Ad-derall: The 'Ultimate Natural' B1 Patch

Ad-deral is a column in which we rant and riff on the ridiculous ads we're subjected to while trapped on the subway.  From the borderline racist local businesses (1-800-MARGARITA Divorce Attorneys) to the condescending national brands that pretend to know what it's like to ride the goddamned F train every day (Snickers, Delta), we'll tackle them all with the same smug outlook that has made us totally (not) famous.

Okay, so I wasn't able to get a very good photo on the F train since it was a banner ad and I was concentrating on holding on for dear life as we were hurtling through the depths of Brooklyn at about 700mph [ed. note: 700MPH! On the F!? I can run faster than that fucker...], BUT, check this bullshit out: Introducing the B1 Patch! 

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Ad-derall: Skechers Shape-Ups

Ad-deral is a column in which we rant and riff on the ridiculous ads we're subjected to while trapped on the subway.  From the borderline racist local businesses (1-800-MARGARITA Divorce Attorneys) to the condescending national brands that pretend to know what it's like to ride the goddamned F train every day (Snickers, Delta), we'll tackle them all with the same smug outlook that has made us totally (not) famous.
 
It's a new year, so everyone is desperately holding tight to their resolutions to lose weight and pretending like they're not going to spend this weekend drinking 10,000 beers and placing 2AM orders with Dominos.

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Ad-derall: Dunkin Donuts Tuna Sandwiches

Ad-deral is (Amanda's!) new column in which we rant and riff on the ridiculous ads we're subjected to while trapped on the subway.  From the borderline racist local businesses (1-800-MARGARITA Divorce Attorneys) to the condescending national brands that pretend to know what it's like to ride the goddamned F train every day (Snickers, Delta), we'll tackle them all with the same smug outlook that has made us totally (not) famous.

I think we all can agree that a best-case-scenario normal ride on the subway still finds you crammed up against at least two to four people.  And I'm talking C-L-O-S-E. Like so close you're worried you might be pregnant, because you're pretty sure you just had sex with someone as you were trying to get to the motherfucking Jay Street exit.

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