The Brady Lunch?

I'd probably avoid the Meat Feast, if I were you.

And what's the "family meal deal" exactly? Find one, get one free..?

Farcebook

Man pretending to be dead, yesterday

"Social Media Is a Double Edged Sword" apparently. Seems that some people aren't using it exactly how us marketing-tarts would like. I mean, can you believe it!? People having the audacity to just MAKE SHIT UP FOR THEMSELVES and post it on the internet! It's outrageous!

And just look at this (brilliant) article - people PRETENDING they're dying to get sympathy, and attention!? Well, I've never been so...

So what? So naive? So daft enough to think the internet is filled with nothing but goodwill and honesty? Don't be a dick.

Because Facebook and Web.2.0 have become some sort of loony evangelical church mission for advertising people, we all seem to have swallowed this romanticised notion of the internet where everyone/everything is safe and lovely and happy and friendly. But it's bollocks! The internet is/was/still the murky, apocryphal, sleazy, exotic, and (let's face it) not-entirely-honest place it's always been. Being on Facebook is a bit like walking around one of those gated communites in Florida, where everyone waves and smiles at you for no good reason. It all feels inclusive, but it's entirely selfish; not to mention eerie, and ever so slightly suspect. Yes, Facebook is doubtless a full-blown, recognisable "community" -but well... so was Waco.

So a great big baby big boo-hoo-hoo! to all those ad people who got bitten on the arse by some web content. For all our virals, vodcasts, and iApps, it seems the internet's still only good for one thing: wanking.

(In fact, I've just had a cracking wank. Think I'll go and Twitter about it...)

10 Imaginary Agencies

1. Mogodon (a tiny PR firm in Cheshire )

2. e-Schwirpes (digital - shit websites for local business. Named after owner)

3. V. (integrated bollocks)

4. Wallop (crap design agency in Liverpool/Sheffield)

5. Jungle Panda (Pee-Yar again. Anything named after an animal is always shit)

6. Dirt (wanky design collective with no office)

7. Kingdom Come (integrated London agency that had an amazing reputation about 10 years ago)

8. Thrust (DM, BTL stuff somewhere out of town)

9. Hello Humans (small Londonish agency who're up their own arses)

10 Trifle (packaging design, POS and thin catalogues)

Morose Code

From now on I'll be using Morse Code to broadcast distress signals (and further nuggets of turbulence) via Twitter.

Please follow the link at the side of the page. And keep this frequency clear!

An Oldie, But A Goodie

Heres an old sketch what i did write. it were in my desk with some rubbish papers but i still like

it lots yes. i hope you can enjoy it thank you

"JULY 1869"

A HUGE VICTORIAN SPACE SHIP LANDS ON THE MOON. IT IS MADE OF GLASS AND WROUGHT IRON, WITH GOTHIC STYLE WINDOWS AND A WEATHER-VANE ON THE NOSE CONE. A CLOUD OF DUST BILLOWS OUT FROM BENEATH IT

CUT TO: INT. SPACE SHIP

INSIDE ARE A TYPICAL VICTORIAN OUTING PARTY, WEARING DISCREET JULES VERNE-STYLE BREATHING APPARATUS OVER THEIR NOSES.

ADMIRAL SEAGROVE:

Ladies and gentlemen. May I have your attention please. Firstly, as I'm sure most of you will've noticed, we have reached the lunar surface.

GENERAL GASPS. SOME LADIES PRESS THEIR FACES TO THE WINDOW.

Ladies, please. I beg you not to fog the brass. (CLEARS THROAT) Gentles all, allow me to welcome you... to the moon!

EXCITED AND POLITE APPLAUSE.

Now before we set forth, I will remind the ladies that they have all been issued with a dust-retardant girdle (THE LADIES BLUSH) and the men a copy of Baedeker and Wisden. Are there any questions before we embark? (A LADY RAISES HER HAND) Yes, Miss. Emily?

MISS EMILY:

Permit me Admiral Seagrove, but you said we were all to wear flat shoes. Only I've forgetten my mother's galoshes and I notice some of the men are wearing gaitors...

ADMIRAL SEAGROVE:

Come, come my good woman. Let us not concern ourselves with trifling details. We are about to make history, yes? Now. If you'll allow me...

HE OPENS THE HATCH WHICH CREAKS LIKE AN OLD STEAM ENGINE.

Ladies first.

THE WOMEN EXCITEDLY MAKE THEIR WAY ON TO THE MOON SURFACE AT WHICH POINT ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE AS THEIR CRINOLINE SKIRTS FLOAT UP OVER THEIR HEADS. SOME OF THEM, ABASHED, FAINT.

AS THE MEN FOLLOW BEHIND, THEIR TOP HATS AND BEARDS ALL FLOAT UPWARDS AS SOME OF THEM ATTEMPT TO REVIVE THE LADIES WITH SMELLING SALTS AND SLAPS TO THE WRIST.

EVENTUTALLY, THE WOMEN ARE REVIVED AND THE MEN SEE THE FUNNY SIDE - PLAYFULLY CHASING THEIR HATS AND LAUGHING.

A GROUP OF PEOPLE HAVE LAID A PICNIC BLANKET OUT. A WOMAN WITH HER SKIRT OVER HER HEAD LIFTS A TEACUP TO HER FACE WHICH CATAPULTS OUT OF HER HAND AND OFF INTO SPACE. BEHIND HER, A MAN WITH AN EASEL AND PAINTS FLOATS PAST IN THE BACKGROUND.

ANOTHER LADY SITS EATING A SANDWICH. SHE REACHES INTO HER PETTICOAT AND TAKES OUT A BOOK. AS SHE OPENS IT, DOZENS OF PRESSED FLOWERS COME FLYING OUT OF THE PAGES.

A STREET URCHIN BARGES PAST A GENTLEMEN WHO, HAVING TAKEN OFFENCE, CLIPS HIM ROUND THE EAR, SENDING HIM TUMBLING OFF INTO SPACE.

SOME MEN HAVE DECIDED TO PLAY CRICKET. WITH A NOD, ONE OF THEM BOWLS. THE BALL TAKES ABOUT 45 SECONDS TO REACH THE BATSMAN WHO SUBSEQUENTLY MISSES.

A UNION-JACK HAS BEEN PLANTED IN THE GROUND. THE PARTY GATHER ROUND FOR A PHOTOGRAPH. WITH A PUFF OF SMOKE, THE PARTY ARE IMMORTALISED IN A SEPIA TONE PHOTO OF THEM ALL WITH THEIR BEARDS AT STUPID ANGLES AND THE WOMEN'S SKIRTS PULLED ROUND THEIR HEADS.

Media-Hedging

Media-Hedging.

What is it?

I dunno. I just made it up.

Maybe it's like Dog Paint? (I just made that up too).

Luv yers
x

Say No More

A big well done to everyone who succeeded at The Roses last night.

Here's some weird cat porn to celebrate.