This is Your Brain. This is Your Brain After Dropping Too Much Acid Split Open on an Operating Table

At this point in my life I don't watch too much television, but it wasn't always that way. When I was younger, TV watching was just about the only activity you would consider a serious hobby of mine. Technically I played sports, listened to music, and dabbled in a few other traditional childhood past times, but I tackled nothing with as much sheer joy and unbridled enthusiasm as sitting on the couch and stuffing my fat, prepubescent face with Fruit Roll-Ups while Bob Ross painted a masterpiece in 30 minutes flat.

Now that I'm an alleged adult, however, things have changed. I don't have as much free time as I used to, and what little free time I do have is wasted doing horrible, mundane bullshit like washing dishes and making sure nobody steals my underwear from the laundromat.

But in a development even more significant than the tragic loss of my sitting-around time, I came to the realization that few things in life make me feel as useless and pathetic as a multi-hour television binge. It's true that there are some quality programs out there, but not enough to sustain an extended, unplanned veg-out session. You might start out with The Office, Lost, or The Daily Show, but soon enough you've sat through an I Love the 80s: This Time it's Personal marathon without even realizing it.

At this point in my life, if I catch myself watching something I'd be ashamed to admit in public, I'll turn off the TV and start doing something a little bit more active. Maybe I'll take out my guitar and noodle around for a little bit, or perhaps I'll hop onto the internet and write a few dick jokes for your enjoyment. Whatever the activity may be, it keeps me occupied without inducing a sense of shame and self-loathing.

But I don't want to give you, the loyal readership, a distorted image of who I am. Despite the fact that I find television, in general, to be a pretty big waste of time, that doesn't mean I'm some NPR-obsessed, artisanal cheese-loving freak show that never watches it. In addition to the shows I mentioned above, I have a select few favorites that I DVR, and I still watch Knicks, Yankees, Giants, and Rangers games. So once in a while, despite my best efforts, I find myself in front of the set for a few hours at a time.

It was during one such recent binge that I came to the following realization:

The most disturbing, scarring, God-forsaken imagery you'll see on television is not found in horror movies, action flicks, or late-night cable access programing. No, the most putrid sights you'll ever lay your eyes upon pop up when you're supposed to be safe from such monstrosities, during the commercial breaks.

When I was a child, there were commercials that tried to frighten you into either changing your behavior or donating to a charity, but they were nothing compared to what you are subjected to now. Just about the scariest thing we had back then was an animated spot imagining a "World Without Trees." Everything on Earth was a lifeless shade of brown and a business man on the way home from work was desperately hanging onto a lamppost while a furious wind blew him sideways. The message was, as I understood it, "if you don't recycle, you could find yourself in an Aha music video gone terribly wrong."

Modern commercials, on the other hand, make the ones from my childhood look like they were dreamed up by magical kittens who live in a land of rainbows and cotton candy.

Take for instance, the commercials featuring abandoned animals that were clearly beaten by their previous owners and are now lying motionless in a shelter, accepting their fate of certain death. Actually, what I should say is, their fate will be certain death unless YOU rescue them, you HEARTLESS BASTARD!

Of course I understand the motivation behind this particular spot. There are a lot of animals without families, and if guilting me into taking one home is the best way to rescue them, then I guess I'll have to accept that. But sweet baby Jesus, there's nothing as depressing as a sad puppy, is there? What did that little guy do to deserve this? Why, GOD? WHY??? WHAT DID HE DO? HOW COULD YOU LET SUCH BAD THINGS HAPPEN TO SUCH GOOD PUPPIES?

You might be thinking to yourself, "Come on now, Gooch. Get it together. Lonely puppies are sad and all, but that's not exactly a terrifying image that will scar you for life."

To which I might retort, "Perhaps. But allow me to introduce... exhibit B."

Exhibit B

Imagine, if you will, the tale of a Mexican immigrant whose great love in life was swimming. Ah, now truly this will be a heartwarming story. A young man who has come to America bursting with hopes and dreams likes nothing more than the freedom he feels when he jumps into the water and basks in the splendor of nature.

But if you were paying close attention, you might have noticed that I used the word "was" and not "is," to characterize the protagonist's love of all things aquatic. The reason I chose to do so was quite simple. This young man, this hard-working, God-fearing, family man, now has a gigantic hole in his neck due to a horrific case of throat cancer. Not only can he not swim anymore, but water poses such a threat to his life that he is forced to shower with a fucking garbage bag over his head. Poor Pedro can't even go out in the rain without worrying he might drown.

You know how I know this? Because it was shown to me in all of its gory detail in the middle of a Top Chef episode.

Don't smoke cigarettes, kids, or your life will turn into an outtake of Million Dollar Baby so gruesome that Clint Eastwood threw up during the filming.

Now, you might be thinking, "Well, at least the poor guy lived."

To which I would respond, "This is true. But did you not see the enormous hole in his throat? Did you not listen to the tale of his shattered dreams? Is this not all a little too much to lay on someone during a break from The Soup?"

And you may ask yourself, "Well, how did I get here?"

To which I would respond, "Are you even listening to me, or are you just playing a Talking Heads album?"

To which you would reply, "Haha, yeah, sorry, what were you saying?"

"What I was saying was, yeah, the guy lived, so it's not a total tragedy, but it's some pretty gruesome imagery to just throw out there without any warning."

At this point you're sitting on the fence about the issue, so you say to me, "I guess, but if the guy walks around in public like that, how bad could it really be? Walking down the street in New York you're liable to see a bum taking a leak on the sidewalk or somebody with really bad burns on their face at any moment. So really, it's not that out of the ordinary."

Fair enough, fictional conversation partner. Although I think it's kind of fucked up that you compared a crazy bum pissing on the sidewalk to somebody who has suffered a severe accident.

But if you would humor me, allow me to present two more commercials. They were made separately, but their vile imagery suggests that they will share a special ring in hell together.

At our first stop on our tour of the damned, we begin by traveling through an incredibly polluted set of lungs. This is no simulation. We are literally inside the lungs of a heavy smoker, in all of their pussy, tar-filled wonder. We are then told by a doctor that sometimes he can, "hear the cancer" inside of a patient. And, if he can hear it, as is the case with this particular sap, who, presumably, can hear everything the doctor is saying, then it is already too late.

Lovely.

In commercial number 2, without any warning, we are taken to a shot of a surgeon (I hope) squeezing tar out of an esophagus, or perhaps it's some sort bronchial tube. I'm not really sure what particular body part I'm looking at because

a) I'm not used to seeing myself cut open and dissected on an operating table, and

b) every time this commercial comes on I begin to uncontrollably gouge my eyes out.

Back in the day they used laughably corny metaphors to tell you how bad tobacco, drugs, and alcohol were. Now, they show the terrifying medical problems that result from heavy use in vivid, high-definition detail.

They could at least have the common decency to put a disclaimer at the beginning of these commercials. I'm thinking of something like a blood-curdling scream that tells me to stop what I'm doing and avert my eyes at all costs.

If the powers that be don't take this completely sensible advice, the day could soon come when they make a public service announcement warning advertising agencies not to base their campaigns on gag-inducing medical footage. I'm thinking this particular PSA would be made up of footage of my face melting off as I watch an esophagus get emptied like a tube of toothpaste.

The tag line would be, "You can't stop what you can't see coming."

I don't relish the idea of having to give my life for this cause, but if my martyrdom can save a few unsuspecting souls from having to watch a doctor saw an alcoholic's liver in half in between reruns of The Cosby Show, then I guess my life will have been more consequential than most.