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Woman’s hallucinations of Mr. Clean expose her passionless marriage in Super Bowl 51 commercial

Because Roto Street’s humor can be dark and dreary, just grading the Super Bowl 51 commercials wasn’t enough. Introducing the “Alternate Endings” where we strip the big game’s most memorable ads to their cores, while revealing what happened once the cameras stopped rolling. 

A Fateful Eve with Mr. Clean

In one of the Super Bowl 51’s more memorable commercials, a hulked up Mr. Clean has a new soaked spot to work on, as his seductive washing techniques have seriously aroused Sara, a recently married, but ultimately unsatisfied librarian at the local elementary school.  On the surface, this advertisement appears to have sparked some scorching love flames, leading us viewers to believe a night of passionate pleasure is in store for our featured couple.

Dig a little deeper, however, and you’ll find out how this fateful night, beginning with a simple house clean, has withered this relationship into a puddle of despair that not even the meatiest of Mr. Cleans can mop up.

What lies beneath…

 

 

Our commercial opens with Sara, who’s looking frustrated with a typical stove stain and her increasing clumsiness; really, far more lingers underneath this hardened surface.  Racing through her mind, on their usual diabolical cycle, are her doubt-filled questions about her floundering marriage:

Did we rush into things? Is this really it for me? Will I ever orgasm again? 

The distant chirping of crickets, clearly symbolic for her loneliness and the growing gap between her and Seth, is suddenly interrupted by the ominous tingle of a chime; the ether inhalation from all the cleaning supplies has begun sinking in.

Suddenly, our brawn baldie struts on in, donned in his form-clinging white outfit; Sara’s despairing thoughts are erased and replaced with a school girl lust she hasn’t felt in months.

What is this feeling? It feels so… good.

Her longing, even desperate eyes lock with Mr. Clean’s, and it’s clear her lady parts, inexcusably unused for the better part of a year, have been revitalized once more… like an old, rusting sprinkler finally being turned on for the first summer day.  In a not-so-subtle next twist, a distant moan roars as Mr. Clean slams down his washing supplies and wrings out a sponge that, at this point, mine as well be Sara’s basic cotton panties:

 

Sponge or soaked panties? You decide.

 

Build it on up…

Mr Clean is clearly no stranger to the foreplay game, and the obvious next steps are taken: scrubbing the stove, windexing the mirrors, dropping dat ass down while mopping the floors. Standard, well-played… you’d expect no less.

No matter the room, Mr. Clean creates new puddles… and always mops them up.

Of course, a sexual demon has arisen in our tragic hero Sara, and the need for an exorcism is at its peak.  The ponytail predictably comes down. The hips uncontrollably sway.  As Sara seductively runs her hand through her hair, one thing is abundantly clear: this dormant volcano is set to erupt.

Our erotic, yet slightly haunting 80’s porn song, “What you want…what you need… your fantasy…your ecstasy,” is suddenly interrupted by an oafish voice; clearly still incapable of picking up on these blatantly aroused cues, Seth calls out, “Sarah?”

In this same moment, the viewer realizes the root of this sexual defeat:

Droopy B cups. A constant dumbfounded grin that lost it’s cuteness in a mere month. A bulbous gut that’s expanding at alarming rates. Worst of all, a continued unawareness of his own wife’s needs.

But, with a shredded Mr. Clean still embedded in her mind, none of this matters.  Sara hurls herself at Seth, like a lion at the watering hole; Seth unsurprisingly loses his balances, falls into the microfiber and sends his cleaning supplies into the air:

Things Take a  “Flaccid” Turn…

 

 

“You gotta love a man who cleans,” the ad informs us as it comes to a close. But what if this man is incapable of being loved?

Unfortunately, Sara soon realized she was headed down the usual dead end, as Seth’s erectile dysfunction again kicked in.  It had begun shortly after their engagement, but was easily blamed on the wedding planning stress…then came the honeymoon, blamed on the All Inclusive Drinking… then came every other meager attempt in the first few months of marriage… before they just stopped trying altogether to spare one another the embarrassment. Why had she been foolish enough to expect anything different this time?

Thus, a night of overflowing sexual desire ended in sheer, swollen exasperation yet again.  Sure, Seth&Sara, unwilling to admit defeat so early, would continue going through the motions — paint nights, therapy sessions, adding Bernard, the Mini Bernie Doodle to the “family.” Still, all these distractions couldn’t hide the grim truth: Sara had been more turned on by an imaginary janitor than ever once by her own husband. Another brick into the cold wall of divorce had been laid.

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