I realize all writers, reporters and bloggers are supposed to be objective or at least attempt to pull a thin veil of objectivity over their work. There are, however, some things that just can't be overcome because of basic human logic, emotions or feelings. So here it goes. I HATE MAYO.

And since this Paper Chase-ish diatribe is clearly going to be about Miracle Whip, I know you're thinking "Whahuh?" as your brain screeches to a cartoonish halt. "But Miracle Whip isn't mayo."

Yes, it is. Miracle Whip is just mayo with an extra sweetener or two and if anyone wishes to debate that with me, stop and think about the stand you are actually about to take in life. Arguing about which Darren from Bewitched could kick the other Darren's ass is a step up, and for the record, it's the Dick Sargent Darren.

So neither mayo nor Miracle Whip and I are on speaking terms. But this commercial for the other white non-mayo would still annoy me if they were trying to get me to buy beer, ballpoint pens, or those little plastic things you put on the dash of your car to keep your cell phone still.



Miracle Whip's attempt to show just how hip and badass their product is screams pathetic more than a coked up Mickey Rooney trying to do the hustle at a Godsmack concert.

I understand the concept that Miracle Whip isn't exactly the same as mayo and, therefore, offers a greater kick than mayo can, but it's not like the difference between the two is that one peps up your burger and the other can make you fly. The whole thing just looks like what a marketing executive thinks how the 18 to 34 demographic act in their heads. For the record, we don't hang out on rooftops anymore. We don't do the Monster Mash in above-ground kiddie swimming pools. And we sure as hell don't feel hip, unique or empowered because we just slapped a big heaping tablespoon of flavored white splidge on our burgers.

At best, we feel logy, tired and eventually sleepy than a hibernating bear that's been knocked up with 300 CCs of sodium pentathol.