Mr. Clean is a dirty dog.

I have a question. When did Mr. Clean stop doing the dirty work for the desperate housewives in his commercials? I'd also like to know what happened to his swashbuckling earring? Did it fall off and slip down the drain when he was standing over the shoulder of Mrs. Jones, watching her scrub her own sink? I'd like to know what poor, sensitive, male felt his testicles were in immanent danger when he decided to emasculate that big, bald, mop-wielding pirate that every woman, straight or gay has held up as a beacon of hope for all unfinished domestic maintenance?
Mr. Clean used to be El Hombre. He had bulging muscles and a tight white T-shirt. He had an edgy gold hoop in his ear. He had bushy, white manly, eyebrows and when you were having a hard day, he mopped your filthy kitchen floor, washing away the soot and grime which stood to besmirch your otherwise idyllic existence.
After the scrub-fest, you could never be certain if Mr. Clean were going to bend you over the kitchen table or run to your closet and help you organize your dresses after coveting your shoes, but that's what made him exciting! Mr. Clean Redux has become just another symbol of the tyranny endured in an era rife with neo-conservatism and devoid of dark sexuality which is sparkling clean in it's innocence of expression. Not only do we women get to clean our own kitchens, we get to have some flabby, bald, asshole with no earring overseeing our efforts! I don't know about you, but I don't need a mop-mentor, I need a pipe-cleaning privateer! A sultan of soap pads! A dark-lord of clean floors!
I don't know if even the power of the Magic Eraser can make up for this betrayal.