If I don't beat my dogs, I shouldn't have to watch these commercials.
It's a testament to the power of sad music and low fps rates––the power to turn almost anything into a sentimental tear-fest. You could slow down footage of your children at the dentist's office or eating cat poop out of the litter box, play it during primetime, and probably get someone to donate money to you. People will be forced to believe that your kids were the victims of drunk drivers or mesothelioma.
For the less pliable among us, these commercials are a shock to the central nervous system not unlike suddenly being dunked into icy water from a position of relative comfort. Let's say you're the average Joe unwinding with one of my least favorite shows (Two and a Half Men, How I met your Mother). You're giggling a little, because nothing you've seen is so much funny as uniformly tittered at by canned laughter. The show cuts inevitably to commercial, and your expectations are nil.
Instead of a bland Pepsi ad or one of those insipid Campbell's Soup commercials narrated by Tim Allen, you're treated––without warning––to the pathetic countenances of dogs and cats at the pound, ostensibly the victims of animal cruelty. They have huge, goober–filled black eyes, mangy coats, and some glistening, watery snot hanging out of their noses.
You have done nothing to earn this. You probably don't swing your cat by the tail or gouge out your dog's eyes. And if you do, you're a fucker unworthy of human dignity because cruelty of any kind isn't tolerated in this tribe. But if you're a normal person you're 1) not expecting the levity of, say, 3rd Rock from the Sun to contrast so savagely with McLachlan's mournful tune and the disheartened gazes of pound pups; 2) more than a little offended that someone would shill anything, no matter how noble, in such a discombobulating way; and 3) annoyed at the bleary-eyed self-righteousness of the whole affair.
Intelligent people see this as fertile ground for satire.
Believing in something so strongly that you alienate your family, friends and fans is a sign of mental illness.
Ibishcomedy got it right: These ASPCA commercials emotionally strong-arm you into donating money. No matter how worthy, no cause is worth the heavy-handed treatment you've received at the hands of this commercial. There's something icky––greasy––about it.
Most commercials try to influence your purchasing decisions through sheer saturation. If you've seen a thousand Burger King ads, you're more likely to buy a hamburger there, even if you're not predisposed to eating at Burger King. The reason everybody owns an iPod is because Apple made the image of the iPod ubiquitous. Next time you want a burger, you'll visit BK; when you need tunes, you'll reach for your iPod.
ASPCA doesn't work like that. There's no market for saving abused and neglected animals, but by hijacking your compassion it can create a market out of a moment's guilt. The word for this is "rude." Where every ad you see on television relies on pre-existing buying habits, the ASPCA elbows its way into your life on a road paved with pure pathos.
Join ASPCA or we'll kill this dog.
What bleeding heart organizations have created are anti-ads that break you away from your passive, TV-watching state. They're not selling products, but a whole philosophy that's antithetical to the gentle drone of televised blather. But that's why we watch TV, and why ASPCA owes you an apology.
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