Monday, December 18, 2006

Another belter



This 'message' has been appearing with depressing regularity in the free newspapers that carpet the insides of our public transport each morning.

In it npower, for it is they, liken the drop you'll receive in your energy bill if you switch from British Gas, to jumping (presumably screaming) out of an aeroplane.

Look, they say, this man is having a wonderful time as he plummets to earth at several hundred miles an hour. And the experience is exactly the same when you switch to npower.

However the faces of the yellow and blue balls falling with our new npower customer tell a rather different story.

They're shitting bricks.

Friday, December 15, 2006

Great ad!



Serious big-time hats off to the creative genius behind this festive ad from 3V.

No, I've never heard of them either but it's always good to welcome a new player onto the scene, especially one who can call upon such creative wizardry that clearly lies behind this piece of 'work'.

There you are, sweating away at your desk, desperately trying to communicate safe, pre-paid online vouchers (hey, we've all been there) in a simple, easy-to-understand way, when suddenly, in a blinding flash of inspiration, the solution presents itself.

Meercats.

Dressed up as though they've been Christmas shopping. Because that is what Meercats do, don't you see? And as they're responsible for the vast majority of online consumer spending these days it makes perfect sense.

And they're popular too. Remember that programme about them on the telly, narrated by the nice Mr Attenborough? How cool was that!

This ad is gonna be a sure-fire hit. And you can damn well quote me on that too!

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Read all about it



Hang on.

'Ripper'?

I thought that word was only used to describe a certain method of murder (Peter Sutcliffe, Jack the Ripper) characterised by a high level of butchery.

At the time of writing however, one of the chief distinguishing characteristics of each victim has been the absence of any hint of violence.

So why not write 'Ipswich killer' or 'serial killer'?

Because 'ripper' is the best way of sensationalising this crime and flogging more newspapers?

Of course, why let facts stand in the way of a good headline.

Silly me.

Monday, December 11, 2006

Fruit?



Poorly-designed labels for kids' drinks are hardly the place to look for linguistic logic but here's a corker nevertheless from Minute Maid (who? - no idea).

Whoa what are you saying man, do you see how they've spelled 'fruit'? That's not logic, it's madness.

Point taken, but don't you think it's actually far more logical to spell the word 'f-r-o-o-t' than 'f-r-u-i-t'? Yes, I know 'Froot' is only a name conjured up by some marketing loon, and let's face it, a couple of hours in a strip-lit meeting room surrounded by other 'marketeers' is likely to make even the sanest spout bollocks.

But 'fruit'. Or, 'frewit' as it conceivably might be pronounced. I mean, why? What's wrong with spelling words as they are sounded?

Steady on you fool, do you know what you're saying?

What vocab snobs in Britain deride as poor American English spelling could also be termed common sense. Why does 'colour' need a 'u'? Color. There, see. And with the constant seepage of US culture into all parts of the globe, will 'English' eventually be identified by American spelling? And called 'American'?

What rot! I shall be writing a very stiff letter to the Daily Mail about this!

After all we have 'Kwik Save' and 'Kwik Fit'. Yes, I know, brand names. But surely a more sensible way to spell the word than 'q-u-i-c-k'. And it's not dissimilar to 'cwic', an olde englishe word that meant 'alive'. Probably because in those days running fast improved one's life expectancy.

So, could spelling be going back to its roots?

Then of course, we have text speak. Or should that be 'txt spk'?

Aaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!!!!!

Friday, December 08, 2006

It's Cliff!



Don't know if Cliff's releasing a Christmas single this year but, even if he was, I doubt the author of this comment will be buying it.

Whoever it was clearly loathes the 'Peter Pan of Pop' (copyright, every tabloid in Britain) a great deal.

Not content with merely daubing 'I'm a cunt' across the face of Sue Barker's Ex, the anonymous scribbler has gone further by adding the word 'right' into the abusive mix. Thus informing us that, in the opinion of said wordsmith, Cliff's levels of cuntness have reached a peak that everyday run-of-the-mill cunts can only dream of.

In the words of Cliff himself at the 1968 Eurovision Song Contest... 'Congratulations!'

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Ho, ho, ho



Nice to see a bit of 'bah humbug' amid the schmaltz.

So full marks to the expensive jewellery department at Selfridges who don't give a bugger for price reductions just because it happens to be the 'festive' season.

Let's face it, they'd be pretty meaningless anyway when the trinket you've got your eye on is upwards of ten grand, and no amount of fifty-quid-off stickers is going to change that.

Friday, December 01, 2006

Lovey stuff



Cheery messages written on free newspapers and left for other people to pick up on public transport?

Fuck, yeah!

Despite the shaky writing and piss-poor spelling, the generosity of spirit shines out in a cynical old world.

Nice smiley face too.

Shame about the haircut.

Thursday, November 30, 2006

Builders, piss your mate off by writing uncomplimentary things about him in wet concrete



Don't know how old this is but it's been there a while.

Maybe Phil took the not-so-subtle hint and went on a diet and isn't fat any more. Perhaps he's thinking of visiting the site and amending 'is' to 'was' with a chisel or something.

Then again, he could have been so upset by what he took to be bullying at the workplace that he started comfort eating and got fatter and fatter until he became morbidly obese and had to be taken to hospital by firemen who needed to pull the side of his house down to gain access.

Yeah, that sounds right.

Phil, if you're reading, get well soon.

And hey, join a gym big fella.

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Graffiti rules ok

A lovely message scrawled on the back of a toilet door in the gents at Frankley service station on the M5:

"David Williams, keep up the good work on the nightshift, your wife is a great shag."

It's signed "Gibbo".

Hair and golf. Naturally



ROBIN: Holy cumshots Batman! Look at this fantastic new hair treatment.

BATMAN: It appears to be a remarkable advance for medical science Boy Wonder.

ROBIN: It sure does. Check out the thickness of his re-growth.

BATMAN: Notice too my youthful partner in crime, how his sideburns have also extended.

ROBIN: Zowie! And hey, what's that on his upper lip?

BATMAN: Yes, most curious.

ROBIN: Suffering anuses! It's a moustache!

BATMAN: Extraordinary. The beginnings of upper lip growth can clearly be seen.

ROBIN: But Batman, why in satan's name is he playing golf?

BATMAN: That is a mystery that even my great powers cannot solve, boy... friend... wonder. Boy Wonder.

ROBIN: Cocks alive!

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

We can sleep safe in our beds



Good news for residents on Anglesey in North Wales. It looks like the local cops are cracking down on lavatorial naughtiness in a big way.

Figures just in show that assaults on hand dryers are down 47%, toilet roll stuffed down the bog has been reduced by a third and the average depth of piss on the floor is now less than two inches.

Great work guys!

Monday, November 27, 2006

Tabloid lingo



Loving the way our newspapers condense and combine words for reasons of space. This beauty was the result of a story in which some lunatic stabbed a young woman at a museum then threw himself off a high balcony.

But they didn't call it a 'stab-fall' which is actually shorter. That's because nobody falls to their death these days, they 'plunge'. Presumably screaming. And so 'stab-plunge' was born.

One day we'll think it's all so normal.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Crime doesn't pay



Maybe the police should advertise too:

"Filmed some crime? Mind if we have a look first? Sorry to be a pain. Love, the Police. (Not the band)."

Then again, if I was a bored security guard looking to supplement my shitty pay, what would I do?

"Hello, is that Sky...?"

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Dear traffic warden... part 1



As you can see from the tax disc, this is a few years old. Yet age doth not wither it one jot. To read, click on the pic.

The writer, one 'Mr Poole', here challenges the traffic wardens to ticket his car for he has the power of the Lord on his side who verily will smite down with great anger and furious vengence... etc. whoever is impudent enough to slap a ticket on his Nissan Micra.

Calling up divine authority in the shape of 'Sister Theresa', Mr Poole can park wherever he ruddy well likes safe in the knowledge that he has the backing of the Church, and its own special brand of firepower.

"Being as this is a .44 lightning bolt, the most powerful lightning bolt in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, traffic warden?"

Dear traffic warden... part 2



Next, a short essay which I think gives a little insight into the joys of car ownership in the capital. There's a lot of reflection on the windscreen, including me, so I'll transcribe what it says, (to read, click on the image as before):

CAR PARKED HERE LEGALLY FOR MONTHS. BROKEN INTO AND WRITTEN OFF AWAITING REMOVAL. THEY HAVE STOLEN THE PARKING PERMIT & TAX DISC. PLEASE DO NOT BOTHER TICKET THIS CAR: THERE IS A VALID PERMIT FOR IT SO TICKETS WILL BE REVOKED. Thank you

A clear tale of misery and woe that would surely bring a lump to the throat of even the most iron-hearted warden. I particularly like the encicling of the word 'stolen', there's some real anger and frustration here. And in their rage the anonymous scribbler has even missed off the '-ing' from 'ticketing'. Then we have the mysterious 'they' to consider: like some extra-governmental agency is going around nicking London's cars - quite probably with the Mayor's blessing.

A couple of days later there was a ticket under the wiper. Brilliant.

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Hands up if...



A gem from Metro's small ads.

"How often did you visit the lady?'

"What was the nature of her service?'

"And did she always defecate on your face?"

Monday, November 20, 2006

Today's word is... 'camp'

I was pondering this for a bit. And the following word associations bobbed up:







Hmm, it all seemed so innocent to begin with too.

This may become a regular series, then again it may not.

Friday, November 17, 2006

Does exactly what it says on the tin



Farmers know all about communication and this bloke is no different.

He's got a pile of shit to get rid of and boy, does he get the message across. He's even written it on a stone tablet for pete's sake.

Whether it's "get off my land!" Or, "I'll set my fucking dogs on you!", farmers tell it like it is.

We should have more of them in advertising.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Why bother with the doctor?



From just one issue of 'Metro' yesterday. More than a newspaper, it's now the place to go to diagnose all your ailments.

But notice the use of inverted commas: someone else said it, we didn't, don't sue. 'Linked' is a good word too. A great way to increase public paranoia without going through the tedious rigmarole of backing the statement up with proof.

Tense headache? Well, there's bound to be something about it in Metro soon. Probably saying that it is caused by drinking cans of fizzy pop.

Or eating sausages.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Greetings from Earth



This image is visible from space.

Presumably we're hoping that any passing aliens who happen to have the munchies stop by for a Bargain Bucket of the Colonel's finest.

Surely there must be better places in the Universe to eat.

Isn't there a Pizza Express on Saturn?

Oh dear



This is telly in 2006. On 'Living TV' apparently.

As you can see I've circled it to ensure I don't forget.

Ceci n'est pas une pipe



Love this message. How could anyone mistake it for a toy? It's not brightly coloured, doesn't have wheels etc. And frankly any child, under the age of three or not, would have sure grounds for legal action if they opened their Christmas stocking and found this inside.

Monday, November 13, 2006

T-shirts that people wear long after they have any relevance

Why would a grown man choose to wear a t-shirt with the words

'Keele University Men's Badminton Team'

on the back?

Apart from when playing badminton at Keele University for the men's team?

Perhaps he wanted to show shoppers in Sainsbury's, for that is where I saw it, that once upon a time he was an athletic god who could smash a shuttlecock over quite a high net for someone else to smash back at him whereupon he would smash it back again, as would his opponant, until the shuttlecock (or 'cock' for short), hit the floor.

Maybe he felt we needed to know that.

Now that's more like it



Hitting the nail on the head here.

But, but, but... wait a minute. If smoking kills then we mustn't forget that it also does a great many other things. Stuff like making you look older when you're trying to get into pubs; impressing girls with your sophisticated yet devil-may-care attitude (see also 'swearing'); and giving your voice a throaty rasp adding to your sex appeal (particularly important when you're fifteen).

Friday, November 10, 2006

Cough, splutter!



I thought health warnings on fag packets were supposed to say stuff like 'this will harm you, do not smoke unless you want to die in agony with your lungs full of shit'.
But it seems that these days Marlboro only want to speak to people with a BSc in Chemistry as I doubt very much whether your average 14 year-old on a council estate knows their hydrogen cyanide from their elbow.
Ah, unless this is some sort of vile Darwinistic ploy to kill off the thickies by using big words that they don't understand thus removing their genes from the gene pool and furthering the development of the 'ubermenschen'.

Hmm, cunning.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Toilet humour, or piss-poor education?


"Cleaning closed in wet floor progress"????

Er, what? Looks like the standards of bog maintenance in the fair city of York are higher than the educational ones in the local schools. But as I walked away I felt a nagging feeling in my loins (no, not that feeling)... could it be genius?