Tuttuki Bako... it's Bandai's new toy that's screaming with innuendo.
October 28, 2008
October 27, 2008
When I am in pain, you do not hear me cry.
When I am happy, you do not hear me laugh.
When I am confused, you do not hear me sigh.
But if I started wanking on the bus, you’d bloody well notice me.
(Poem by Drew Peacock, 13).
October 24, 2008
Here's the DVD cover of a film which had about the same cultural and box office impact as a mouse fart in a tempest. Expelled is, apparently, an anti-evolution argument - a concept which does not compute. It's a bit like being anti-gravitist or anti-cloudist: rail against a scientifically robust concept on the grounds that it contradicts the teachings of your made-up Bronze Age desert sky ghost. Still, if there's money in it...
Upholding the intellectual credibility of this enterprise is this wonderful promotional strategy: have the morose "star" of the film, Ben Stein, award it four, er, stars.
October 22, 2008
The intro to this love letter to David Ogilvy says "Caution: the following video clip is an amateur effort. It was produced and edited by the staff of Bold Ogilvy Athens", as if the "amateur" bit excuses the toe-curling embarrassment of even watching this.
My fave bit: "You said many and beautiful things, but this one is the Lord of your rings..."
**Edit: For some inexplicable reason (e.g. being laughed at by most of the advertising world), this video has been pulled.**
Picked up via comments on Scamp
October 21, 2008
My new routine: bike (1 mile) – train (40 minutes) – bike (4 miles).
I’ve been leaving home earlier to cycle through London as the city wakes up. At this point, you’d expect a cue for a romantic description of God's favourite town, maybe something like: making my way through the chill London fog, I pass through Smithfield meat market as the cockney butchers set up their stalls with a cheery whistle and an “Oi oi guvnor, apples an’ pears chim chimminy me old mucker!”.
The reality ain’t so quaint.
Apart from the fact that I ride the most uncomfortable bike ever created – a folding piece of scrap with baby-small clown wheels – the mental exhaustion trumps the physical every time. I've noticed cute young women smiling at me, which is either because of a) awesome bloke bettering himself and the environment without a hint of vain self-consciousness, or b) trying not to laugh. There's a punchline which goes "Tony Soprano on a diddy bike". The joke that precedes it... it's most probably me.
And then there's the maniac van drivers, buses, and trying to indicate without falling off – they all contribute towards a long panic that only ends with a hot shower at the office.
There’s one tiny, perverse fragment of excitement: the grumpy old bastard that I always seem to encounter around Bloomsbury.
It all started when I jumped the lights.
It’s that split second between one set of lights going red, and your red light turning green. That’s when, if you’re on a bike, you try and sprint off before the taxi behind you tries to make babies with your rear tyre.
Several yards ahead, I braked as a chap in his 60s, with one of those red faces that always looks angry, was crossing the road with his raggety white terrier thing.
“Nuisance those red lights, aren’t they?” he said, almost cheerfully as I politely gave way.
“Er… yes?” was all I could manage, rather pathetically. Setting off, I heard him turn round and shout: “Prat!”. Even more pathetically, I sped off, wondering what his problem was.
Two days later, almost exactly the same scenario. Aha.
Stopping to let him cross, his response: “Wanker!”
Oh for fuck’s sake. Here’s me stopping to let this old fucker and his manky terrier cross, and I’m getting the verbals.
Gentle reader, you are aware that ignoring such remarks and taking them on the chin is the mature, correct means of dealing with this.
Unfortunately, this is me.
“You know your dog’s limping,” I said.
He turned. Yes, actually turned to check.
“Probably cos you’ve just fucked him up the arse!” I shouted as, pedalling off, his distant “Fucking wanker!” made me chuckle.
A day later. I don’t fucking believe it. Old fucker with dog. This time I’m waiting at the lights as he sees me. “Oi, you, you fat wanker on the bike! Why don’t you just fuck off!” Beside me, the driver of a black cab laughs and says to me: “Not letting him get away with that, are you?”
I’m genuinely pissed off now. “Know why I’m so fat?” I shout to the old fucker. “It’s cos every time I fuck your granddaughter she gives me a doughnut!”
Oh shit. Even though taxi driver is cracking up, the old fucker is screaming. “You cunt! You fucker! I’m going to make you eat a shit sandwich!”.
Lights change, I sprint off, relieved.
That was this morning.
Christ knows what tomorrow will bring.
October 19, 2008
October 16, 2008
All things are as they should be with Ryanair advertising, I note, as the airline does a cut & paste job using one of its previous images, that of a babe in a school uniform.
This time the image is giving Ryanair heat in Sweden, of all places, where efforts to spank the airline earned the response “Ryanair defends the right of Swedish girls to take their clothes off.”
If that attitude doesn’t appal you, or you’re tempted to be merciful and believe that Michael “Beds and Blowjobs” O’Leary is just a poor misunderstood sensitive geezer just dying to display his politically correct credentials, then here’s a pic from the Ryanair Calendar.
Ryanair's schoolgirl experiment
Osama's new favourite airline
Ryanair: cheeky monkeys or rip-off merchants?
October 15, 2008
"The Great Flood of Noah's time is responsible for much of the geology of the Earth's surface."
For more examples of stupidification, check out Fuckwitapedia
FACT! Religious War!
FACT! Chuck Norris!
FACT! The 19th Century!
There's another great religion growing (following in the immortal footsteps of the Chimp Messiah, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Xenu, and the 1001 versions of that murderous desert ghost), that of one of nature's most annoying fruits: the pomegranate. It was chugging along just fine, with one church simply claiming it'll up your libido and give you a sweet arse, but now its worshippers are treading on more dangerous territory: immortality. What a bunch of cults.
POM is converting the gullible in newspapers, magazines and outside churches and mosques.
October 13, 2008
October 09, 2008
We're being plagued by damn awful bingo ads in the UK. Mind you, it's a tough category to advertise considering its supposed demographic of bored housewives whose husbands have legal custody of the TV buzzer.
This one from Love Bingo has a very sinister undertone.
Bored middle-aged missus. Spouse asleep on sofa. Fat visitor dressed as a baby. There are late night TV documentaries about this sort of suburban vice.
October 08, 2008
You need this! Nutrition designed to avoid any embarrassing Death By Starvation While Playing Computer Games Online For Seven Days Solid episodes.
“Gamer Grub is a great tasting snack that boosts your core gaming systems, such as visual input, cognitive processing, signal transmission and muscle reflexes for maximum gaming performance.”
It’s full of science! But it smells like bullshit!
Another film director gets wheeled out to make an ad and, guess what, they make a film. Baz Luhrmann’s new work for Tourism Australia is (and this is a girlie word I don’t really like to use) lovely. Some poor overworked Sheila gets a visit from a mystical Aboriginal kid who lures her into the Outback to Find Herself, where she gets lost, is then pursued by a rapist in a pick-up truck who chases her into a river where she’s devoured by a crocodile.
Oh, hang on, that’s my script getting mixed in.
OK I admit I’m a sick fuck but pushing the idea of wandering the wilds of Australia to Brits will appeal most to those who are suicidal.
From the Daily Telegraph, this week.
Aussie foreplay: "Brace yourself, Sheila"
We rock too;
October 04, 2008
October 02, 2008
October 01, 2008
So I have a bit of a downer on Johnny Lydon. I don't know whether his difficult personality is an act or genuine borderline loony, but the Sex Pistols front man's appearance in Grey London's new Country Life ad kind of works. It's quite brave too, because there must be many people who haven't been won over by Lydon (not that he'll give a shit), who just might fall into Country Life's target market.
You can never be too sure whether he's taking the piss out of the Britishness that the brand is supposedly distancing itself from (it's the taste!), but hell, if a safe fmcg brand wants to take the risk, then I'm all for it.