If you are reading this, we’re certain your first thought is “Why didn’t they begin with ‘Dear Mr. Trump’?”.   And that is just one of so, so many reasons you are our least favorite person today.

The scowl.  The pretention. The ego. The unyielding self-promotion. You’re as big a whore as Gene Simmons and with equally unlikable hair.

Next season we begin filming Animal Apprentice

Our hate affair with you dates back to 1989.  Your then-wife Ivana appeared on “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” touting the fact that you had solid gold faucets in your bathroom.  So while there are hundreds of millions of people without access to running water, this dumb broad celebrates the most remarkably superfluous (and tasteless) accessories in the history of water transportation.  Even Satan is cringing now. While we don’t have the right to tell you how to spend your money, at the very least, have the dignity not to share what you spend it on.  btw…Beelzebub has reserved a special hearth for your life retirement which, just as you like it, bears the glorious Trump name. 

Now, we don’t hate you because we want to BE you (and we also hate you for being convinced that we DO).  We don’t hate you because you’re rich because there are lots of wealthy people we admire (hell, even Bill Gates is devoting much of his current life to eradicating disease).  And truth be told, you come from a very wealthy family so we’re far less impressed with you than, say, a fully self-made man such as Sir Richard Branson.  And we don’t hate you because you have a hot wife (hey, we LOVE Seal).  No, we hate you because you’re ubiquitous and utterly annoying.  If you were alive in the 14th Century, you would have hounded the townspeople to call it the “Trump Plague”.

There is a fine line between publicity to promote a business, and vulgar media saturation to (attempt to) satiate pure, unadulterated egotism.  Who else bitches about his net wealth being underestimated by Forbes?  Would Warren Buffett do that?  No, because he is a beacon of class.  And we are SO sick of seeing your smug mug and name on TV, billboards, buildings, steaks, bankrupt casinos, video games, books, dress shirts and bottled water.  However, our research indicates you are woefully underrepresented in the drugstore market.  May we be so brazen to suggest Trump toilet paper (“Trump for your rump”), Trump condoms (“Trump for your pump”), Trump tampons (“Red is the new black”), and Trump douche (no tagline needed: just slap your face on the box and it will be the most appropriate endorsement in advertising history). 

Special mention to Ivanka (daughter of Donald and Ivana, and VP of Trump Enterprises):  we have no problem with nepotism, but someone who wants to be taken seriously as a businesswoman does NOT pose for covers of men’s magazines in a bikini.  You may not have inherited you dad’s face, but you certainly inherited his insecure need to be the center of attention. 

Oh and Donald, nice job on disassociating yourself from the (yet-again) bankrupt casino “empire” that bears your name.  Hmmm, that somehow reminds us to hit the drugstore to pick up a Trump douche bag.

Donald, we respectfully request that you build the Trump Space Shuttle and launch yourself the hell outta here.  Ah, but you’ll probably just slap “TRUMP” on the moon. 

Donnie…you are our least favorite person today.

Love (and hate),
takeoutmag

The commercials are a quintessential waste of taxpayer money, concentrating on the defamation of marijuana usage.  Now I’m not condoning anything illegal, but come on now.  There aren’t bigger substance abuse problems to concentrate on in this country?  How about the millions of husbands that go out to a bar, drink themselves violent, and return home to beat their wives and/or children?  Quite frankly, I’d rather that man stay home on his couch and smoke a joint.  At least the only thing that would have a dent in it would be the bag of potato chips. 

The clips even go so far as to compare the inhalation of marijuana to the inhalation of poison ivy or anthrax.  If that doesn’t sound extremist to you, I don’t know what would.  On the lighter side of things, one commercial features a teenage girl’s dog pleading with her to stop smoking weed.  This is completely antithetical however; I don’t know about you, but if there was even a chance my dog would talk to me if I smoked marijuana, I’d smoke all the time. 

Long story short-

The US government needs to find a more serious issue to put their money into.  There has never, and I repeat, NEVER been a documented death due to marijuana.  Alcohol (yeah, the legal one) kills people every day, not to mention oh… say… HEROIN or COCAINE or METH. 

TV commercials (especially really campy ones) aren’t going to stop someone from smoking marijuana. 

Stop fucking around and invest in something productive.   

-Tatiana Kalba

So, Madge, why is your unquenchable and relentless desire to be stay famous worthy of such cynicism?  Because it undermines everything you do and makes you seem completely disingenuous (thought we heard the name “Bono” pop into our head…nah, must be the wind). 

Madonna refuses to live her life outside of the spotlight and won’t allow us the distance to (perhaps) appreciate things such as her work ethic.  So all positives go out the window when dealing with this self-important whore-de-fame.

That faux British accent makes us want to shove a bumbershoot up your arse.  You’re from MICHIGAN!

Your fixation on Jewish mysticism is creepy. 

Stop parading around with Latin boy-toy idiots half your age (btw…GREAT example for your kids, douchebaguette).

Leave the African people alone—haven’t they suffered enough?!?

And please, PLEASE, no more movies!  We’d rather watch badgers gang rape a poodle than have to sit through The Next Best Thing again. 

And we’re truly looking forward to seeing your scrawny, 78-year old arse writhing on stage in a bodysuit.  Lord (and Lourdes) knows you’ll still need the attention then.

Madonna…you are our least favorite person today.

Your relentless pursuit of the spotlight won’t allow us a moment of rest.  You’re like that chatty, annoying know-it-all we get stuck sitting next to on a 22-hour trans-Atlantic flight to Papua New Guinea who won’t let us fall asleep, thereby forcing us to make subtle stabs at our jugular with the complementary airline pen.  The blood marks on the Sky Mall catalogue are simply collateral damage. 

Your self-engineered ubiquity attacks our senses like a jackhammer to the temple.  Or what we imagine a threesome with Joan and Melissa Rivers to be.

Your continued habit of releasing crappy music assaults our aural sensibilities (“If U Seek Amy”?  How about “If U Seek Vincent Van Gogh Tell Him To Call With Detailed Instructions On How To Slice Our Ears Off”?).

Your ability to earn more money than many small countries yet STILL remain poor white trailer trash is nothing short of magical.  I’d go so far to say you are the Criss Angel of suck.  No wait, Criss Angel is the Criss Angel of suck.  You are the Some-Magician-We-Actually-Like of suck.

You are so addicted to public attention I’d expect you to attend the opening of a manhole cover.

The next time you have a day off, please don’t:

• shave your head
• marry an oaf
• have any contact with Paris Hilton 
• stumble drunk out of a car
• flash your beaver in public
• give your sister life advice
• launch another freakin’ perfume, or
• accidentally spike your baby’s formula with Maker’s Mark

Do you realize that choosing Madonna as a role model makes us hate you more because we hate Madonna MORE than you? 

And we hear you have a ghostwriter for your Twitter.  What, it’s too difficult for you to type “I 4got my kids’ names again…LOL”? 

How can we miss you, if you never go away?

Britney Spears…you are our least favorite person today.

With Love (and hate),
Takeout Magazine

p.s. If you feel the need to date any Dominican baseball players in 20 years just make sure you do it somewhere far, far away from here.  Maybe Papua New Guinea.  They might even have a Kaballah temple by then.

So, you can imagine how upset we were when we saw the latest advertising campaign for the Oreo DSRL or Double Stuf Racing League.  This campaign has got to be one of the worst campaigns for one of the greatest products of all time.  Commercials urge people to competitively “twist, lick, and dunk” their cookies in milk.  Come on.  Really?  There are so many inappropriate jokes to make regarding this campaign that we don’t know where to start.  It’s like a choose your own adventure of bad jokes at the expense of the greatest cookie on earth. 

And the logo they’ve created for the DSRL.  What?  What is that?  It makes us uncomfortable.

Clearly a lot of money has been spent on this campaign.  Peyton and Eli Manning are pitted against Venus and Serena Williams and it doesn’t take a sports marketing major to know that those four don’t come cheap.  In addition, there are television, radio, and online ads for this everywhere.  We’re not terribly interested in watching the Manning brothers tongue a cookie as fast as they can (the Williams sisters, we’re a little more interested).

Creators of the DSRL, we’re terribly displeased with you.  You’ve made the greatest cookie the butt of thousands of dirty jokes and a downright bad advertising campaign.