At Some Point, Somebody Has to Say That's Enough

Pharmaceutical advertising used to be relatively straightforward. A pleasant-looking man or woman would stand beside a lake, while a reassuring voice said something like: “Some patients may experience mild headache or dry mouth.”...

Fine. I can handle dry mouth. I own water. A headache is also a known quantity. I’ve had headaches. I know where the Tylenol is. We’re negotiating from familiar territory.

Modern pharmaceutical advertising, however, has apparently decided that if you’re going to treat your moderate eczema, you should first be made aware of every conceivable manner in which the human body can betray you. And now these things have their own commercial spots on YouTube. Not just an ad, but an actual SPOT on there!?

I’ll be trying to watch a seven-minute video about a guy restoring a 1957 toaster when suddenly I’m transported to a sunlit meadow where Barbara and Frank are having the greatest Tuesday afternoon ever recorded. Barbara is riding a bicycle. Frank has rediscovered pottery. A golden retriever bounds through wildflowers. And over this idyllic scene, a calm voice says:

“Serious complications may include liver problems, internal bleeding, severe infection, hallucinations, inability to recognize loved ones, spontaneous combustion of the pancreas, and an overwhelming desire to walk directly into the sea.”...

Meanwhile Barbara is picking daisies.

BARBARA!! STOP PICKING DAISIES AND LISTEN TO THIS MAN! Your pancreas is apparently considering lighting you on fire!

The strangest part is that the people in pharmaceutical commercials never seem remotely concerned about what they’re hearing. Frank is kayaking.

“Contact your doctor immediately if you experience difficulty breathing.”

Frank paddles toward a waterfall.

“Do not take Florabexia if you are allergic to Florabexia.” Thank God they cleared that up. I was standing in my kitchen thinking, "You know, this medication nearly killed me last Thursday, but perhaps Thursday was simply an off day."

Then comes the sentence that always gets me, from a charismatic female in the void: “Ask your doctor if Florabexia is right for you.”

Right for me?... Lady, thirty seconds ago you told me there was a possibility my immune system might pack a suitcase and leave without forwarding its mail. I think I’ll keep the rash. To be fair, the horrifying disclaimers don't necessarily mean modern medications are more dangerous than older ones. Prescription-drug advertising has disclosure requirements, which means we're now hearing about serious risks in considerably greater detail.

And apparently Barbara needs visual aids? But pharmaceutical companies aren't the only organizations that can't recognize when enough is enough. Have you purchased concert tickets lately?

Ladies and Gentlemen, Ronnie Bloodworth

There are musicians who age magnificently. They modify the arrangements. They sit at a piano. They let the songs breathe. Their voices acquire character. They stop trying to recreate 1978 and instead give you something richer... Beautiful.

And then there’s Ronnie Bloodworth. Ronnie is approaching 81 at ludicrous speed. (Yes, that was a nod to Spaceballs) Ronnie has decided that the fact that he can no longer feel anything below his left pocket is not going to interfere with the Thunder Viper Farewell Tour. Incidentally, this is Ronnie’s sixth farewell tour...

The show begins in darkness. Church bells. Fog. A helicopter noise for reasons nobody understands. Then: KRRRRRRRRRRRRR-

A hydraulic platform begins rising through the stage. Two roadies are underneath it whispering: “Easy! EASY! His left hip was done in ’97!”

Suddenly Ronnie appears through the smoke wearing leather pants, a sleeveless shirt, orthopedic inserts, and enough eyeliner to identify him from the International Space Station.

“GOOD EVENING, DETROOOOOOIT!”

Tour manager:

“We’re in Cincinnati.”

Ronnie:

“…GOOD EVENING, REGIONAL OHIO!”

Pyrotechnics explode. The drummer begins pounding out the opening to Ronnie’s 1979 hit Love Is a Loaded Gun. Ronnie grabs the microphone.

“ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?!”

Audience:

“YEAHHHH!”

Ronnie:

“GOOD! GIVE ME A MOMENT.” (Adjusts lumbar support...)

And nobody is asking the obvious question:

Why is Ronnie doing this to us? The man already won. He has the platinum records. The mansions. The limousines. He spent 1984 throwing televisions out of hotel windows while being pursued across North America by women named Tawny.

Ronnie has nothing left to prove. Go home bro... Buy a comfortable chair, preferably a La-Z-Boy. Get one of those grabber things so you don’t have to bend down for the remote. But no! Ronnie is currently being fitted into a harness because somebody decided the encore should involve him flying over Cleveland.

The merchandise table has T-shirts, vinyl and commemorative posters. There’s also a discreet kiosk accepting Medicare Advantage and AARP sign-ups. Halfway through the third song, Ronnie disappears behind an amplifier.

Stage manager:

“MEDIC!”

Ronnie reappears thirty seconds later.

“I’M FINE! WATER!”

Somewhere his cardiologist is watching the livestream with both hands over his face. And Ronnie isn’t alone. There comes a point in every career when somebody who genuinely loves you needs to place a hand gently on your shoulder and say:

“Buddy. You were magnificent! Now please remove the leather pants before we have to call the fire department.”

Maybe that's what we're missing... Not another medication. Not another restaurant promotion. Not another software update. Not another farewell tour. Just one enormous button somewhere in civilization marked:

'ENOUGH'

Have medication commercials reached their eighth catastrophic side effect?

Enough.

Eighty-one-year-old Ronnie Bloodworth is being loaded into a pneumatic cannon while screaming that Pittsburgh isn't ready for him? (Even though he was in Boston)

For the love of everything holy:

RONNIE.

ENOUGH.

You had your moment. We loved you. Your records were incredible. Now please go home, put on something with an elastic waistband, take whatever medication your doctor has responsibly prescribed, and for God's sake, Ronnie... if you develop an overwhelming desire to walk directly into the sea, contact somebody immediately!