Getting by in modern Britain

Step 1: declare yourself a minority.

France invades Germany. Then you wake up.

Citroen is German at heart, you know.
I wanted to hate this yet-to-be-released ad, but so good is it to see so much brass neck on display, that I can't help but raise a quiet eyebrow in appreciation. This is a triple whammy as 1. Euro RSCG (home of the Conservative Party, for heaven's sake) make a really good ad; 2. There's a slight suggestion that they referred to Renault's recent France v Britain campaign for inspiration; and 3. There's the bold assertion that France can compete with the German stereotype of aristocratic mechanical efficiency.
Well, what the heck, it was nice of the French to build such nice wide leafy boulevards so the Germans could march in the shade.

via utalkmarketing, who have an impressive archive of ads on YouTube.

Admit it. You would, wouldn't you?

Chlamydia is officially the fourth most-popular girl's name in Basildon, a place where protected sex is interpreted as having a shag in a bus shelter. By sheer coincidence, the agency's junior postboy harks from that wonderful town.
The picture below also happens to be stuck on his office wall.
"It's cos she's a fit bird, and I would, you know," is his justification for displaying the image.
I decided to conduct some undisciplined, unscientific and entirely biased qualitative research (the sort that the publishers of the British Social Attitudes survey would be proud of) by asking a selection of males in the agency the simple question "What do you think of this?" while holding up the ad.
100% of 18-24 year olds (i.e. 3 out of 3) said "Phwooar, yes I would".
To the supplementary question "Even if you didn't have a condom?", each one looked at me as if I were insane and said words to the effect of "Fuck it yeah, you only live once."
The ad appears in virtually every lad mag. This one's scanned from Nuts, supposedly aimed at older teenagers and men in their twenties. Each issue should really come with a box of tissues, and not because of its romantic content.
Therein lies the problem. I suggest that a suggestively-posed hottie with accompanying sober copy simply won't work with that target demographic. Throw in some disease-related warts, rashes and sores and you might get the message across.
In the lad mags, the ad nestles amongst forests of boobage designed to make the blood rush away from young men's heads. Hardly the best way to get them to think, is it?

WTF? Saddle up

An occasional series of ads that require no comment.
Ad for Brooks Saddles. You won't find this on the London Underground.

Book your American flight

Cheek from Private Eye.

Why Mother’s PO ads are wrong

Clients, eh? Always doing stuff that bodges up all that hard work invested in their advertising.
In this case, one of Britain’s favourite institutions, the granny magnet otherwise known as the Post Office, is falling victim to market forces that are causing the closure of even more branches.
POs are seen as vital hubs of town life. Rural areas are hardest hit because their branches are costlier to run.
Sadly, the PO’s incumbent agency is running a cosy campaign showing twee 1970s-style sitcom characters running just the sort of cute little branch that’s getting the chop. Fading celebs drop in, Harold drops his cup of tea onto his fundamentals and Mavis’ little dog does a whoopsy on the carpet. OK, I made the last two bits up but you get the picture.
Forget the market-winning geegaws that the PO is pushing through the ads. You can sell gold-plated, gem-encrusted broadband modems at 20p a pop and insurance policies that guarantee your late aunt’s resurrection. But all of that will be ignored because, as the PO seems to have forgotten, it’s service that people want, not products.

Say hello to the ubiquitous happy smiling advertising couple

You too can be as happy. This is how.

via

One zombie ad too many

They've been on the telly for years. You know the ads... dead celebrities resurrected to sell. A bit like flogging a dead horse, but in reverse.
Even Mrs Chimps is getting fucked off with this one, Specsavers' clumsy attempt at humour using footage of Edith Piaf in the throes of her decline.
Oh ho ho ho, it's a bloody funny ad if you know nothing of Piaf, or the song being mistranslated. A fine bit of selling made to appeal to the stupid.
Wikipedia has a passable description of Piaf's traumatic life. If only someone with an ounce of culture at Specsavers had had the fucking brainwave to check what the song is about. Maybe they thought it's just a film of a sad old bat belting out a tune, Shirley Bassey-style, but in French.
What the film really shows is one of the 20th century's most remarkable characters, who had survived a series of personal tragedies, telling the world that she was still here, despite everything thrown in her path, and she is prepared to sweep all those memories away to start again.
Maybe nowadays it's ok to laugh at someone who's been dead a quarter of a century and turn her life into a joke, for the sake of selling cheap glasses.

Another plug for St Val

Oh well, seeing as every other ad blog seems to be showing that Ann Summers viral, I'm forced to delve for something a little more obscure, but still St Val-themed. This one, I am pleased to say, is utterly revolting.

Buy some of what you need here.

Trees

Saint Val's day is fast approaching, so here's the obligatory Ann Summers smutty viral, with a joke you can see coming long before its happy finish.

Not safe for work

Mongering the scares

You are vastly more intelligent than everyone else. Statistics prove that, amongst all internet users, regular blog readers have the highest IQs. That beats the regular hoi polloi of online gamers, porn surfers and Facebook addicts. In fact, you have better cognitive abilities than those without internet access. Every time you wander into an Asda store, the average IQ of all the shoppers goes up a couple of notches.
This plausible fact is brought to you by Bonobo Labs, the new media misinformation consultancy that operates from the third cubicle of the gentlemen’s toilets, Giraffe Towers, London.
Regular readers will know of my snarling contempt for the unwashed masses, a sentiment that has got stronger over the last week. I have been forced to try and calm down by leaving my basement media centre for a week to swing from my tyre as I try and ponder what the fuck has happened to this unwashed minging pissflap of a country.
Case #1. The ASA bans an ad campaign by a bunch of bullying medievel Christian fundamentalist homophobic fuckwits.
Case #2. The Archbishop of Canterbury, the harmless chalk-dusted, dictionary-swallowing yet slightly deluded uncle of Gandalf, makes an impenetrable statement about sharia law that is immediately interpreted as an invitation to Saudi Arabia’s Royal Executioner to set up a scaffold in Trafalgar Square.
Case #3. A government minister warns that the British Pakistani (i.e. Muslim) community inbreeds too much and is therefore prone to a high rate of genetic defects.
The three stories broke within four days of each other. Each was caused by misinformation, and minorities were victimised.
There’s a whiff of 1930s Germany in the way the British Muslim population is being portrayed as the (now inbred) enemy within. If you’re a non-Muslim then I would challenge you to think of the number of people you’ve met who have uttered Christian fundamentalist sentiments (in my case, I can easily go into double figures), and then do the same for the Muslims you know (about 15 Muslims in my social circle, none of whom have exposed themselves as suicide bombers).
Back to the first story, and as if to prove how utterly idiotic the ironically-abbreviated CCTV group is, their anti-gay point of view is shown to be nothing but scare-mongering when considering the report that gay marriages are falling anyway.
That story acts as a neat counterpoint to the utter implausibility of the sharia scare because one cannot perceive how such a court would cope with blessing a gay Muslim marriage.
In my megalomaniacal daydreams I have oftened wondered how I’d run the country after the monkey invasion. Looking dapper in my black uniform, I'll ensure that the first ones against the wall would be big-mouthed idiot politicians and media scaremongerers (possibly beginning with Daily Mail journalists and anyone related to Rupert Murdoch). After that, it’ll be free bananas for everyone.

Un bouton magnifique

This is one of three short films made by The Sweet Shop and Publicis Mojo of New Zealand, for Schweppes (the films were also chopped to form smaller TV ads).
This 9 minute-long tale is the pick of the bunch: You know how today’s movie superheroes have to be shown as flawed and struggling to come to terms with their “gift” ? This film is very much in the same vein, except that our hero suffers from an exceptionally attractive priapic endowment.

Marks & Spencer's soft furnishings

Much amusement is generated by an uncharacteristic cock-up from Marks & Spencer, the Nearly Dead But Now Thriving Nicely Thank You retail giant that was once best known for its sensible underwear. Perhaps extending its range to include furniture caused a tad too much confusement at Castle St Michael.
Sadly, this error has been removed from the website but you can still see pics of the Tribeca range.
It has nice cushions, you know.
via The Register

From the Frankie Howard School of Motoring

Too damn much going on in Giraffe Towers at the mo, so here's a 0.5-second surge of enjoyment.

Via

Frank knows

It’s said that a liberal is someone who hasn’t been burgled yet. Fortunately, I’ve never been there (apart from having entertained the occasional thieving builder), but I have still turned into a raging intolerant fascist. I’ve noticed a similar thing happening amongst my peers when they went through the same life-changing event: the birth of their first child.
Suddenly, The Country Has Gone To The Dogs.
The solution: Install More Speed Cameras, All Paedophiles Must Be Castrated, and All Drug Dealers Will Hang.
Our junkie Golf GTi-driving priest went right to the top of my shit list.
The long-running “Frank” drug-awareness campaign has long baffled me, but I (kind of) get it. Having listened to a drugs counsellor talk about drugs and teenagers, I realise that these ads are a well considered attempt at talking teen.
The greatest danger (I was informed) is not curiosity, but peer pressure. One of the most effective counters is the threat to self esteem. This Frank PSI, currently airing on British telly, demonstrates how drugs can make you look stupid, rather than just preaching the obvious message that they can kill.