Somebody's getting rich in this recession, and they probably look like this guy, smiling happily as a certain class of person flogs off the family gold. I say "a certain type", because if the following extraordinary ad is anything to go by, the target market is the plasma poor. This is the British tribe that thinks having a wad of cash and talking posh makes you posh, but as any fule kno, they are betrayed by the gold-standard of lower class chavdom: having a telly that's bigger than their front room. Just watch this ad and weep, cos you'll be needing to cash in your gold to pay for the new screen that you've just smashed in exasperation. Christ, are these actors on acid?
My bonny fido working class sensibilities (lower class aristocracy, born in a barn etc), worn invisibly on my Primark-clad sleeve are being metaphorically burned Chinesely by a week of observations from the class war front line. We have the assorted oiks in the House of Commons caught red-handed with their hairy fists deep in the pockets of Joe Public in a shameless reach-around that coincides with the long-term effects of the eye-watering rear end shafting from the bankers. Less metaphorically, Irish Catholic priests have been exposed after decades perverting a US Marine motto by ensuring that No Boy’s Behind Is Left. Yes, a bad week for the ruling and privileged classes. To further offend your eyes with painfully poor metaphors, a couple of loosely-marketing-related class war stories have also thoroughly pissed me off. This time, the culprits are the squeaky-bottomed middle classes (thus described by the observation that those who are most sanctimonious are identifiable by the sucked-in lower lip and clenched buttock look – you really can’t swipe a credit card through the crack when they’re in full flow) who have been thrusting their angst-driven ethics down our throats in a manner that would have choked Linda Lovelace to death. In one case, death is really on the cards as the effects of the anti-MMR vaccine campaign manifest themselves with a measles outbreak. Lest we forget, the UK experience is a mirror of a yummy-mummy campaign in the US led by Jenny McCarthy (see the body count on the right), always cheer-led by those with an innate distrust of science. I’ve just looked on the TGI survey and observe that distrust of regular medicine, appreciation of alternative medicine (better described as alternative to medicine), and anti-GM sentiments are heavily correlated with the B and C1 sociodemographic. Yup, that just shows you what an education does when combined with an empty head.
So, what has four legs and a cunt halfway up its back? A Greenpeace campaigner on his high horse. Yes, it’s the Plant More Trees But Kill The Pesky Foreign Peasants group back again, this time railing against genetically modified rice. Christ, just to shut these fuckers up, let’s kill GM right now. That way, we can ensure the Malthusian Economic Model is verified in the deaths of millions of Third World peasants. Shit, you wouldn’t want all that barren, pest-riddled land used to grow food that’ll make them darn foreigners have more babies, would you? And let’s waste more arable land to grow the less-reliable organic lentils that the Greenpissers sprinkle on their Bran Flakes. Admittedly, this single ad does touch on the one weak point in the pro-GM argument, which is the control of the technology by the biotech firms. After all, you don’t want those friendly food brand logos replaced with biotech ones, eh? But, and it’s head-slap time here, isn’t the obvious solution to allow foreign governments (I’m speaking of those governments in developing world countries that get it in the neck from the Western anti-GM campaigners again) to introduce farmer-friendly legislation that’ll feed their own people with nutrient-rich GM? But no, that’s taboo, and the High Priests of Greenpeace would rather you give them your donations while you bend over and pray.
If one were to be uncharitable, one would remind oneself that Halifax’s group HBOS incurred an £11 billion debt before being rescued by the government. If one were to be uncharitable, one would remind oneself of the job cuts incurred across the barely-functioning banking sector. If one were to be uncharitable, one would wonder why Halifax’s current batch of ads show an unfeasibly large crowd of Halifax employees focused on delivering a solitary five pound note into the sweaty hands of a bewildered customer. Just sayin’.
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)
Pinch me because I must be dreaming and it’s 2007 again. Remember that feeling of wellbeing you had before you started to worry about the wave of immigrant polar bears stealing your job as they fled the melting ice caps? This ad is circa today, and with heart-warming confidence omits any mention of emissions or recession-friendly words like “value” or “saving”. And there is no number with a slashed pound-sign on it either. There’s the Teutonically-enigmatic word “efficiency” which has more to do with overtaking oiks on the motorway with minimum fuss than it has to do with saving cash because the engine’s so damn good at extracting the final calorie from every litre of petrol. So, thank you WCRS for reminding us that, for some, the recession is merely a minor inconvenience that will pass as quickly as that BMW on its way to that posh charity bash for distressed bankers. I feel much better now.
If you can bloody well organise yourselves like this, then you can bloody well make sure you all pass on your bloody costs to your bloody clients, for fuck's sake! That's the joy of capitalism! And learn your fucking spelling and punctuation!
I find myself overcome by WTFness at this extraordinary story from the Philippines, which illustrates the sometimes vast cultural divide between East and West. My interpretation is: Mum wants daughter to look good on the X-Factor. Mum pawns ring. Mum buys gown. Daughter scrubs up well and sings to great applause. The real-life UK version would be: Daughter wants to wear nice gown for X-Factor. Mum says: get a fucking job, you spoilt lazy cow.
I know this makes me sound like a sad old git but I do still like to flick through the men's glossies. Funny that women's glossies are bought by females of all ages but there's something dubious about anyone over 40 reading the male equivalent. Anyway, I digress. There are still some ads that leap out at me. Here's one, a relatively low-key effort nestling amongst the tissue fodder. I'm an occasional online poker player - I'll have an occasional splurge, get bored, and then leave it for several months. Whoever wrote the limited copy here must be a player. It's giving me itchy fingers. The problem is, there's nothing here to make me defect from my usual online poker site.
This side banner is part of a campaign that caught my eye last night. There's a much more colourful poster from 888.com encouraging us to "Go Crazy" on their online BlackJack site plastered inside the trains on my route home. I thought the timing a little odd, bearing in mind the current arguments over our government's determination to foist supercasinos on us. I've railed against many ads before, but this campaign is the worst I've seen for a long time. It's bloody irresponsible, and the fuckwits who dreamt it up should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves. I'm speaking from experience, being a regular online poker player, although I tend to stick to poker and usually do very well because I am competing against other people, not a computer program. I've tried online BlackJack - aka Pontoon or 21 - and it's a simple game with the odds (like all odds when it's you vs the casino) stacked against you. It's also easy to lose quickly and very tempting to throw bigger stakes into the pot to try and recuperate your losses. It's addictive and after playing one round and realising I was down $10 within three minutes, I demanded that my access to non-poker tables be switched off. Going "a little crazy" on BlackJack is a terrible encouragement to throw caution to the wind. There's no way you'll win with an attitude like that. You will lose, heavily.
The latest Private Eye magazine includes an interesting revelation prompted by the current batch of seriously irritating Mac vs PC ads. The British press has always been particularly nice to Apple, more so than to any other techie firm. I quote:
"Apple products receive unerringly good write-ups and extensive coverage across all of the UK press. The recent launch of the iPhone, which will not even be available in the UK until the end of the year, was front page news."
Why? Apple gives members of the National Union of Journalists a 20% discount on all of its products.
If it looks like a duck, walks like duck, and sounds like a duck, then it must be a duck. And never was a quack more profoundly obvious when nutritionist to the numpties, "Doctor" Gillian McKeith waddled by. To the uninitiated, DrGMcKwack is a diminutive Scots-American best known for bullying fatties on the TV. Her method of attack in her TV show You Are What You Eat is extremely distasteful. It involves the ritualised humiliation of obese people - first by confronting them with a table-load of their favourite food and demanding repentance, and then by examining the product of their bowel movements. The message is simple: you look like shit, you eat like shit and even your shit's shit. One notable episode saw her make a fat woman cry by presenting her with a tombstone made out of chocolate. Her gurning visage looms from sales promo cutouts at Holland & Barrett health food shops and from dubious-looking food supplements. Any justification for her aggressive manner may be excusable if she were a blunt but benign doctor, except a doctor she most certainly isn't. The ASA has at last said she must stop referring to herself as a doctor in her advertising (although at time of writing her website continues to plaster the undeserved title across the page) and, last week, Guardian reporter Ben Goldacre, who has long targeted this fraudulent woman, wrote his most devastating expose of McKeith. Goldacre managed to get his cat the same PhD qualification as McKeith, from the same "University". For fuck's sake people, stop watching her wretched programme, stop buying her books and products. Let's all pray she disappears up her own arse, never to return. Some quotes: "I think it is obvious she hasn't a clue about nutrition" - Amanda Wynne, senior dietician of the British Dietetics Association. "In my view Dr Gillian McKeith is a charlatan" - John Garrow, professor emeritus in human nutrition at London University "McKeith is a menace to the public understanding of science. She seems to misunderstand not nuances, but the most basic aspects of biology" - Ben Goldacre, author of The Guardian's Bad Science column. The great b3ta site has run a Gillian McKeith image challenge.
Ad twunts not living in the USA, like myself, have to avert our eyes from marketing events across the pond at this time of year. Yes, it's the fucking Superbowl with its fucking $90 billion per 5-second spot. Thank God the admirable Jetpack is rejecting the hype this year. As a Brit, I appreciate the other big American celebration that is Independence Day. Yes, good king George handed over the lease in return for reruns of M*A*S*H and Friends in perpetuity, and the jolly Yanks could dress up as Red Indians and build Disneyland out of tea, or something like that. But Superbowl is a cultural brick wall to me. I know that saying anything negative about the event to many Americans is like telling them that their mothers can't bake a decent pie and smell of weewee, but I simply don't get it. Not the sport, not the ads. Is the Superbowl supposed to be a game or an ad festival? Anyway, should I ever find myself locked in a hotel bedroom with just the Superbowl on the telly, I'd have to find something else to do to alleviate the boredom.
This is unusual. It’s what amounts to a public service announcement about the dangers of youngsters falling into debt. Very zzzzzz you might think but this has some curiousity value, not just because of the free use of one of my favourite terms of abuse, or because of the noble attempt to increase awareness of one of Britain’s fastest growing social and financial problems.
What makes this noteworthy is that this is a viral by the UK’s Conservative Party. There’s no Tory branding within, unless you visit the viral’s supporting site Sort-It.co.uk, where there’s a tiny copyright label. I am puzzled as to how this viral campaign could succeed. The fact that it’s made by a political party would be regarded a turn-off, and yet it’s that association that gives it its premium curiosity value. I’m no great admirer of the Tories (or of any of the major parties – it is I who should be in charge), but it would make a refreshing change if David Cameron’s new brand of fluffified capitalists managed to reach out to our disengaged and disinterested youth with this and forthcoming virals covering homelessness and racism. As long as the kids don’t vote Tory, of course. (Or maybe that’s too mean)
Click here for Guardian article and link to Quicktime version (may require registration).
These two clips are sent by the Viral Chart for Pokerroom.com. It seems that naff sex viral videos are par for the course for gambling websites, and this adis no exception. The second one is a more welcome departure, featuring a Pythonesque duel with what appears to be a willy joke at the end, although the definition is rather poor. I hope these ads do well; they are clearly aimed at the young male section of the Bored At Work Network, who are suckers at poker (especially when they logon after midnight having been on the sauce all evening). Oh yes, my darlings, come into my lair and bring your money with you. This cigar-chomping simian is waiting.
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