If Carlsberg did supermodels

Received via email

Bury yourself in apologies and go blrrblbrrblbrrbl

Sorry

Sorry

Well fuck off then
The Evening Standard hasn’t done anything wrong, so why apologise? Its campaign of "Sorry for being out of touch" "Sorry for being predictable" etc comes across as a smug attempt at fishing for complements at a time when the London newspaper is trying to decide its place in the world after being bought by a Russian spy.
It’s made worse by a new campaign from Marks & Spencer, who did do something wrong. M&S wanted to charge women more if they bought larger sized bras. There is a certain logic in covering the extra costs of applying more gravity-beating engineering and fabric to prevent those crowded balconies from toppling onto the pavement. But it still didn’t seem fair. There were protests. M&S relented and did the right thing. And it sounds right too.

**Edit** With brilliant comic timing the Evening Standard lands this apt headline story. Just goes to show: brands are happy enough to apologise, even when they've done nothing wrong. As for greedy money-grabbing venal politicians...

Let's discuss the international regulation of our banking system

The question of European Union intervention in the British economy has vexed me over recent days. I’m please that The Sun has seen fit to offer an expert opinion.

Click image for gratuitous enlightenment

Poor Wozza

It's sad to see TV chefs like Antony Worrall Thompson going to the wall, as reported in today's Telegraph. No, I am genuinely mildly tearful over these little lambs (especially Gordon Ramsay) because I did think that they'd have the chutzpah to ride out the recession. The lifestyle trend of the moment is "staying in is the new going out", or so we're told, which is why Sky subscriptions, dinner parties and DVD rentals are on the up. Cinema takings are up too as visiting the flicks is a relatively cheap night out (as long as you don't buy any junk food, sweets or drink in cinema). I'd have thought that downsizing menus to reduce the number of options (meaning greater economies of scale) would have kept diners coming through the doors. Oh well, you can't be right all the time.
(Note to regular readers: This semi-serious article was written as an excuse to post the following short video of Antony Worrall Thompson making a tit of himself)

See also: Gordon, get out of my f-ing face

This really doesn't happen to geeks

This annoying chappy is as face-punchable as any other bloke who thinks his car is a penis extension. Except he's not a petrolhead but a computer geek. Sorry, but Lenovo lost me at "dude".

via Illegal Advertising

British tabloids are such quality

Admittedly from its website rather than the pages of the paper itself, this is Express stablemate The Daily Star using some highly relevant stock footage to illustrate a news story. Sigh.

From here

Mind the friction burns

In advertising there’s smut and there’s smut, the difference being that when the message is delivered skilfully the fleshploitation becomes excusable. And then there’s the smut that you feel is just thrown in there because some sad old fart wants to justify sitting in a cloud of oestrogen.
There’s bound to be some kind of psychological description of that thing that happens when you’ve been caught doing something that’s slightly embarrassing and you try to mask it by exaggerating the infraction. A bit like a Tory MP caught with his trousers down on Clapham Common “Oh sorry officer, this knob? I was just examining it for ticks.”
And so to this questionable Danish (?) ad. Just why is there so much boobage? Why the awfully unimaginative soundtrack? Why does it have to run for nearly 3 minutes? And why does it remind me of that Boogie Pimps video?

Pervie Pimps



Boogie Pimps

Danish smut found on Illegal Advertising

Bennetts biker babes bucking before buckets belabour bikinis

Wikipedia explains that the origin of the oath "Gordon Bennett" lies in the behaviour of a 19th century playboy of that name.
It therefore came as a pleasant surprise to read on the CV of a certain insurance website that in 1930 this company was "Founded by Gordon Bennett in Coventry and provided general insurance for customers". This is a prime example of life imitating art for Bennetts Insurance is the firm whose advertising gimmick is guaranteed to encourage the utterance of several oaths. Yes, this is the specialist in motorbike cover who generate videos of semi-undressed logo-clad girls spanking each other, jumping on bouncy castles and fighting it out with water pistols.
Maybe it says something about Britain's motorbiking demographic that they are targeted using Bennetts' cunning boob-rich marketing strategy, but it must work - the company claims over 200,000 UK customers.
Here are the company's icons in action once again in their latest viral. In the interests of road safety research, four of them compete to stay on a bucking bike. The bikinis and buckets of water add to the realism but damn it, why aren't they wearing helmets?

Want to sea some tits? (130,000 of them)

I’m still trying to figure how a serious RSS feed I’ve set up to include only stories about monkeys in advertising has managed to churn out this story from Australia: More than 130,000 inflatable breasts have been lost at sea. It’s something to do with free gifts for Ralph, an Aussie men’s magazine. If you see any news stories about rises in ocean oestrogen levels caused by untreated sewage, then be sceptical when you see dolphins wearing comedy tits.

Don't bash the Bishop

Muchee likee these smutty Bishops Finger ads by JWT (via AdsOfTheWorld), which are cleverer than the country wench work previously pimping the brand (Here's my finger; Pull my finger). It's a nice play on the brand name even if it does conjure disturbing images of priapic clergymen.
The connection between beer and slobbering over women will no doubt garner the usual gaggle of numptyist complaints. As recent big media stories have shown, the great British public, emasculated by a shitty economy and a genetic inability to protest properly (unlike the French, who aren't afraid to burn the odd sheep to get their point across), enjoy nothing more than writing angry letters or leaving irate voicemail messages. Christ, we're a scary bunch when we're riled.

Pueraria Mirifica - boobs or bollocks?

It was one of those twelfth-pint quests for wisdom that, without warning, hit you before deciding to continue with the next drink. I wondered out loud why it is that the part of a woman between her hips and her breasts is called the waist. My muslim drinking pal informed me that it's because God could have easily fitted in another pair of tits there.
Speaking of which, here's an even worse joke about chest puppies: a naturapathic website charging clown money ($100+ a pop) for tit cream. I really can't understand why they'd need so many gratuitous demo videos (**Not Safe For Work**) which I've studied carefully and concluded that there's no difference between Before and After, other than with the viewer for whom it's probably quite difficult to remain sitting still.

Something else for Daily Mail readers to complain about

I can’t be arsed to find the film clip that this ad is based on, because I want as little to do with wee Tom Cruise and his crazy space monkey friends as possible. Instead, I’d like you to appreciate the athleticism and convincing air guitarism displayed by this ugly skinny bird. And just look at that jolly nice furniture.

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

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

Parp

Crude graffiti on a wall in Manchester. I am still very easily pleased.

via

Shoe horn

"Hngggggggggk..." jerk... crack!
That's me dozing off on the train, having one of those short but deep, dream-filled commuter naps. I've almost slumped to one side, a tiny dribble worming its way down my chin when I'm certain, for a split second, that I'm about to fall off my rock.
My head jerks upright, I awake, and of the half-dozen passengers around me, I suspect only one has noticed my Fat Old Git Dozing Off On The Train act, and she has the good manners to hide behind her Evening Standard. The pages are trembling slightly. She's bloody laughing, I know it.
I'd been flicking through GQ when sleep crept up on me. The dream was of faceless, naked women chasing me over the landscape from the opening scenes of 2001, their toilet bits replaced by gaping Scream-like mouths. Death was going to be a leathery, but well-polished affair, and I had to escape.
Who said advertising doesn't work?

Choc, boobs, choc, boobs

A Nun is in the bath when there's a knock on the bathroom door.
"Who is it?" shouted the Nun
"The blind man" came the reply
The Nun tells him to enter, knowing he wouldn't be able to see her in all her glory because he's blind.
He walks in and says "Nice pair of tits, where do you want the blinds?"

Characteristic Down Under fare from DDB Sydney

Hoot toot

I'm amused by this Wonderbra ad for the Malaysian market. It remains true to the brand while avoiding offending Islamic sensibilities. Even so, there's a touch of the Benny Hills about it.

Still on the subject of chest holsters, I note with curiosity how China has forbidden TV networks showing ads for "push-up bras and figure-hugging underwear ahead of a major Communist Party meeting next month."
This gives me the excuse to link to an old feature.

Sweet and creamy

Holy Mary, there she was again, crushing garlic cloves in a way that guaranteed a boob shot. Plenty of "Mmmmms" and "I love the way it bulges over the sides" and "Look at the way the cream dribbles."
Nigella Lawson's up to her food porn tricks again, aided by a shaky-handed cameraman with an overactive zoom lens.
Still, I'm not complaining, although I always take a dislike to the imported friends populating her garden who always seem to have just popped in. Funny how hubby Charles Saatchi is never there too. Apparently he hates her cooking. I'm not kidding.
There's definitely a bit more of Nigella on the screen this year, which is good. But there's also a little bit too much of something else. One of tonight's recipes involved tipping a pile of chicken thighs into a pan. Was that a flash of Waitrose on the packet? What? Not the same Waitrose that's owned by John Lewis? Not the same John Lewis that stocks Nigella Lawson Bread Bins, Nigella Lawson Measuring Spoons and a handful of other Nigella Lawson goodies that look remarkably like the utensils stocking the kitchen? Not the same kitchen from which Nigella presents her BBC (advertising-free, according to the rules) show?
Well, what the heck, I'm not complaining cos I've got a soft spot for Nigella, especially as she officially an enemy of the numpty public. Apparently, Nigella's recipes are too complicated and her writing style too clever for your average Brit-educated fuckwit. That just shows you how far we've fallen.
Don't ask me why I was there, but I happened to be in a Tesco Express in Basildon (pikey capital of Essex) at the weekend, when it struck me that there is a good measure for the general fuckwittedness of an area.
It works like this. Patrol the supermarket aisles, particularly those that stock home cooking staples such as flour, oils and so forth. Work out the average number of people in these aisles.
Then go to the ready meals aisle and count.
In Basildon the ratio was about 15:2 in favour of the spotty chavs piling their trolleys with 4-minute microwave meals. Somehow I can't imagine these fuckers know how to hold a cookery book, let alone try and read it.
Nigella, keep using the long words.

See also: 500th post: agency anecdote

Cold bites

Whoda thunk it: a smutty ad from Germany? Mind you, this is the country that gave us advertising for Independence cigars. This NSFW ad combines boobage with toothpaste.