More DIY videos at 5min.com
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Monday, May 26, 2008
Forgive and remember.
Yep. I know that the phrase goes Forgive and Forget. But the documentary Forgiving Dr. Mengele sure makes you think hard if you can actually do it.
Eva Mozes Kor is a victim of the Holocaust. She was sent to Auschwitz, where the angel of death, Dr. Josef Mengele did... horrible things. Just... horrible. Since Eva was a twin, Mengele put her and her sister thru hell. According to Wikipedia:
"Experiments on twin children in concentration camps were created to show the similarities and differences in the genetics and eugenics of twins, as well as to see if the human body can be unnaturally manipulated. The central leader of the experiments was Dr. Josef Mengele, who performed experiments on over 1,500 sets of imprisoned twins, of which fewer than 200 individuals survived the studies..."
"Dr. Mengele organized the testing of genetics in twins. The twins were arranged by age and sex and kept in barracks in between the tests, which ranged from the injection of different chemicals into the eyes of the twins to see if it would change their colors to literally sewing the twins together in hopes of creating conjoined twins."
I cannot fathom how much pain and suffering Eva endured. But she knew just one thing: she had to survive. She was just 9 or 10 years old and still she knew that the only way to win over the Nazis was just to make her body heal and survive yet another day. She knew all her family was dead and all the will in her body told her that she had to be there for her sister. She was all she had.
They finally escape the camp, the war had ended. They moved to the US and suddenly her sister died. She had some organ troubles caused by Mengele's injections. So now, all alone, no father, no mother, no sister. And you know what? She decided to forgive the Nazis. She needed to forgive in order to move on with her life.
Is Eva some kind of super human being? I sure don't know. If I lost my mother due to anything this horrendous, I am sure I would not even give forgiveness a thought. I would turn into a monster. I would like revenge. But... would it satisfy me? Interesting question. According to Eva, when terrible things happen to us or someone we love, if we keep living in the pain, we never truly heal. Suffering has a way to kill us, little by little. Her stance is... you need to forgive... but remember.
This way of thinking has caused trouble with Holocaust survivors and Mengele Twins who survived. They cannot understand her... sometimes I found it hard to do it myself. Here was a woman who was basically an orphan, forgiving the people who killed every thing she loved.
If you have ever needed to forgive and cannot do it for some reason, I would give this documentary a try. I'm still undecided on her views, but still, it was definitively food for thought.
Goodbye, Sydney.
Today is a sad day; we have lost a great Director, Producer and Actor. Sydney Pollack, in my book, is a great talent and will be missed. One of my favorite scenes of all time has him and Dustin Hoffman. Syd, you rock. May you enjoy life in heaven, sir.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
A Belated Review: IronMan
Let's see. I can write for over an hour on it. I can write long paragraphs, talk about script, acting... directing...
Or I can sum it up because honestly there are no words.
THIS MOVIE ROCKS VERY MUCH AND YOU SUCK IF YOU MISS IT.
There. Robert Downey Jr??? You the man, dude.
Friday, May 23, 2008
OOOOh I can imagine how much you're gonna forward this post
See the little envelope below the post? Yeah. Click there and send this to all your friends!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
What took you so long, Indy?
This week, the balance of the universe, for some people, hanged in the Archuleta vs Cook win. Talk about priorities... For me, I honestly cared about one thing this week: Indiana Jones. Yes, he's a bit older. But dammit, it took 19 years or so for me to see him again. And for all the bad reviews available in the internet - I strongly disagree. Indy kicks, still, some serious ass.
First of all, let me tell you that my expectations were met in every way. If you are waiting for a great movie for all your family to see, you got it. Spielberg and Lucas did him justice. Is it better than Raiders? Temple of Doom? Last Crusade? This question is stupid. It's like debating over the Godfather trilogy. We all have our favorites. Mine is Crusade, period. Screw you, I liked the father-son debacle. I liked scenes like when his father got his son, about to lose his life over a precious cup and he says, softly... "Indiana, let it go." That movie, for me, was perfect.
I am not saying that Skulls is not great. In fact, it was. When we see Dr. Henry Walton Jones, Jr. we know what we will encounter. He's old. Dirty. Most importantly? Tired. Maybe he's too old for this shit??? Hm. Let's see... (Wait for it, wait for it...) Bingo. No way man. He's back. In fact, he never left. We just didn't see what he was up to.
Harrison Ford is great. This man was made for this great story, period. You know when some actors play recurring roles and they shit all over them or you feel that something has changed? Example? Ripley in Aliens 4? John McClane in Live Free or Crap Hard? Yeah you get my drift. The writers had a great idea, to screw everything up and make our loved characters into something they are not. In this case, you don't feel that anything has changed. Indy is still a bit of an asshole. You still play by his rules. And the unbelievable shit that he survived in other flicks... yeah, he always lands on top. Damn, if I fell down even on a flight of stairs I would end up dead. Indy just takes the dirt off and keeps walking. Epic.
Karen Allen and Shia LaBeouf? Very good. Um. Did I spoil something? Dudes. You must have lived in Mars or something if you don't already know that at least Marion is coming back into Indy's life. She's still opinionated and still is giving Indy a word or two on how stuff is supposed to be done. Shia? Well, first of all, not one scene where he says "no, no, no..." Thanks, writers. That was starting to bug me about him.
Photography? Forget it. Thank you Jesus for the fact that Spielberg still refuses to film on anything that isn't 35mm. It is beautiful. Music? Duh. John Williams, but of course. Screenplay? Funny and dead on. Not idiotic (think Phantom Menace. Ugh). Will it scare you? Um. Your kids will get a few thrills. Are there snakes? Bugs? Um. Is the world round?
Call up the wife. Call the kids. Go. This is something for the whole family to see. Just ignore the damn reviews that are starting to pop up and make an opinion. Your own. My bet is... you'll like to see your old friend back.
I sure did.
Must see: Who the F••k is Jackson Pollock?
Get ready people, 'cause this week is movie time for me - I am keeping my promise to unwind and do stuff for me - and I have three reviews. First movie review post? Who the Fuck is Jackson Pollock.
Picture this. Please, follow me on this one, don't think of anything else... You walk in a thrift shop. You have almost no idea of art whatsoever, all your artwork buying ideals are: if it looks decent enough, you buy it. You know the basics. Picasso, Van Gogh, that's it. Deal? Ok. So anyway, you're there and you are thinking of buying a painting for a friend. You look at the available paintings and the woman in the store, without flinching, offers you an abstract piece for 5 bucks. You say, hey, I'll take the damn thing. Yeah, it looks kind of funny... but hey, what the hell.
Cut to a couple of days later. Someone tells you... Um. You might have a Jackson Pollock on your hands. Um. Wait. It's not signed. In Dennis Hopper fashion, the question hops in your mind: Pop quiz, Hot shot. What do you do?
This documentary tells the story of Teri Horton, a 73 year old former long-haul truck driver from Texas with almost no art experience who suddenly found herself battling the artwork for almost a decade over the authenticity of her $5 piece. With a potential 50 million dollar price tag, the life of this woman got... even more complicated.
How do you prove that someone made a piece if you have lost any evidence of it? How does the art world deal with pieces like this? Logic would tell you: you hire experts to study the piece and give their opinions. But what happens when ego and "the way things are done" get in the way? What happens when you don't fit the profile of an artwork owner? What happens when you are not an experienced collector... and you are a normal human being... like her... like you... or me?
Teri, when the documentary people find her, is in the middle of this battle. Expert comes. Expert sees the piece. Expert says, no way. This is not Pollock. Besides. How the fuck did you find a Pollock in a thrift shop? It just can't be? Why the fuck not, asks Teri. It just can't, sorry old lady.
Another expert comes in. A fingerprint is found in the back of the painting. Whoops. Matches Pollock's. Um... Um... Lady. I don't care. You are not experienced in the "arts". You cannot come in and tell me that I was wrong, expert by expert retorts. Now, it becomes a fight over who's right and who's wrong, even if the evidence is overwhelming. Confirmed by scientists, matching paint swatches, the fingerprint and Pollock's drunken behavior of throwing pieces he didn't like in the trash... the story becomes even more interesting.
Something is rotten in the state of the art world. And Teri is tired of smelling shit all around her. I agree with her.
I have always thought that the way art is sold is simply offensive. The rules stink. To sell a piece, you have to have provenance. Provenance is the story of owners, the direct line from the artist to the current owner. So if you don't have that, and your piece isn't signed, you're screwed. Second, it is considered art if the artist is considered, sorry for repeating myself, an artist.
Who the fuck is an artist and who isn't? Is it based on talent? But... isn't talent and creativity something completely relative???
Take TravisFckr and myself. We don't always agree on stuff. Put us at any decent museum and tell each of us to pick our favorite pieces. Chances are, he will pick stuff way different than I will. Yup, we both studied art. In fact, we had the same teacher who, in fact, was crazy filled with knowledge of the art world. His exams were brutal. How so? This is how it went. You studied with the dude for a semester, he introduced us to every damn painter, sculptor, illustrator... any man and woman available who is currently considered an "artist" in the world. Style by style and movement by movement, we learned. At the end of the year, our final exam was... Jesus. Brutal.
He just stood there with about 70 pieces, all placed in a black board. He didn't say a word. You just looked at the painting and waited for the question. He would ask in one piece: tell me the name and the year. You had almost 2 minutes by piece to look at it, write your answer down. Another piece was shown. The question: tell me the name of the style and the place of origin of the painter. It was exhausting. You wanted to smoke something after it was done. It took almost 2 and a half hours to finish.
So take that. We know our shit, right? Supposedly, we are now at the MoMa. So Travis will walk one side and I will walk another. Will we choose based on history and knowledge or will we choose on what WE consider what is truly art? Think about it. Who in your book do you consider a true master? You will choose on your own terms. That is the beauty of art. That is the beauty of creativity. It is like an ad, for God's sake. Some people consider some pieces as amazing examples of creativity and some pick others. Period.
Granted there are some, and I repeat, some artists who should be regarded as masters. Not only because of skill, mainly because somewhere in their work they delivered something that marked a period, created a movement. But... again. This is relative. Take the Beatles and Beethoven. You cannot compare them both, but you can say that they, in their own right, are masters of music and sound. Both gave something back to society. But who lays down the rule? And how? Food for thought.
Who the Fuck is Jackson Pollock shines, like "My Kid could paint that", a shitty light to the "art people" and business. Like advertising, it is a world filled with stupid people who don't like it when you tell them they are wrong, people who bend the rules to their advantage, people who will manipulate information just to make a buck and a name for themselves. It is a shitty world, and we all live by their rules.
Ok let's talk homicide. Yey. Ok this is for giving you my final point. Suppose you are working in your advertising agency. Your shitty CEO comes in, Friday, just as you are packing your shit to leave. He tells you: you have to work this weekend. But, you say, my daughter is getting married this weekend and I told you months ago about it. He smiles and says: well, this hot dog account needs 50 pieces for Monday. Sorry. You take a knife and kill him. Police come in. Your fingerprint is on the weapon. It matches, perfectly. Well, if homicide was ruled by art collectors and experts... you didn't kill the bastard... maybe.
How about them apples?
(L-R) Teri Horton's disputed Pollock piece (66 3/4" x 47 5/8") alongside David Geffen's Jackson Pollock No. 5 (48" X 96"), which recently sold at auction for $140 million. Yeah. You do the math.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Fortune Cookie 500 #'s 91-95
On futility
Diligence & ignorance rhyme for a reason.
On getting sick
It's not right to be thankful for a migraine.
On office supplies
I need to call McGuyver to find out what I can do with paper clips, pens, pencils and posts its.
On breaks
Coffee tastes better the farther you brew it from your office.
On work weeks
Vote for whoever mandates 4 day work weeks.
Monday, May 19, 2008
No more Hulk for a while.
I honestly could not do it anymore. Last Friday, I woke up and said... no more. I need a break. Sometimes you know. Your body starts telling you, enough is enough, sister. Huge headaches. No energy whatsoever. Just an enormous feeling of being so tired you can't even move. More so, my mental state was on the edge. I was this close to snapping to one of my clients. Being stupid or delivering idiotic changes late at night one more time and I would have screamed on the phone. I am not kidding. I was very close to going postal.
I didn't get on a plane. I didn't get drunk. I just packed my shit, a few shorts, tshirt and flip flops and drove two hours to a spot near the beach. Jesus. Talk about escaping big time.
The first moment I stepped in the little apartment I rented was pure magic. For a moment, I could not believe where I was. Not that the place was simply beautiful and amazing - it was - it just was that I was far away from my phone, my office, the jobs in my office, my printer... my clients.
I placed my bags at the floor and walked to the deck. Yes, I had a deck. When you walked in it... there was the ocean. I will not kid you, I spent hours and hours just listening to the water crash beneath me, listening to it flow... and suddenly I found peace. My entertainment from Friday to Monday - I just got home - was looking at Pelicans hunt for food, looking for schools of fish, watching the beautiful sunset, floating around in the ocean. I can bet that I relaxed more than people at Europe on a month's vacation.
I am not writing this to gloat. I am not writing this to torture other souls who haven't got time for a small vacation. In fact, I write about this because WE ALL NEED A BREAK. RestrictionsApply was right. When your mental state is going under, something has got to be done about it. We cannot let our life be affected by stupid people, stupid situations... we need to find a way to turn it off, to regroup, think, get our energy back.
Dudes and dudettes out there. Our wonderful readers!!! I truly care about each and every one of you, and my wonderful co-writers as well, and I beg of you. Escape. Do something. Click the work off. Plan it. Not just daydream about it. Don't have the money? Do you think that I do? No my friends, that's when American Express, Visa or MasterCard come into play. We sometimes think that money stops us from taking a break... you can do this. Have children? Take them along. I saw this weekend a family floating around in the ocean and having a blast. Basically... there is no excuse.
Your body needs it. Your mind needs it. You need to do this. And more often... Think about it.
Much love from a slightly tanned, new and improved, and most of all rested Me.
PS: This is a photo of where I was. A true pic, no kidding. I saw this beautiful sunset for days. Isn't it just amazing???
Mr. Client this is Mr. Paperweight, Mr. Paperweight... just sit there
With every meeting one goes to, there's always something new to find in regards to the people that are at the table making decisions or at least looking as if they are doing something remotely important apart from debuting their new gold cock cufflinks. There's the makers, the breakers, the despots, the assholes, the douche bags, the numnuts and if you hadn't noticed an additional member at the table, that's perfectly fine because you overlooked what is known as the Paperweight.
If you're not sure which person I'm referring to, please look over every person at the table and the one you'd vote most likely to be an animatronic is what I'm referring to. That's right, the person that always says the same things when they first see each other at a meeting, offer no opinion or anything resembling constructive anything and look two steps away from malfunctioning... especially if they asked a question.
The reality of the matter is that these people are in their positions due to inertia more than anything really. They are simply unwilling to move unless forcefully pink slipped and terminated. They sit at the table, smile on cue, look introspective on cue and pretty much do anything on cue since they're obviously catering to someone who swears they're useful for something if only to scream at, bitch, blame etc... much like a variety of shitty dog owners who have a canine that no matter how hard it's beaten, it still wags it's tail.
So what to do with these people? Absolutely nothing. I'm serious, don't waste your time because they're on autopilot and it's doubtful they're recording any of the experiences that are passing in front of them. It's almost like an animate coma where the person doesn't realize they're in a coma, they just wake up brain dead, eat breakfast, make as if they read the newspaper and masterfully fool society into thinking that there's even one alpha wave tangling around in their noggin.
So if someone seems like they're a genuine waste of space, feel free to walk up to them with a large stack of papers, ask them to stand, put them on their chair and leave.
cheers
Mririan or Magibon: The latest in meme what the fuckness
So what does it take to get more than a million clicks for a video on youtube.... or more than a million or maybe even 50 million. The answer is below.
Don't get me wrong, my inner pedophile with a preference for shy Asian schoolgirls is rejoicing, but really.... millions of people watch this? And this? And this? and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJyOIFfig0s&NR=1? and even this? and even this??????
Trendhunter has this to say about Magibon"
"Two themes interleave the online discussions ... seek to grapple with her popularity: One, that she's playing "pedobait," to use a lovely phrase, aiming to gain an audience of boys and men for ad-revenue purposes (i.e., she's a camgirl). And/or two, that she's making some kind of artsy, deep comment by playing a stereotype, that stereotype being either -- now hang with me here -- of pop culture-addled Japanese teenage girls, or of white American girls who play pop culture-added Japanese teenagers (which girls are known as "wapanese," a word roughly comparable to "wigger.")."
Now I don't know about you guys, but I'm definitely integrate the word wapanese into my vernacular. About the vids though... well I dunno, it's like some twisted game of pedobaiting just begging to be milked by porn sites, some meme driven adverts or just 13-16 year old boys who want to have a crusty computer keyboard. What do y'all think?
Friday, May 16, 2008
Vent or epiphany....
Friday night... 10:15 PM. I don't have a beer in my hand. I'm not at a party. I'm not getting laid. I'm not writing. I'm not in my bathtub. I'm not having sushi. I'm not completing my plans to take over the world. I'm at my desk... on a Friday Night.... at 10:16 PM. Every minute that passes is a minute wasted in my life. There's no AC because they turn those off after hours. There's no food because if I want something I'll have to go get it and I'm not in the mood to walk right now but give it half an hour and I know I'll want to nibble on something since I haven't had dinner... and it's 10:17 PM. Every breath I take right now has stale air and cheap chinese from the meals of two co-workers who are enjoying the same delicious scenario as me... and it's 10:18 PM. I grit my teeth, I clench my fist, I think about killing the piece of shit client that is running on Panama time or wherever the hell it is that he is because he's a selfish piece of shit and all I know for certain is that it is 10:19 PM. Another minute, another second, another breath of damp air. Another gulp of the reality that I am a peon who insists on being responsible when in reality I'm just punching my ticket so I don't go under evaluation because lord knows companies love making cuts, or that's what it seems since it happens every year. But then again, it might just be that it's Friday Night, 10:20 PM and I'm still at my office occasionally sharing a unified gaze with my creative significant other that is also in this rathole of a situation. Oh and it's 10:21 PM. Click, click, click, another second, another minute and I can't help but feel like I'm getting punked or tempted to go postal. But it isn't that. It's nothing done out of spite or for a gag, this is my job. To sit and wait for douche changes at 10:22 PM and all that makes sense right now is just getting a cardboard box, packing my shit and giving the company the finger. but doing that is pretty much advertising hara kiri or so I'm threatened into thinking. But you want to know what I think... I would too but I'm so tired that all I can focus on is 5 seven symbols. 1 followed by 0 followed by : followed by 2 then a three and then two capital letters that depress me more than watching Ben Affleck in Pearl Harbor. Oops, there goes another minute in your life, wait that was two, or three or... well it's 10:24PM and still, time drifts along limply and all I can think about is that it isn't worth it, that this is retarded, that this is really unfair, that it's 10:25PM and time fails to notice that I don't want it to pass. That I want to hold on to loose grains of time that slip through my fingers as I sit and wait impatiently for changes for an ad that makes no difference in the world and that at 10:26 PM represents the possible turning point in my life where maybe the seed has been planted to blossom into me leaving advertising. But I'm only kidding myself, it's 10:27 PM and I'm just tired, and shot, and frustrated and having day dreams, except at night, but without falling asleep. That's what this is, that point in time when you wake up, see that it's still 6 AM and you can't get back to sleep. Reality churns by, you know people are having fun, chucking beers, fucking, fondling, teasing, getting rejected, and here I am, 10:28 PM and in my desk. Still at my desk. Yeah, welcome to the greener pasture, welcome to the salvation from the other hellhole only to fall into the same bullshit except that the sequential serial number underneath this bullshit product reads 10:29PM and after just one digit next to your old agencies number. It's all the same some people say and at least for now, I believe it. I don't want to believe it, but such is the case at the moment, 10:30 PM and feeling I'm wasting my time on some inane and pointless bullshit since in less than a sentence it has turned into 10:31. Screw 1984... at least there was an end to that. This is like having to watch Queen of the Damned in slow mo for eternity. This is like listening to Cat Stevens religious albums, this is like... advertising. A piece of shit industry that at the moment has me stuck at my desk at 10:32 PM and I don't feel like stopping this stream of thought, and I don't think I'll proof this either because I've proof enough shit for today, and hey, it's 10:33 PM so I owe it to myself to at least not give a fuck while I'm giving a fuck because if I genuinely didn't give a fuck, I wouldn't be here. I'd be with my girlfriend, watching re-runs of Friends she knows the jokes to and is waiting to see my reaction, watching ESPN classic so she'll roll her eyes asking how the hell I can watch fights from 1984 and still be thrilled. But no, it's 10:34 PM, she bought me dinner and it'll probably go to waste or be eaten by someone else and I'm here, slugging it out in the creative world, earning my chops and paying my dues at 10:35Pm on a Friday night when I just want a beer and a hug from the woman in my life. But no, I have it drilled in my head that I have to be here, that I have to wait, that it matters, that I'm needed. but honestly, we all know I'm kidding myself because it's 10:36 PM and I'm still at my desk waiting on a client that would be as likely to put peanut butter on his genitals to have his labrador lick him off than he is to offer something constructive and positive like telling me I can go home and we can finish this on Monday since it's 10:37 PM and people really don't need to be waiting for their will to rain down from Olympus so they can eat, and rest and start enjoying what was supposed to be a normal weekend but that has already been cut down significantly because some douche bag with a power trip can't get his shit together at 10:38 PM while people are waiting to not be fired, to be responsible, to be team players and show we give a fuck while it becomes blatantly obvious that they don't give a flying, landed, swimming, interred, burning, procreating or exploding fuck. It's 10:39 Pm, my life is being widdled away by stupid shit when finally at 10:40 PM... I'm released or that's how the client wants to see the situation. Oh well, good night never land, if this is the dream I can't wait to wake up.
cheers
Fortune Cookie 500 #'s 86-90
On capricious clients
Your health, your life and your happiness is not their concern.
On your salary
For your well being, never compare your salary to the hours you work.
On patience
Even the Dali Lama has bad hair days.
On working late
If we know it won't make a difference, why do we insist.
On entrepreneurship
Asking if I'd open my own agency will be met with force.
Romancing the Bone
If you've ever had the delight of working any food or beverage account, it is quite likely you've had the chance to enjoy something they like to call "romancing" the product. Let me explain for those who haven't had the joy of romancing some random C grade food item people buy to save a buck and take a nice hunk out of their life expectancy. Culinary romancing consists of you pretty much overselling the item of choice that's being promoted. By overselling I specifically mean the description of the item. Let me illustrate.
Say you have... a chicken sandwich. In your print add you have a headline, the logo, some legal stuff and in bullet or paragraph form, the description of the product and/or what the product contains. So here's the format:
HEADLINE:
Mouthwatering cliché that's supposed to convince you to eat this piece of shit product.
LOGO + SLOGAN
BODY COPY:
* Crunchy chicken fillet
* Fresh Lettuce and tomato
* Special sauce
That's the basic premise for a tried and true food ad. You're on strategy, the layout looks good but eah..... hermmm.... umm....... that body copy.... yeah..... it could use..... just a bit more romancing....
"Ok" you respond. "What do you want?" you add.
"I don't know, just romance it a little." They respond.
Fine, the nitty gritty is that they want you to write
* Deliciously crunchy chicken fillet
* Crisp and fresh lettuce and tomato (make sure everything is in lower case because format is important... I'll explain this in another post)
* Delicious and savory special sauce
They see the add, they wet their pants and you've just sold exactly no new sandwiches because you added about four words. You see, when it comes to food adverts, there's only so much you can do with words when the visual just doesn't hold water. If you have a product shot that would make an anorexic cheerleader fingerbang her tonsils so she can later gorge on the product, then by all means, romance the fuck away. But if you have a shit product, some days you're just a little apprehensive about overselling the piece of shit stale cardboard chicken asshole patty on four week old bread with expired mayo your client has decided to rephrase yogurt ranch dressing to justify the runs you'll have.
So I say, well just exactly what does a client want... and since I can't be fully honest in the realm of the ads, I'll do some extra special romancing with a single patty burger, an energy drink and a luxury automobile.
1.) The Numero Uno - single patty pathetic piece of shit burger.
Hold tight boys and girls, you won't want to miss out on this tantalizing new flavor adventure from Donald King. A piece of meat has never felt so good in your mouth and swallowing has never been as satisfying. Two catwalk slim slices of bread embrace the heavenly combination of the freshest of fresh lettuce, tender and crisp like the aborted fetus of a cabbage patch doll. Then you'll have the honor of passing your incisors through hydrocultivated tomatoes, just dying to have you break their supple skin and feed on their flesh and seed. Finally, you'll be transported to a whole other dimension by tapping your tastebuds and engulfing your mouth with the slightest of earthy scented ground beef. Wash it all down with 16 ounces of the 21st century nectar of the gods Copsi, and disregard your clogging arteries for the sake of a multinational company that is invested in you investing in them.
2.) TrendXtreme - acid reflux inducing energy drink - urine, tangerine and passion papaya flavor.
Hey Trend X er, don't settle for just N-E energy human fuel, drink TrendXtreme. Feel the supernova cum bath of flavor in your mouth with every sip of the real energy drink. Forget those other artificial flavors, this is the one that will identify with you since you're sixteen and need to get a wicked buzz on the soft drink equivalent of Willy Wonka's Magical Eight Ball. Feel the perplexing combination of non-combining flavors to enhance your mouth and know what 2 cyborgs and one cup would taste like. So remember kids, if you need to be trendy and have breath like you just gargled Antifreeze and camel runs, drink TrendXtreme.
3.) Plymord Borealis - Gen Y directed crossover with 13 MPG highway
Feel the power, feel the force, feel the thunder feel no remorse. You are entering a new world, a new millenium, a new dimension and nothing you say, think or do will ever be the same. The Plymord Borealis has been designed specifically for the technologically advanced and environmentally absolved. Let your quest for fire begin with borealis and end with desire.
As you can see, it's all a heaving pile of shit. Now... what they're really selling and what they're really saying is a totally different ball game and knowing how interesting it could be, I've run these exact same copies through the Joker bullshit filter to see what lay behind the lines.
1.) The Numero Uno
This is the most pathetic piece of junk food ever assembled. We should be ashamed to even consider charging you three bucks for the smallest of combos, but since we don't have a conscience or a rigorous standard for hygiene, you can suffer the brunt of our economic slip and feast on a sandwich indecipherable to a panel of lab analysts. Eat this at your own risk and feel free to have more than one because this is our last shot at maintaining our market share and it shows.
2.) TrendXtreme
Hey there little fella, I'm a coke sniffing research and development tycoon hellbent on cashing in on the latest dying trend and you should really try my product because we have all the bases covered to offer you an energy drink: a shitty name with a huge X in the logo, enough guarana to give a rhyno a heart attack, a flavor consisting of an amalgam of components that would just as much be radiator fluid than an energy drink and a cool oversize or slim can so you can not only feel like a douche, but look like one too. Hauck over $3 for 23.79 oz of hurl and get ready to experience an instant ulcer.
3.) Plymord Borealis
We have no idea how to compete with Japanese Car Manufacturers and this is a hail mary at best. Please buy our car, we'll give you gas money, a blow job and even throw in that huge purple orangutan we have out front.
So there you have it, next time you read a description that just sounds too bullshitty to have been consciously created by a copywriter, please remember this eternal rule of middle finger... behind any decent copywriter, there's a prick AE willing to rape a newborn for a prick client.
cheers.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Fortune Cookie 500 #'s 81-85
On layoffs
Companies shall never believe you can get another job but shall forever consider you expendable.
On going to the competition
If you think an ex-lover is jealous, try switching agencies.
On hacks
There are more people justifying their salary than earning it.
On trust
Never take a call when you can save an email.
On being on time
No one is interested in the worm. Let me sleep a lil' more.
Rules of middle finger
Some people use their thumb, I'd rather just move two down if you don't mind. Random rules of the wonderful world of advertising.
1. If you signed it, you are fucked. You're rushed, stressed, tired, overworked, cranky, bitchy, PMSing or deep throating Danny Zukko. Tough shit jailbird, you put your dick in the grinder and you can and will be held accountable.
2. Being cocky doesn't make you right; it just makes people want to shut you up as fast as humanly possible.
3. Never ever erase any document you hand in. Odds are the layout will resemble its first incarnation rather than the failed alien fetus it looked like in its 47th version.
4. If they ask for a 30 sec spot, make sure it fits 23 for all the bullshit they will add.
5. You will always find someone or something to hate from a job. Try and see if it’ll be a bearable relationshit.
6. When you refer to 6:00 PM as the hour when normal people get out of work, it might be time for a vacation or a change of scenery.
7. If there’s someone who always chews on your pen when you lend it to them, try offering them a rusty chewed pencil to at least enjoy seeing them gag.
8. The most important skill you will learn in advertising is looking busy.
9. If a bitchy asshole exec comes near your area of work singing or whistling, feel free to scowl so you at least establish that you know they’re there to fuck you over.
10. There’s only one person you can confide in 100% at your workplace and you see their face mostly when you piss or have to take a shit.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
This ad is just awesome.
This ad makes me smile every single time I see it. Long live Discovery Channel.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)