List: Top ways Volkswagen's "Beth" commercial castrates men.


Once upon a time, Kiss had a hit called "Beth." Forty years later, we can't escape the tune, harnessed to sell Volkswagens on TV. Males: If you identify with the song or the gutless dad in the commercial, and especially if you buy a VW, here are some of the ways you have identified yourself as a royal pussy.

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The VW model being pitched is a Passat. Draw your own phonetic conclusions.

The singer is a pussy. Peter Criss, drummer of Kiss, sang "Beth." As a wearer of the famous Kiss facial makeup, he was not the Spaceman, the Demon or the Starman. He was the Kitty Cat.

The song is about a pussy. Rehearsing with his band, a P-whipped musician phones his better half to explain tearfully that the session has run late. What he should not have to explain: He's the drummer in Kiss, and at this very moment his johnson is obstructing a groupie's trachea.

The song is a "power" ballad. The genre was created so that swaggering yet makeup-wearing rockers (the Stones with "Angie," Crue with "Home Sweet Home," Poison with "Every Rose Has Its Thorn") could lure pussy into the marketplace. Look: It worked on you.

You're pathetic. In the commercial, the "Beth" line "Me and the boys are playing all night" construes that -- instead of rocking out, pounding tequila and ogling strippers with "the boys" as men usually understand the term -- you prefer to be in a band with your kids. Sorry to diss ya, Eddie (son Wolfgang plays bass in Van Halen). Sorry, Rick Nielsen (son Daxx drums in Cheap Trick). Thumbs up, Shirley Partridge.

You're driving the kids around. Dudes don't drive kids in Passats, they drive Silverados and ride Harleys -- alone. How fortunate that the Passat is available as a station wagon.

You're a sucker. Go ahead, buy a car from the manufacturer that systematically lied about its diesel mileage.

And while you're sucking: Might as well wrap your lips around the tailpipe of the car conceived by Hitler. Are you Jewish? Half of Kiss are, and they don't seem to care.

Milk? Faced with the wrath of Warden Wifey due to the lateness of the hour, Commercial Dad whimpers the song's question, "Beth, what can I do?" Although Her Highness' answer should be "Bitch, grow a pair," instead she demands that weary Dickless bring home milk. Luckily, he won't have to stop at the 7-Eleven. All he has to do is squeeze his breasts.

Buy American.