Commercial I would produce as an advertising executive:
We see a husband approach his wife in the kitchen and he smacks her on the rear as she's unplugging a crockpot full of buffalo chicken dip. Their friends have turned the dining room table into beer pong tournament and the kids are laughing in the play room. It's Super Bowl Sunday.
This scene of domestic bliss plays out before us. Warm laughter, excited shouting as their team scores a touchdown, the wife steals a kiss from her husband between sips of wine. This must be what heaven looks like.
The doorbell rings and the husband grudgingly puts his beer down to go answer the door. Who could it be?
He opens the door and we see the latecomer: a giant slug the size of a man, wet and pink and undulating.
"You son of a bitch!" The husband exclaims. "We didn't think you'd make it! How the hell are ya?"
The slug gives no reply but the husband brings the creature into a warm embrace, its viscous discharge soaking his shirt. "Aw, hell, man," he laughs. "Say it, don't spray it!"
The slug makes its grand arrival in the living room, leaving a trail of slime on the hardwood floors. It receives a warm welcome. "Here comes trouble!" "They'll let anyone in this place!" "You missed the first quarter!"
We are subjected to a montage of scenes from the Superbowl party.
-
The kids excitedly dash in to crowd around the creature. "Mr. Wormy! We missed you!" they exclaim, hugging the thing and getting covered in its ooze. Several orifices around the creature's body begin to secrete a dark, chunky substance and the children begin to greedily eat it, their hands and mouths covered in its oily residue
"Whoa whoa whoa, I didn't raise you kids in a barn!" The mother says. "Go get some cups from the kitchen!"
-
"Yo, Mr. Wormy, you gotta try the buffalo chicken dip. It's to die for!" The husband says. He grabs a dripping handful of the warm orange cream cheese from the crockpot and pushes it into the folds of the creature's flesh.
"Quit bogarting the buff dip, hombre!" "Save some for the rest of us why don't ya?"
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"Yo, Mr. W, I gotta use the can but I am NOT missing the game. Help me out?"
A sphincter at the top of the slug's "head" gapes itself open, and the guest drops his slacks and boxers to his ankles and climbs on top in front of everyone.
"Hoochie mama, that dip's even spicier coming out!"
"Just don't leave the seat up. Trust me, you'll thank me for that one when you and Stacy get married!"
"IF they get married, you mean!"
A loud belch is heard from the creature and the room explodes with laughter.
-
"Alright fellas, the game is over and the kids are in bed. I think we all know what this means!"
"Oh brother," the wife says, rolling her eyes at the other women. "Boys will be boys!"
The men are seen chanting "Wormy! Wormy! Wormy!" at each other as they take turns fucking the folds and sphincters and orifices that line the creature's body.
"Ah geez, Mr. W! Warn me before I fuck a hole with a gizzard stone!"
"Now THAT'S tight! I think my wife could learn a thing or two from you, Mr. Wormy!"
"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why we used to call Chet the Two Pump Chump!"
-
As the party is winding down, the men are putting their clothes back on, saying their farewells and getting ready to part ways when the creature starts to heave and convulse.
"You okay, Mr. Wormy?"
Everyone looks on as the creature heaves one last time and a copious amount of murky amniotic fluid begins to pour from one of the creature's holes. The sphincter begins to crown and a human baby is deposited onto the carpet. It has an adult-sized head and the face looks exactly like the husband, goatee and all. It's not moving.
The husband nervously tugs his collar. One of his friends calls out, "Check please!"
The wife comes back from the kitchen holding a roll of Brawny paper towels, a playfully annoyed expression on her face.
It's not a good party if things don't get a little messy. Brawny's got you covered.
