at the head of your current and future loves. “You’ll never know warmth or joy again unless you give me the money, man!”
I’m not quite sure why these commercials are only on late at night, though I have two theories: Either they’re forced to be on that late because no sane person would tolerate them, or the companies behind them are utterly convinced that the only people who stay up late at night are those who lose sleep over their insecurities. I suppose the airtime is also cheaper late at night, but given how effectively these long commercials suck you in and prey on your every vulnerability, the whole thing seems profitable enough for daytime infomercials to be viable.
There’s a second kind of infomercial that’s similar, but slightly different. These are typically for food preparation products, and while they don’t constantly reinforce that you’re a flawed human being in need of something to make you less pitiful, they do show you over and over again that you’ve never truly had anything to eat or drink. Everything up to that point? Sand. Gritty, tasteless garbage unfit for human consumption. You need this certain kind of blender/barbecue/pasta maker in order to “unlock” true flavor. How does that actually work? Molecules or something, screw you. The important thing is that it’s science, and you can’t disprove science because you’re not a scientist.
Unless you are, in which case you have a small penis or inadequate rear end. Infomercials always win.