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Category: advertising

Do You Smell That? That’s The Smell Of Victory — And Shaq

Do You Smell That? That’s The Smell Of Victory — And Shaq

I feel like something terrible has happened to me, but I can’t remember what it was. It feels like I was abducted by aliens, except aliens have the decency to give you a lollipop and a kind word after they probe you. Perhaps I’m thinking of something else, but the sentiment remains the same. I don’t appreciate unsolicited probing from anyone, and I especially don’t appreciate it coming from a Gold Bond foot powder commercial. I really don’t know how much information you can gather from a bum, but I absolutely forbid anyone trying to gather any information from mine. My body is a temple, among other things, and trans-dimensional Shaq-like beings are not allowed access to the service entrance.

Coincidentally trans-dimensional Shaq-like beings is the name of my Ace Of Base tribute band, but that’s a story for another time.

Breathe In, Breathe Out; For The Love Of God Man, Breathe Out

Breathe In, Breathe Out; For The Love Of God Man, Breathe Out

I’ve never had a yoga — perhaps I should rephrase that: never have I ever yogad. Wait, that’s not right either. Yoga have never I? Well, you guys get the idea. I’m no expert, but I think he’s taking this breathing thing a bit too far. Unless of course he’s not yogaing. Err — yogalizing? Whatever, breathing isn’t everything. It’s all about bending your body into funny shapes to impress girls and frighten men. Or is that the other way around? I’m just guessing, I don’t know how to yogamatize and I don’t think I ever will.

One thing that I do know about is advertising. I don’t know what this guy is selling, or if he’s even selling anything, but I want ten of them and I want them now. I’ve been mesmerized by his magnificent hyper-pornstache, and I’m willing to pay an absolutely exorbitant price for anything he’s offering. I’m pretty sure that’s how Chester A. Arthur got elected, but I’ve been wrong before.

If you aren’t voting for presidential candidates based on their facial hair there’s something deeply wrong with you and you should seek medical help.

If It’s Not Scottish It’s Crap

If It’s Not Scottish It’s Crap

(Warning: they’re Scottish, so they could be saying almost anything and I probably wouldn’t notice)

“Steamy windys in heelys? Nyke shrug mum. So hodensay cheese toast in here?”

I don’t think it’s humanly possible to produce better ads than these. The first sentence says it all:

“Steamy windys in heelys?” 

Now why didn’t I think of that? This kind of genius doesn’t come very often. I hope companies in America start incorporating indecipherable babbling into their advertisements. I would be a lot more likely to buy a new Chevy if the narrator simply blew spit bubbles into the microphone and screamed at the top of his lungs instead of wasting his breath talking about torque or horsepower per second, or whatever.

ROIGHT, BUNG ANOTHER DINGO ON THE BARBIE, MATE

ROIGHT, BUNG ANOTHER DINGO ON THE BARBIE, MATE

(Warning: some salty language)

I really wish he was speaking English, then we might be able to figure out what on Earth he’s doing. Whenever he opens his mouth a sea of incomprehensible drivel pours out and all I can understand is the occasional roight.

Again with the selfies, what’s wrong with you people? Although this one isn’t a selfie in my book it’s still a bit much. I didn’t know the selfie epidemic had already spread to Australia. I was planning on fleeing to the land down under if things got too bad here in the US, but now I have no idea where my last bastion will be. Maybe I can hide out in Madagascar until the next ice age, but I don’t think they’ll have me. They only seem to want anthropomorphic zoo animals over there anyways, but I don’t take it personally.

(Many thanks to Charles Schneider for sending this one or way)