Tuesday, 30 June 2009

Soul Mates

Sensitive copywriter, 6ft, no sense of humour that time of day, WLTM fat, pretentious cunt in salmon pink shirt, waving iPhone in air like a baby, bellowing across Pret-A-Manger in Spinningfields at 7.30am about "Porches", "supercharged," "Uttoxeter" and some other bollocks about Cheshire Life photo shoots, for scowling, resentment, and facial stabbing.

Monday, 29 June 2009

Meanwhile, back at the donkey sanctuary...

It's that time of year again when advertising undergraduates begin swarming round agencies looking for a home.

I can't help but think that part of the reason I'm currently at the Donkey Santuary is because I never took the traditional "Uni + Placement = Advertising Job Challenge" all those years ago, so the whole process remains morbidly fascinating to me.

With this in mind, Dre and I have just been looking at the entry process for W+K's Platform gubbins (the wanky London name for their no doubt over-subscribed grad programme). The first part of the application involves responding to a brief they've set. And since I've never had to do anything like this, I started to wonder how I might've responded...

The brief says: "Think of something that really tests your patience, fix it or offer a better solution." It then lists examples of some of the things that currently "bother" W+K. These are: Estate agents, urban foxes, people not giving up their train seats to elderly people and a couple more bits of Utopia-shattering trivia that make them sound cute. After asking you to research and identify your problem, you're then expected to "Make your solution happen" and then "Document it".

Hmm... Well, my first instinct was inevitably going to be some sort of asassination attempt. Who or what annoys me and how should I kill them? Shall I gas Tony Blair, Gordon Ramsey, or my cunty fucking neighbour? But then after a bit of "research" I realised that that wasn't where my problem lay at all. My problem lay in me thinking that that was my problem. Which made me really dislike myself for thinking that way in the first place. So the solution was possibly going to have to be that I gassed myself. But then, that's exactly the same kind of thinking that got me there in the first place. So the solution would logically have to be some kind of indifference, and stop thinking about it all together. But then not thinking about it, means not actually solving it at all, because I'm not actually dealing with the problem. Plus, "documenting" me not thinking about my problem would be very difficult, and possibly wouldn't even qualify. I'd have to do something really creative to solve my problem instead, so I thought about making some posters to distract me from my actual problem, but then anything like that was only going to be another form of self-denial which is precisely where all this came from in the first place.

Maybe I'll leave it this year, eh.

My Life is Too Short

You know how it is: you get a vague idea of a quick blog post and log on to You Tube for some supporting evidence.

Top of the recommendations list (before I'd even clicked in the search box) was a clip entitled "Shit On My Face?" So, thinking I might be able to answer the question, I was momentarily side-tracked. Here's the clip:

Sadly, my list of unread literary masterpieces, and undiscovered works of art prevents me from deciphering what any of this relates to.

Who is this girl?
What is that accent?
Is there going to be shit on her face?

I guess I'll never know.

Although, one clue could be in the comments box below the clip. A viewer called "GregPollard" says:

"I'd like to remove your buttcheeks, put my cock in your arse, sew the removed area to the front of my pelvis, then, I dunno, Cut a hole in your rectal passage way so I could piss out of your vagina.
I dunno I'm making this up as I go.
Wierd enough"

Whatever is going on, I'm just relieved there's someone as honest and plain-speaking as Greg Pollard involved.

As you were, Internet. As you were.

Sunday, 28 June 2009


Which Michael Jackson will you remember?

The tormented megastar?

The pop genius behind Thriller?

Or the lithe young child-star with silky soft skin, beautiful lips, and quivering, hairless buttocks?

The child is not my son.

(Don't think that's his hand, either)

Friday, 26 June 2009


Dre's hurt his hoof an old clarinet so really busy here at the donkey sanctuary. I've absolutely no complaints about that, though it does mean blog-posts will be punchy and succinct. Like Dave Trott but with proper punctuation.

So, I'll start with a picture of Jon Robb.

Why? Because he's from Manchester and shits on about the North all the time. North this, North that, North this that and the other he goes all day long like some retarded provincial housewife, clinging to his past as it goes over a waterfall... weeeeee! Poor fucker.

Anyway, the crux of Jon's wreckless (and fucking irritating) nostalgia is the loss of his precious Manchester "scene". Was there/wasn't there ever a Manchester scene for Jon Robb to participate in? I don't really know or care to be honest. However, I do care about Manchester having some sort of "creative scene". And I don't just mean hanging round the Northern Quarter with preposterous facial hair and a fucking beret.

No, I'm talking about blogs. All the bloody ad blogs I read are in London. Everyone's got one!Why aren't there more sweary, self-indulgent (Northern) blogs like this one? Why aren't there more Northern blogs full stop? If this were the BBC they'd be demanding to hear Asian and disabled "voices" too. And I don't mean people's portfolios disguised as blogs. I mean proper blogs with personalities and opinions.

I know regionalism's pathetic and reactionary, and that Jon Robb's what you might call a "shite supremecist", but I'm tired of reading about fucking Shoreditch all the time.

And so's my man, Dre. And he's donkey for Christsake.

Celebrity Eggs # 1

Katie Melua

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

Found A Job

Fate's a fickle fucker isn't he. Just when you think the chips are down, he throws you a [insert gambling metaphor] and you're back in the game. Which means that for the time being, I can juuuust about afford to blog for a little while longer. Phew.

After last week's shock announcement that I'd be taking a break from blogging to get my career and domestic shit together, I was inundated with literally thousands of tens of dozens of work offers. Seriously. I was knocking 'em back with the shittiest stick I could muster. So, to all people who offered me their support, I say "10,000 thank yous" (which is at least 1 to all of you) and a further 8.5million sorries to the 9million people whose job offers I had to turn down (500,000 of you were recruitment agents).

So whose temporary job offer did I actually take in the end?

Well, it turned out that wanking off the Yardies was excellent money (piece work), but dreadful hours. Likewise, Fallon begged me to be their head of copy but in the economic downturn I just didn't think it'd be a stable enough position. If I'm gonna work in advertising, I want to have a future in it after all.

So, after lots of chin-scratching, weighing up the pros and cons, worrying how these things are gonna look my CV etc. I decided that until things pick-up and I can work in a good agency doing some great, award-winning stuff, I'll take a temporary job... at the animal sanctuary. Which means that for the time being, this blog will be less about advertising and more about my new job: donkey rehab.

This is my new workmate, Dr. Dre. He's got a gammy hip amongst other things. It's my job to walk him up and down the exercise pit between two watermelons. After 100 repetitions I let him eat one of the melons. This is to strengthen his resolve pending his release back into the wild. It's tedious (some would say futile) work, but I keep my hand in my reading him Creative Review.

Seems Dre loves fonts!

Monday, 15 June 2009

Sad But True

It's not often I'm sincere on this blog, so I apologise in advance to anyone expecting some humorous tits or weird profanities.

But sadly, thanks to the recession, there simply isn't enough work around for me to pay my mortgage anymore. And frankly, blogging doesn't pay the bills.

So, if anybody wants me to write something for them, I'll try and squeeze you in between road-sweeping and wanking off Yardies or whatever it is I'm gonna have to do in the meantime to make ends meet.

Whilst I love every minute that I spend here, talking to oneself on a blog combined with long-term unemployment isn't just a recipe for potential suicide, it's a complete and utter waste of my energy. So for the time being, I simply can't afford to be here anymore.

Thanks to anyone who's ever bothered to read past the swearing. I promise to be back as soon as I can be. Let's just hope I'll still be (vaguely) writing about advertising and not life as a shelf stacker at Tesco.

Peace out.

Take Your Pick

What dya want to blog about today?


...or Hitler sunbathing in the nude?

I'm easy.

The Smelly Brown Cloud of Received Opinions

It may pain us to admit it, but advertising does smell just a weeee bit of bullshit. And even though it may only be the faintest ambient whiff in the air, its source is a putrifying uber-midden that's been nailed into the floorspace by a pranking builder last thing on a Friday. In other words, there's bullshit and poo poos built into the very walls of our industry. And whilst it won't do us any harm, we all wreak of it like cigarette smoke. No, we can't smell it on ourselves or eachother: it takes an outsider, non-ad-person to notice it.

Don't believe me? Then just show Mother's website to someone who doesn't work in advertising.

God fucking help us.

Friday, 12 June 2009

I wonder what ever happened to her...

Fans of this blog will the remember the wonderful occasion I posted some hilariously damning comments about an anonymous account handler whom our entire creative dept. despised.

Well, I was just drinking my afternoon advocaat by the pool and smirking to myself at what a dreadful turd she was. One of those impossible women who you could absolutely count on to escalate any given situation because she was totally incapable of communicating anything to anyone, which meant she'd huff around in a state of perpetual cuntish frustration, either deferring everything to her manager or having a tantrum. It was like working for fucking Hamlet. Or an exceptionally shit sociopath (which is possibly the same thing). Ignorant, condescending, unhelpful and devisive, she was a flagrant imbecile who filled each and every one of us with a savage, yet impotent rage by turning the simplest, bread-and-butter "product shot with price" client brief into some inpenetrable schizoid psychodrama. They were amazing - like they'd been written by Phillip K. Dick after 9 days without any sleep.

Moral of the story? We ended up hating her and the poor client as well, which is no way to fucking work.

And whilst we never did set fire to her in the manner I advocated here, I do rather hope she's subsequently taken her own life. Or at the VERY least isn't in advertising anymore.

What larks, John. What larks!

Wilkommen. I am your host

Can't claim to have designed or executed this, however it is MY idea in the sense that I've thought about it lots, and lots, and lots, and lots...


Anyway, whadya reckon - a new bit of DM for Ryanair maybe?

Thursday, 11 June 2009

Was gonna write about wanky 80s TV ads for ages but Scamp used to do all that before he blew his brains out. Anyway, do you remember the 80s?

Yeah, I do thanks. And it mostly felt like this.

Was it the same for you? Here, you have a go.

Evidently, THIS commercial...

... ran for 14 YEARS!!!! That's 14 WHOLE years of this...

followed by even more of THAT!

And yet, whilst writing this post, I've somehow only managed to watch "it" (by which I mean this...)

...all the way through 3 times, without first feeling a bit queasy...

... then a bit lost...

... and finally completey, and utterly suicidal. I feel so empty... so lonely by the end. I want to shed a single, pathetic tear like the woman does and then stick my head under that bloody stupid sword.

Christ, no wonder I was 22 before I even tried Turkish Delight.

Come on, let's have some Prozac and watch it again. Just don't leave me by myself, ok?

Wednesday, 10 June 2009

Tuesday, 9 June 2009

Weeeeee...! It's A Magic Carpet Ride

Long day? Then what could be more relaxing than spending some quality time inside your very own Iranian chat show.

Admittedly, I haven't the faintest forensic idea what these men are talking about.

Highlights include some of most languid vision-mixing EVER, and man throwing other fella the V's at around 3 mins. 20.

Oh, and all the action takes place... ON A MAGIC CARPET!

Same time tomorrow?

A TV ad about TV ads being on TV being shown on TV

TV! TV! TV! TV! TV! TV! TV! TV! TV! TV! TV! TV! TV! TV! Teeeee veeeeee!

An ad that advertises ads. Headfuck, genius, or stultifying cultural feedback loop?


(No wonder Scamp finally killed himself)

Monday, 8 June 2009

I thought he'd never shut-up

Thank fucking Christ for that.

Saturday, 6 June 2009

Kids Of Today

Saturday morning's all about kid's telly aint it. Spiderman, Ben Ten, that "In the Night Garden" thing. Maybe your kids are knelt infront of the telly right now?

Well, flick the remote and gather 'em round the PC. Tell them Uncle John's got a cartoon for them to watch. It's a little video by The Residents (remember them?) and it kinda reminded me of The Klangers (meets Eraserhead). And kids love The Klangers, don't they...

Oh. You don't like it? Please don't cry. Don't you like industrial synthesisers and performance art..?

Well the avant-garde was all we had when I was your age. There was none of this mainstream CBeebies muck. We had to go to fancy-dress parties as Ubu Roi, not bloody Spiderman or Power Rangers. And as for Toy Story and Pixar - it was all Derek Jarman and Ken Russell in my day!

Friday, 5 June 2009

Put A Cock In It Will Ya

Crikey. Some amazing new technology from CBS Outdoor that allows you to stand in the middle of a shopping centre infront of a sign with your iPod/Phone and use it to control a picture of...um... a shoe that spins round in three dimensions.

What's that CBS? You're going to turn billboard ads into... really crap arcade games? Brilliant! I can't wait for "Pac Man" by Estee Lauder .

And to think Xbox unveiled the Natal Project this week... Mircrosoft must be cacking themselves. What dya reckon?

10 Things to do in London

1. Become an architect

2. Turn homeless people into art

3. Fall asleep in the theatre/"thee-etta"

4. Surveil a babbling foreigner

5. Smile less

6. Shag a young playwright

7. Check all the trains

8. Hang round Camden long enough to be sick

9. Visit another gallery

10. Take yourself more seriously

Wednesday, 3 June 2009

Stop it, Ken! - Ooff!

Lots of people blogging about Yorkshire Tea's new ad featuring John Shuttleworth. And a lot of people all seem to be saying the same things...

So a big congratulations to all the planners who don't work for BMB but also (correctly) identified that having a cup of tea is all about having a rest. Well done, guys. Without that kind of ruthless, murderous insight the sun'd surely still be orbiting our flat and shitty Earth.

I'll leave you all to your self-congratulatory nodding with some more devastating consumer insight from the man himself... Enjoy.

NOTE: Whilst I can heartily recommend everything John Shuttleworth's ever done, die-hard fans should dig out a Shuttleworth rarity called "Blue John" - Graham Fellows' demo disc for BBC Radio. Much darker and stranger than the Shuttleworth's we know today. Superb.