There is a television ad that's been running for some time now that has become a real staple of the Pfaff household here. For one thing, we can't get enough of it. For another thing, it is possibly the creepiest ad I've ever seen; the wife and I can't quite believe it hasn't been laughed off the screen. But it hasn't. I just saw it again tonight.

The ad is for Disaronno. Disaronno, despite sounding like the name of some noxious laxative, is actually, according to the website, an "Italian liqueur flavored with herbs and fruits soaked in apricot kernel oil." So, my bad! It is a noxious laxative! And, apparently, a really sophisticated way to spend your evening getting loaded. And you know? I really think we don't soak enough stuff in apricot kernel oil.

(Incidentally, one of the first page of Google hits on "Disaronno" is this: "Amazon.com: So You'd Like to... Enjoy a Disaronno Margarita." I imagined that the extended body text on that page read: "Unfortunately, actually enjoying this is totally impossible. Instead, consider drinking a regular fucking margarita, you freak." I know that tonight I will sleep uneasily, dreaming of Disaronno margaritas.)

The ad is simplicity itself. As the spot begins, it's LIGHTS UP on an upscaley bar, where beautiful young people cluster about (but not claustrophobically! They're socially bunched, but warmly so), celebrating their youth, their beauty, and their utterly improbable diversity. "We have a black friend!" A gaunt bartender is serving drinks. "Disaronno sour," he intones (I don't really remember what drink he actually says), setting down a glass. "Disaronno martini," he says, putting down another.

(Let's leave aside my sort of hard-line martini stance, which is that martinis are made with GIN and ONLY GIN as the base. Drink your vodka martinis if you must, but really: must you? Anyway, needless to say that this "Disaronno martini"-purveying whey-faced ghoul is already my enemy when he lays the drink down.)

And then a lovely lady sidles up to the bar and fixes the ghoul with a provocative look. Her hair is immaculately glued to her aerodynamic skull, and she smirks at ghoul provocatively as she says, "Disaronno on the rocks." Cut to ghoul, who is transfixed. The corners of his mouth jerk up uncomfortably, as if he were thinking, I can tell to the pound how much you would weigh as carved-up meat. "Disaronno on the rocks it is," he gurgles.

Then there's some meaningless voiceover horseshit extolling the WARM LAXATIVE taste of Disaronno as the guy turns to pour her drink. Oh, and by the way? Behind the bar are liquor shelves with nothing but bottles of Disaronno. Hey, what a great bar! It's like being at an airport bar, but with fewer choices! Say, what's on draft? Disaronno! Okay, what's your special? Disaronno! Hey, why is this floor sticky? Hopefully . . . Disaronno!

Finally, the hot chick--honestly, though, she's really kind of a stick, but if you like that sort of Kate Mossean clatterbones thing, go nuts--gets her drink. She gives ghoul another smoldering stare, as if to say, "You sure can pour liquid over ice, buster!" and then ecstatically takes a quaff before returning to ostentatiously laughing with her friends, including the black one. Good for him! We've come a long way.

There is then a cut to her glass, basically empty. Ghoul reaches for it . . . and . . . she stops him, laying her alabaster hand over his! He's surprised! He's touching her! Holy shit! Cut to her face. She impishly shakes her head at him in a flirtatious reprimand. She fishes out one ice cube from her glass and slowly, oh, so slowly, reaches up and puts it sensuously into her mouth, much like any gal would do with a booze-covered ice cube, or, geez, I don't know, an erect penis. Maybe I'm just projecting here.

Anyway, she closes her eyes as she sucks on the phallocube. And here's where the commercial truly knocks it out of the park. Because right then they cut back to ghoul, who is again totally rooted to the spot watching this wanton display of oral gratification. He's stunned! He can't believe this chick! And then he smiles the most alarming, simian smile ever caught on video. The smile slowly starts at the corners of his mouth and crawl horribly up towards his terrible face. It really is impossible to describe; in overall effect, imagine how the Tall Man from the Phantasm movies would look if he were very slowly getting an erection. It's the kind of face that says, "I sure would like to date-rape you . . . but I don't think I can wait that long!"

That's the whole ad. But that indelible face made by ghoul will stay with you forever, I promise. It is kind of a ritual that after the wife and I see that ad, I will inevitably turn to her and try to replicate that nightmarish leer. I cannot do it, of course--I came close one time when I imagined two leeches clamped onto the sides of my mouth, both trying their best to slowly crawl into my nostrils, dragging my lips up into an unwilling rictus. "Ew, God!" said the wife. But I can't bear to try that mental feat again.

Anyway. DISARONNO! Order it in your favorite bar! Or, even better, go to a bar that doesn't have anything else! Get loaded! And don't forget, when you're pinned against your car by that knife-wielding bar ghoul that you've been cruelly teasing all night: Hey, at least you'll be regular in the morning. It's the apricot kernel oil.