I am pretty certain that in my vast and spanning career as a columnist, I penned a piece about silly television commercials. If so, this will be considered to be part two. If not, I am really suffering from a case of the old “Braincell Stampede out-of-the Ears Syndrome.”

Actually, we all know that the above-mentioned ailment has been slowly, and steadily, infesting my bod ever since I began working at the paper. This hasn't a thing to do with my charming boss—of course. Just keep in mind that I cover some of the municipal meetings, and...well, need I really say anything further?

So, let us blame the local governmental officials for my “situation,” which will cause Mother to breathe a sigh of relief, for once.

Moving along, I have had the painful experience of forgetting to tape a show, (with the use of my PVR from Armstrong Cable), which has led to another syndrome called, “If I Have to See One More Hideous Commercial, I Shall Run Naked into Traffic Syndrome.” Thank goodness, that last one hasn't fully set in, hence, no major pile-ups on 322 have been reported as of late.

One such advertisement that had me in a tizzy was about a cancer treatment center.

Now, for those of you who are intelligent enough to steer clear from any kind of telly viewing, you might not catch the drift of this column. However, have no fear, as I will blather on with enough background info to have you up to date in no time.

OK, here goes. In this particular cancer center endorsement, the individual with the sickness appears on the screen and says something like this: “I was innocently lying in my hospital bed, recovering from a simple surgery, when my doctor came to check on me. He actually looked at me with soulless eyes of steel and said, ‘Stella, you have cancer.’ With that, he turned on his heels and skipped merrily our of the room.” (I did take some artistic license with this rendition but honestly, it's not too far off.)

Another such advertisement, for the same place, has the doctor saying, and I kid you not, as this one is word-for- word, the following: “What are you smiling about? You only have six months to live.”

Frankly, it's true that doctors are oft stereotypically branded as thoughtless boobs with bedside manners like that of Garfield the Cat, or some such. I don't always agree with that but, it is not out of the realm of reality to find yourself face to face with a cranky man/woman of the stethoscope. I can feel the ground shaking and I see a herd of white coats in the distance storming my way. No offense but, some doctors can be a bit cranky.

However, and this is a HUGE however, there is no way, in a year of Tuesdays, that any of the above was ever stated by a member of the healthcare field. There is simply NO WAY.

Come on ladies and gents, are we really supposed to believe that these medical health professionals simply rolled eyes, pointed, laughed and backed out of the hospital doorway whilst giving the diagnosis of cancer?

Of course, after telling the viewer how inhumanely they were treated, the stars of the commercials then launch into how the cancer center came to the rescue, by reaching out in a comforting way, and cured them at the same time.

I thought I was the only person irked by this insane advertisement, until my teen made a guest appearance to another room of the house, other than his, and spouted off about that unrealistic ad gimmick.

Speaking of ridiculous “As Seen on Television” items, which I know we weren’t, but let’s pretend, there is a new thingamabob that I must discuss.

First off, I know I’ve said this before but, I’m nothing if not repetitive. Those items, which are only available through television offers, sure have a funny way of finding themselves lining the shelves at some of the larger box stores across the land but, I digress.

I shall now launch into incessant chatter pertaining to the new and must-have-gadget, as seen on a hideous television commercial, (and in the front of Kmart).

First off, hang on to something, as this is an absolute necessity in every kitchen across this fine nation of ours. Please refrain from galloping over family members while on a wild dash to the credit card wallet.

The item of which I speak is a twirling-type-of-gizmo that allows the cook to step away from the stove whilst it spins and parades wildly around a saucepan of ___________(fill in the blank). The purpose, of course, you silly goose, is to prevent that horrific sticking that occurs when one has to bolt for a measuring cup, or something, during the cooking process.

Are we supposed to take this stuff seriously? My friend, and new tenant, Aunt Liz, roared in laughter, and even slapped her leg, when she viewed this particular commercial. Mind you, she generally lacks the energy needed to emote in such a manner—more on that in a future piece, I'm certain.

Can we not multitask anymore? Do we really need the assistance of a small whirling dervish kind-of-instrument to ensure that our fondue doesn't explode, or whatever it is that fondues do? Hey, I made a rhyme.

At any rate, you may have picked up on my subtle clues about how I feel concerning the “must have” kitchen deal. I'm not really into it.

One variety of ads, that I will touch on very delicately and quickly, is anything having to do with things that unfold in the bedroom regions of the home, if you receive my vibes.

I don't need to learn about, some couple who has turned to a special-kind-of-substance with the goal of spicing up their love lives. Plus, who the heck allows a television crew to enter the sleeping region? Hmm, very nonsensical.

I used to get highly embarrassed, as a kid, when a commercial for a feminine item would blare from the television set. This was especially true if my father happened upon it with me.

I don't know about you but, I don't really want to explain this kind of jazz to the youngsters in my life.

OK, I guess my work is done here. Plus, I have to fly, like a Wallenda, into the kitchen and assist Aunt Liz. It seems she is in need of some milk, from the fridge, and I've been summoned to stir something for her while she reaches for it. Gotta run...