Hopefully the last we'll ever hear from that wretched beast.via
September 30, 2008
September 29, 2008
I love this - it's an interactive zombie movie. It has a slightly retro feel, seeing as this sort of game was all the rage in arcades about a decade ago. I suppose the innovative thing is that it's on the web.
Still, I'm a sucker for zombies. Many moons ago I did try and persuade a feminist girlfriend that a chap liking zombies was a sign of enlightenment because it meant he went for her brains rather than her looks, but she wasn't having any of it.
September 27, 2008
September 25, 2008
Some curious work is appearing on the London Underground and in the Metro freesheet. It's one of those mysterious campaigns - images with no copy or logo - that will no doubt reveal a rather mundane brand at the climax. The notable thing is this image of Obama during his recent visit to the PM's residence. Odd.
September 24, 2008
To illustrate the most important scientific theory of the last 150 years, do you use a picture of a) Charles Darwin, b) DNA, or c) ...
The world’s shittest online encyclopaedia is really beginning to get quite scary.
FACT! Religious War!
FACT! Chuck Norris!
FACT! The 19th Century!
September 23, 2008
The worst ad placement ever, in my book, because of the tagline, the nature of the movie and... the location. Even now, the Stockwell shooting, where an innocent man was blasted to death on a tube train by trigger-happy police, is still big news.
Spotted on b3ta
September 22, 2008
Here she is again, the Pomegreat chick whose addiction, we have already seen, has given her especially peachy buttocks. So, not only will this juice give you gluteal maximising, it’s going to make you feel sexy. Maybe because of “antioxidants” which, as far as I know, have never been proven to do you any good. The only people who’d disagree with this are nutritionists. And what’s a nutritionist? The answer is: anyone who says they’re one. Like me. And I talk shit all the time. Remember, good people: this is just a juice.
Next week: Grapefruit juice will resurrect the dead.
Only slightly unconnected news: The Guardian’s Dr Ben Goldacre wins court case against nutritionist quack.
September 21, 2008
The insanely weeing baby in the latest Huggies TV ad has been causing much amusement in the Chimp household. When the two blue chimplets were tiny, this version of the problem had them weeing into their own faces, so the joke was on them.
How sad meanwhile that this unfortunate TV dad did not invest in this incredible invention. How humans have managed for the last coupla hundred thousand years, I'll never know.
And here's that Huggies ad.
September 19, 2008
Johnny Rotten is going to be the new face of Dairy Crest butter, according to Trendhunter. I can imagine the chortling of other commentators at the marriage of the ambassador of anarchy to this harmless, homely brand.
Well, good luck to Dairy Crest, but in my mind, the whole punk movement provokes an unsavoury Pavlovian response. Punk, a catalyst for youth-driven change during a period of social entropy etc etc., yeah, yeah, ok bollocks, I get it, thank you and fuck off.
I was a teenager in the time of the Sex Pistols. At the time, punk was a minority craze. Most other teens I knew didn’t care one way or another. I was a working class kid in a middle class London grammar school who observed that those (middle class) kids who were drawn to punk were snotty little waster tosser wankers with an overdeveloped sense of personal hardness.
Pogo-dancing, spitting, and getting into fights was what they thought it was all about. In fact, most “punks” were part-time punks because they wouldn’t dare violate their school dress code by dyeing their hair or growing it long enough for mohicans.
I’d have loved to have seen these wankers try their luck in my Northern home town. A deprived backwater of Liverpool, this was one of those places that truly represented the neglect felt by the working classes during Thatcher’s years. I don’t think I ever saw a punk, alive, up there.
You know why?
Punks were middle class wankers.
September 17, 2008
September 16, 2008
There’s a theme developing here, you’ll notice. For some reason, I’m either starting to notice ads pushing medical-sounding mumbo jumbo, or yes, there really are more ads pushing medical mumbo jumbo.
I guess this is what comes of having my team of scantily clad monkey girls sit around watching GMTV and reading brain-dead women’s mags, and then listening to their air-headed conversations. They call this audience research, but it sounds like they’ve gone native. Jesus, we’re the ones who write this shit. We’re not supposed to believe in it.
Here’s a particularly daft bit of advertising from the pages of Health & Fitness Magazine. Apart from pushing a product that sounds like a nasty water-borne bacteria (I suppose catching cholera would make you lose weight), it throws a series of vaguely meaningless terms such as “cleansing and purifying” as well as a word that makes my bullshitometer ring – “detox”. Just what does “detox” mean anyway? Is there a non-pseudo-sciency definition? And “chlorophyll”? What do plant molecules that are used in photosynthesis have to do with cleansing and purifying anything?
Again, this is pseudo-scientific woo using the sort of language designed to reassure and flatter the gullible.
I’m not saying the product is crap. It might actually be very good – but there’s absolutely no proof in the copy. No supporting evidence. Just fluff.
Still, the model is a rather fetching shade of blue and, as the copy states, “in Japan, it’s the no.1 selling supplement in its class”.
Next week: why Widnes is Britain’s no.1 holiday destination for trainspotting Eskimos.
September 15, 2008
I thought I'd weigh in with some less obvious comments about Miles Calcraft Briginshaw Duffy's Hovis ad (embedded and commented upon by two of my regular ports in a storm, Rob and Scamp).
This is a classic case study in how to advertise to Brits during a recession: patriotic, slightly cute, nostalgic and with the added bonus of reminding us that we did actually win a couple of wars, once (a quiet word to future prime ministers: we usually do better when the Americans turn up late). And there's a Spitfire in it.
Cards on table. I have no fucking idea what an antioxidant is. It’s one of those words that sits very close to the word “quack” in my bullshit thesaurus. I bet every one of you has a vague idea of what you think this word means, and that’s why you should be suspicious when any foodie or vitaminy ad starts throwing these fluffy terms at you.
I’m not going to totally pan this ad because this chick sure has a nice arse, and, even though the copy doesn’t explicitly say “drink this and you too will have a terrific pair of peachy buttocks”, it is what it wants you to think. Christ, it’s only a fucking fruit juice.
Next week: Pear juice will give you a big cock.
September 14, 2008
As the country lurches deeper into recession, so the gap between real life and the fantasy world of advertising widens. Halifax still shows its happy singing employees while more people are having their homes repossessed. Land Rover are still pushing their Chelsea tractors as consumers buy smaller, more economical cars. And perfume ads are still shit. The funny thing is, that the more anal the perfume ads, the more likely that the proles will fall for it. Maybe its something to do with selling a fantasy.
Driving to Basildon the other week, some Essex girls in the car in front threw a dildo out of the window and it hit our windscreen. While the chimplets were wondering what the hell it was, Mrs C calmly told them it was an insect. Chimplet #2 said that he wondered how it could get off the ground with a cock like that.
Arriving at Basildon, for it really is that sort of place, the first thing that strikes you (apart from flying dildos) is the number of people eating chips. Cheap, stinky chips. And another thing, if you look carefully, is the Essex girls with shopping bags bulging with knock-off perfumes bought from a stall just outside the shopping centre. And that's the point. Everyone with half a brain cell knows they're forgeries, but they're still being bought. Like I said - buying into the fantasy.
Here's the latest fragrant tosh filling our TV screens. The Essex girls will love it.
Lee Mack sums up the pointlessness of these ads nicely...
September 12, 2008
September 11, 2008
I'm seriously shit scared that you people are gonna blow up the planet before the monkeys get a chance to take it over. I've just emerged from my kryptonite-lined bunker to find the world is still in one piece. I am cheered to find this most excellent auction on eBay, courtesy of those CERN propellerheads.
There's still time for you to kill the planet by the end of the year though. I'm talking to you Americans who are going to vote for that fucking insane Palin woman. A fucking rapture-ready book burner with her finger on the button? Are you fucking mad?
September 09, 2008
September 05, 2008
September 04, 2008
September 03, 2008
September 02, 2008
To prove I don't hate all car advertising, here are a few slightly friendly words for the latest ad for one of our increasingly irrelevant brands, Land Rover. It's a quaint little story that emphasises the car's off-road qualities. I smile at the "crazy" director who is the spitting image of a head of Traffic - no pun intended - I used to know, who was also a bit nuts. Curious, that.
See also: Woo! Land Rover Man demands cocksuckage