Jimmy Johnson, Corporate Spokesman

You've won a national college football championship at the University of Miami, you've won two Superbowls with the Dallas Cowboys, and you've been doing studio work for Fox for god knows how many years.  You probably eat in a different high-end steakhouse every night, and keep a bevy of lovely ladies on speed dial.  The world is your oyster.  You've achieved goals that many people dream about.  How do you top it?

I guess by selling boner pills.

Apparently, Bob Dobbs of the Church of the SubGenius lost his Extenze gig.   Bob, you'll be missed.  What's that?  My bad, it's Enzyte. Same difference.

Now, frankly, a couple of things really bothered me about the commercial.  Jimmy, why are you talking to me out on the field about penis size during what looks like a series of quick changes in possession during a football game?  The coaches and players look seriously stressed behind you (ladies and gentlemen, your Anytown Generics!), so perhaps our private discussion about your increased girth can wait for a more opportune time.  Perhaps on a drive to meet your parents, at the coffeeshop, or on your boat down in the Keys.   And you seem a bit defensive that you've done all these incredible things and the only topic of conversation that comes up time after time is whether your own little Jimmy the Johnson is bigger now.  I wasn't asking, I swear.   I just wanted to get the hell off the field before I get tackled by security.   I'm happy for you, and best wishes, but your timing kind of sucks.

And why would an offer of a special Dinner with Jimmy Johnson be something to look forward to now?  Unfortunately, the whole dick size thing is the proverbial elephant in the room conversation-wise, and besides the inherent awkwardness in that I would be expected to come up with a hugely shameful secret of my own, I'm afraid if Jimmy has a couple of drinks in him, he might feel obligated to show off his "personal growth" to me.  And some things just can't be unseen, no matter how many times you wash your eyes with bleach.

Kudos, Extenze.  You may not be FDA-approved, and in 2006 you agreed to pay the Orange County, California district attorney’s office $300,000 in civil penalties for unfair business practices and false advertising, because you could not back up your claim that the pills caused users’ penises to grow 27%. You also agreed to cut down on lead content after sick people complained and investigations found that your lead content was beyond the legal limits.  You sell snake oil and patent medicine to poor suckers with probable sexual dysfunction and/or deep-seeded insecurities.  And you lined up someone who used to have a decent reputation (forget about it now) to take a quick buck in order to establish one of your own.  HOW 'BOUT THEM COWBOYS!