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I recently received promo materials for the Clicker, a device that combines a universal remote with a bottle opener. It’s catch phrase reads: “Leaving the couch to open your beer is so 2010.”
This product is being marketed to couch potatoes. Apparently, that particular species has a difficult time keeping track of bottle openers.
Reportedly, The Clicker can be programmed to handle up to eight distinct functions. All of them are electronic: DVD, CD, AMP, Cable, etc.
All are electronic, that is, except for that ever-important bottle opener, seated along the side of the sleek Clicker.
Now, I’m the first to acknowledge genius inventions, even if they don’t appeal to all of us. Chia Pets, Big Mouth Bass (the singing wall plaque), the mullet, the Clapper, Ginsu knives. All of those are great.
I don’t however, include The Clicker among them, as there are a couple of flaws in the product’s logic. First, while I might agree that leaving the couch to open a beer is so yesterday, one still has to actually get said beer. That, my friend, would involve actually arising and moving to the refrigerator.
Unless, of course, the appeal here is to those degenerates who set up a cooler next to their couch.
Second, why can’t one have an opener which is independent of the remote? Quickly, which do you say/hear more around your home: “Honey, I can’t find the opener” or “Honey, I can’t find the remote”?
With The Clicker, you could potentially lose two critical items in one fell swoop.
Finally, I’m not sure that the ad campaign for the product is a winner. Among other things, the Clicker promo copy that was sent to me states:
“Isn’t it funny how, when football season comes around, some men become impervious to the charms of a woman?...However, with the waning time on the clock, he never appears to be too shy to ask the missus to crack open another cold one so he doesn’t miss the next play.
“Now, he doesn’t have to.”
No, he doesn’t have to because he’s on his way to the emergency room, a cold one having been cracked open over his skull by the missus.
And now, a quick, though related, tale.
When I lived in Louisville, I had a friend at work, named Roger. One morning, he related the scene that greeted him the previous evening when he returned home from the job.
Roger saw his next-door neighbor sitting on the porch swilling a beer while the neighbor’s wife was pushing the lawnmower.
At one point, she looked up to the porch. Said neighbor caught her eye, held up the can and did that little back-and-forth motion signifying the can was empty.
Said wife, stopped said mower, walked inside, gave said hubby the brew and restarted her lawn-mowing.
I told Roger that this had to be a situation where the man had won some kind of bet and the wife was paying it off.
Roger didn’t buy it, choosing instead to cling to his belief that his neighbor “had it made.”
My point is that it is OK to have a fantasy in which a) you watch football all day from the couch while the missus tends to your needs, including b) bringing you an endless supply of beer bottles, which c) you open with your remote.
But with the Clicker, the only part of that fantasy that will become reality is that third part.
Now, I’m as lazy as the next guy, but I’m not about to spend my hard-earned money on such a contraption.
I will, however, reconsider when some genius figures a way to combine the Clicker with Big Mouth Bass.