Who Do They Think They're Kidding?
Brought to you in assocation with Safeway's Beef Gravy Granules. Mmmm! You can really taste the hydrogenated vegetable oil.
- Who do they think they're kidding with those old Bran Flakes adverts - "A step in the right direction". Do you remember the porky bloke who looked a bit like Jonathan King eating a bowl of bran flakes and then deciding to jog down to the newsagents? And then deciding to take the car instead? I thought you would. What a twat, eh? Presumably the premise of the advert is 'Bran Flakes. They're great for fat lazy bastards.' Although that slogan was probably dropped just before the campaign was actually launched.
As if eating bran would make you healthier anyway. It's fucking bran! It has no food value whatsoever, that's the point of it. Bran is what's left when they've extracted all the stuff that's good to eat from cereals. Instead of sweeping it up and throwing it away, Samuel Kellogg thought one day 'Hang on! I can flog this stuff off to idiots as health food!'. You might as well eat sawdust. It's actually got slightly more vitamins in.
- Who do they think they're kidding with the Notting Hill Carnival? Oh sure, it's a spontaneous expression of fun, laughter and dancing, and not simply an opportunity to shift a few million crates of Fanta, or something. Why not come to the Carnival and spend a couple of hours queueing very slowly to get out of the tube station, only to be deafened by grim jungle music coming from the ghetto blaster next to your head, and then find the only refreshments available are absurdly overpriced hot dogs. Great. I'll certainly be back next year. You're not even allowed to riot anymore, so what's the point?
- Who do they think they're kidding with that stupid deodorant advert? You know the one. A rather androgynous-looking male model is happily posing for a life class when Ms. Silly Glasses walks past in a stinking cloud of Impulse, at which point he becomes the victim of his own erectile tissue. Or so we're led to believe. I mean really. Are we genuinely supposed to think that this stuff engenders priapism by purely olfactory means? I wonder. Perhaps there's a new slogan on the way: "When a man you've never met before comes up to you with an enormous hard-on, that's Impulse." It just used to make men (allegedly) give you flowers. What the fuck have they put in it for Version 2.0? Powdered rhino horn or something? It could be the start of a new range: 'Lynx for Men, now with added Spanish Fly'... 'White Satin by Yardley, for the women who likes to induce involuntary ejaculation in complete strangers'.... 'Insignia All-Over Gel, lubricates women's sexual parts at up to 50 yards in
The bit I like is where she looks up, sees this naked man's erect, throbbing penis... and giggles and starts drawing it! I wish I could say I've had the same reaction when exposing myself on public transport. The police weren't at all impressed by my explanation that the bus driver was wearing Impulse. Tchah.
- Who do builders think they're kidding? And why are they always cut from the exact same template as every other builder you ever met. They must go to accent classes. "Naaah mate. It's your joists." And why do they spend the whole day slacking off, swopping fags and drinking tea, only to go into a frenzy of noisy hammering at 7am? Bastards. And why do they consistly refer to their profession as 'the building game'? Doesn't look like much of a game to me, I've had more fun playing Ludo with a group of beetles who couldn't even hold the dice.
- Who do they think they're kidding with Rice Krispies? They even have a family of animated cartoon characters who come out to explain to children why they're so nutritious. It's fucking rice. All they do is tip a ton of Uncle Ben's into a blast furnace and give them five minutes on Gas Mark 7. I could do that. Don't even get me started on Corn Flakes. No, I haven't forgotten how crap they taste. If I had I'd be sleeping at nights.
- Who do they think they're kidding with that stupid Irish beer advert. You know the one. A Littlewoods catalogue sweater model orders a pint of Caffreys and is hallucinogenically transported to a fake, K-Tel Ireland that never existed except in beer adverts. A horse runs through a deserted village street, for no adequately explained reason. An unconvincingly red-haired girl turns moodily to camera in the middle of a field of waving corn. Probably wondering whether she's got enough money for another bottle of Boots hair dye. A sequence of meaningless, 'lifestyle' images like you'd get in a Coke advert before they went terribly messianic and ecological, or a Tampax advert before somebody realised they were shit and stopped doing them.
What is the message of this commercial? Presumably the man is thinking to himself, "Isn't it terrible that the simple charm and romance of these bygone [fictional] days, where people lived simple peasant lives but miraculously always had enough to eat and so on, has been replaced by House of Pain? On the other hand, you certainly wouldn't have been able to buy a pint of Caffreys in that looking-glass Eire; the best you could hope for would be some kind of potato-based potation smelling faintly of dirt and methanol. So on the whole things aren't too bad."
The people who market all these Irish beers (manufactured under license in Ruislip) seem to have agreed that their primary message is one of life-affirmation. Feel good with Irish beer. Reminisce interminably about your first kiss. Fantasise about the Boots hair-dye girl. Dye your hair white and play a rogue android in a Ridley Scott movie. And you know what I say to them?
I thought you probably would.
- Who do they think they're kidding with that stupid sitcom. You know the one I mean. A bunch of sensitive, gorgeous, immensely rich youngsters who spend their whole time sitting around drinking coffee and talking about their relationship problems. It really gets on my nips. They all love each other really but spend their days slagging each other off in a variety of interesting and presumably witty ways. This doesn't remotely resemble anyone's life, how are we expected to identify with this rubbish? It just presents a soft-focus advertising dream world of impossible luxury and 'cool' lifestyles we can never hope to attain, thus bringing more misery into our already drab and wretched waking hours. Yes, I'm firmly convinced that BBC2's 'This Life' should be withdrawn from our screens and replaced with something more gritty and realistic, like 'Friends'.
- Who does Chris Smith think he's kidding demanding that Camelot chiefs hand over their fat wallets to charity? Oh! How awful that the people who run the lottery are motivated by personal greed! What does he think motivates the people who play the lottery? If they're so keen on charities, why don't they just donate the money directly instead of buying lottery tickets? Because they want to get stinking rich, that's why! They couldn't give a toss what percentage Cashelot rake off for themselves, as long as they're in with a chance of winning a huge wad. I even heard someone suggest the lottery gives hope to the poor. What hope? The hope that they can stuff three or four pounds a week into Scamalot's pockets instead of buying food and clothes? Great hope. Talk about a tax on the stupid. If I wasted a fiver playing the Trivia Quiz machine in the pub, I wouldn't expect to (a) see part of the proceeds going to charity, or (b) get help and support for my addiction to throwing
- Who do the politicians think they're kidding with this here general election nonsense? Everyone knows politicians say one thing and do another. Whatever they say before the election, whoever gets into power will proceed to do exactly what they like for five years. And if someone objects, they'll say, like the Tories did this time, "We have a mandate from the British people." Like shag you do. You have a mandate from about a hundred and forty middle-aged farmer's wives who think that nice Mr Macmillan is still in charge and always vote Conservative because they're the kind of people who always put the milk in first because they're the kind of people who always do the things they've always done. Urinate over the lot of them is what I say. Don't trust anyone with the economy whom you wouldn't trust to go to the shops with your purse and buy a loaf of Mother's Pride.
- Who do Renault think they're kidding with those Megane adverts? 'The car that talks your language'. What a sack of vomit that is. First off, right, it doesn't really talk. So they lied about that. Second off, if it did talk, would you want it to talk like an annoying younger brother who keeps bursting in on you and your girlfriend and giggling? Third off, or wherever I've got to, presumably we're supposed to admire the man who owns the Megane, think he's cool, and want to emulate him. Yeeessss. Very gooooooood. I don't think so. The man is a fool! A fool! I mean if you're going to have a talking car, what's wrong with the brand-leading Knight Industries 2000? At least that has turbo boost, remote lock-picking facility, autopilot and cutting lasers. Admittedly the driver is also a big soppy fool, but at least the car kicks ass. Good thinking, Renault. I should fucking coco.
- Who do they think they're kidding with King Size Rizlas? Does anyone actually smoke six-inch long cigarettes? I don't think so. And if they're for purely innocuous purposes, why do people always buy a packet of cigarettes at the same time? Hmm?