AccuQuote. Death Becomes Us.
Well little sunshine, I'm assuming Mommy coached you to ask that offensive, stupid question because it makes no fuck-all sense that you would think it up on your own. No, no, don't cry cupcake. Daddy's not mad at you. Here's what would happen, tulip: You and Mommy would be up fucking shit's creek, because Daddy's drained his 401k—not to mention second-mortgaged the condo—on Thai handjobs and long-odds sports bets. Meanwhile Mommy, who's been banging—do you know what 'banging' means, sugar plum? It means repeatedly shoving a hard cock inside a soft twat, like this (he demonstrates using his fingers)—she's been banging (she cutely mimics his finger demonstration), very good, sweetie!...she's been banging your sitter Tommy for two years. Anyway, Mommy would cry with joy if I died, until, of course, she found out about the lack of fund-age. Then, she would cry without joy. And when she found out that I willed everything else, including the Accuquote life insurance money, to my first two wives, well she might just put a gun in her mouth (he demonstrates using his finger) and ...BANG!!!
(ad emailed by Philip Rackin)
previously in stupid Internet banner ads:
1. HEY PAL, DOES YOUR DICK SUCK?
2. Who do I blame for your insipid advertising, Svedka?
3. Can you hear me saying 'FUCK YOU' now?
4. Gawker banner ad: Pot? Kettle. Kettle? Pot.