Watching the NBA Finals (can the Spurs please just play like they did at home all season, and finish this damn thing off?!?), I can’t help but recognize that the fine folks in Golden, Colorado want to mercilessly kill me with their insufferable “Love Train” commercial for Coors Light. I can’t imagine that there’s a lucky soul in this country who’s managed to escape the ad; it starts with a crew of bundled-up Arctic day laborers packing a shining silver train full of cases of Coors Light, and then the train rockets off into the distance. Next thing you know, the train has exploded onto the scene at a beach volleyball match, then shows up racing on a NASCAR track, and even blows through a Hollywood red carpet event, each time causing snow to fall from the sky and bringing icy-cold pisswater to the poor, unenlightened masses in its wake. I mean, this might just be the worst commercial in the history of people trying to shove their uninspired drivel directly into my temporal lobes; I’d rather take a baker’s dozen of Chili’s Baby-Back Ribs commercials, and top ‘em off with one or two locally-produced furniture warehouse ads. And sadder still, Ice T makes a cameo in the spot, making it hard for me to watch SVU without starting to hum “Love Train” and then want to use an ice cream scoop to remove any bit of my memory centers that might be holding onto that pain.

Of course, what else should I expect from the same company that claims their beer is the “coldest-tasting beer in the world”? WTF? That’s a claim so stupid it defies comprehension. “Try my widget; it’s the bluest-smelling widget on the market!” “Switch to our brand T-shirts — they feel saltier than any others!” Idiots.