The Human Train Wreck.

One of my readers who keeps reading even though I suck wrote a 266-word essay (it's a comment from my March 22nd post) on why I suck and why he/she keeps reading. This is the comment, slightly edited:

There is one possibility you seem to be overlooking -- namely, that some of us read Copyranter's blog precisely because "it sucks."
Just as we are compelled by morbid curiosity to slow down and stare at a horrific accident, so too are we irresistibly drawn to the witless ramblings of this train wreck of a human being.
In terms of someone baring their twisted, twitching psyches for all the world to see, it's on a par with watching the likes of Jerry Lewis or Liza Minnelli self-destruct on "Larry King Live."
Assuming the smug, assholier-than-thou attitude favored by any hipster wanna-bes with a blog, our esteemed host takes cheap shots at the easiest of targets. A scathing critique of another lame diamond ad or another insipid airline tagline? How daring!
But for all the hate-filled invective he spews, the only one he succeeds in humiliating is himself.
It's fitting how he professes to hate advertising -- because it's self-important, self-hating poseurs like him who exemplify everything that's wrong with this business.
For connoisseurs of the tragically deluded, it's a veritable four-course feast.
And yet. . .
Despite my harsh words, I don't hate Copyranter. I just feel sorry for him. He is clearly bitter and miserable. (Hey, I can relate: Advertising can do that to a person.)
Deep down -- or maybe not so deep down -- he's probably not a bad guy.
I know you don't want my pity, CR, but I do wish you well. I hope you find some happiness in this life.

(I like this train wreck because it's one train and no other trains were damaged.)

69.0 on the Dial?

Playboy Radio. Playboy Radio. Playboy radio. Playboy. Radio? Errr, there seems to be a thing or two lacking with this endeavor.

Time to egest (thank you Roget).

I hate Watches. (I know, 'what don't you hate, asshole?'). Anyway, meet the Flower™ (Yes, they trademarked the name. Hilarious). I stumbled across it in the overly obnoxious Hollywood Life magazine. A call to Meyers' toll-free number, and nice lady quoted me the price of $15,700. Or, for about $15,699 less, you could eat a bag of skittles, stick your finger down your throat, throw up on your wrist, stick your cheap Timex® piece in the goo, and wait for the project to harden.

"Trimming the stabilizers..."

Delta, flying dangerously close to bankruptcy, has apparently resorted to an old and proven ad strategy to lure passengers—Pussy. Either that, or nobody working on the account at ad agency Ogilvy & Mather or within Delta's marketing dept. knows what a "Brazilian" is. That, I just can't believe. Delta's logo is a triangle, for chrissakes.

(photo and post idea by New York's 24-hour man on the street, Bucky Turco.)

Update: March 30th—Delta's Marketing Chief Paul Matsen resigns. He cited this post as the reason, says the Wall Street Journal.

Phew! York

Fragrance seller Bond #9 has announced the next round of perfumes to be added to their popular Making Scents (GET IT?) Of New York line (kinda like neighborhoodies for your nose), which already includes Wall Street, NoHo, and Chinatown (pictured):

Union Square—overpowering fresh produce with a middle note of un-deodorized protester.
Astor Place—pure bittersweet disaffectedness.
West Side Story—top notes of baby shit with a base of unwashed sweatpants.
Fire Island—(I really don’t have to say it, do I?)
Sutton Place—old money and death.

(If you live in NYC, what would your neighborhood scent smell like?)

The Balvenie Weenie.

The Balvenie Guy. One of the longest-running characters in advertising history. And, one of the biggest Douches in Douchery history. I winced through the archives to bring you more of the winning pickup lines that have come out of his nonexistent mouth:
• "Rich, sweet and mature. And that’s just my drink."
• "Actually, I’m a rocket surgeon."
• "I’ve just started a hedge fund. Forsythia, in fact."
Could we please jump to the last panel where he's lying in a hospital bed dying of liver cancer and says to the blonde nurse:
"I'd love a sponge bath—with Balvenie."
If moved, please write your own deathbed pickup lines in the comments. Just remember: you think you're witty, but you're not.

Taglines are DUMB, #2.

Work Hard. Fly Right.

FUCK YOU! This is my knee-jerk expletive EVERY time I hear this fucking awful tagline. NO, you work hard, and you fly right you flying fuckfaces. I will work any damn well way I fucking please. And—correct me if I'm wrong here Contifuckingnental—I believe it is in fact YOU who is flying the fucking plane, and therefore it is YOU who should fucking fly "right" you preachy fucks. Now, give me my fucking Jack Daniels and hold the fucking ice, fem/manbot.
(previously: Taglines are DUMB, #1)

she won't WHAT?!?

For a limited time, any man who buys a De Beers diamond engagement ring and is subsequently rejected by any woman will receive a full refund of the purchase price, no questions asked. That's the De Beers DeDifference.

(Note: I don't see any asterisks. Though, I suppose that big-ass diamond at the bottom of the ad could legally serve as one.)

www.copyrantersucks.blogspot.com

More than a handful of you out there seem to think that I really really suck. First, to illustrate your feelings, I've found a pic of—not me—but a man with basically the same hair color as me waiting to suck on an anonymous penis at a glory hole. Second, I am asking—encouraging even—one of you, or possibly a consortium, to start the copyrantersucks blog. Your collective venom will be more pointed and much better organized. And who knows? Maybe you'll make some money from it. Thank you.

Times Select Op-Ed Intimacy Series, Part II.

First, we were asked to share our innermost thoughts with Thomas L. Friedman. Now, the New York Times invites us to cuddle with iconoclastic Op-Ed columnist Frank Rich. He is quite the snuggle bunny—you could certainly do a lot worse for your 50 buck "Relationship Upgrade." Oh Frankie angel, how many inches is your column this week?
Next Week: Spoon Maureen Dowd.

SCARY Ellis

Don’t know how widespread this ad atrocity is, but the deadest of dead (RIP, Perry) fashion labels Perry Ellis has started a serial-comic campaign within the last couple of weeks in the New York Times. It is ridiculously badly written and utterly unentertaining (I dare you to read all 3 scenarios.). Our nameless super hetero hero (the one with the beer)—let’s call him “Ellis”—has a great blonde girlfriend named Morgan (naturally). And, of course, a hot redhead across the bar is flirting with him. And of course he has a great job, but another company has an even greater job opp for him. And of course he has a great philosophy that goes like this:
“The secret to my professional success is that I relish challenges—I see a problem as just another opportunity for a solution. So I figured, why not apply this to my personal life?”
And of course, this makes me want to throw out my entire wardrobe and replace it with Perry Ellis Wear. "(BANG BANG BANG) OPEN UP PERRY ELLIS STORE! (BANG BANG BANG) I AM HERE TO BUY ONE OF EVERYTHING!

Five-story models compete for my love.

Out my window to the left is my bendy, lippy, milky-skinned G-STAR girlfriend. Out my window to the right is my leggy, sandy, bronze-skinned CK girlfriend (click images for better look). Both stare right into my office all day long from their competing spots directly across from each other on Houston Street. I, in turn, eye-fuck them both back. For CK girl, I draw crude hearts pierced by penis arrows in the sand. For G-STAR girl, I trace the muscle line of her long taut thigh with my trusty Design® art marker. Um, excuse me...

Are You Willing To Die for Digital Media, Beth Comstock?

That’s Beth, over there on the right. She is the newly appointed “president of digital media and market development” for NBC Universal, and your “keynoter” for the Television Bureau of Advertising’s annual marketing conference April 20th at the Javits Center here in NYC. My suggestion? Go there and assassinate her. She can do more for our noble cause dead then she ever will alive.
(note to overly-sensitive readers: I am not really advocating her assassination.)
(ad from March 13th issue of Broadcasting & Cable)

Join The Village Voice Street Prostitution Team.

Do you read the VV? Are you “Hip” yet “Reliable?” Gritty? Do you have a "LOUD" voice? Well then, How would YOU like to join an "Ultra-Cool" team of Street Marketing Studs? You’ll roll into clubs, bars, and super-cool stores—Street Style!— to spread the "four-one-one" on the mega-cool VV and, occasionally, blow the owner. Don’t have the proper shades or haircut? Don’t sweat it, coolio! Both will be provided for you, as well as condoms. The Streets Are Calling, Hustler!!!

NEWS FLASH! Advertising Industry Doesn't Like Minorities

ALSO: ANTS LIKE PICNICS. I apologize for the shocking photo, but it accurately depicts the 2006 mindset of ad industry creative honchos towards minorities. Instead of hiring African-American or Latino writers & art directors, they hire Wigger Hipsters and figure that covers those demographics. I've worked in this industry for 15 years and, believe me, this is not an exaggeration. Which is why it is about fucking time the City called the local good old boys network (AdAge, reg. required) on their despicable practices.
(Misogyny is also the norm. If you know a female account exec, creative, or producer, ask her how many times she’s been disgustingly advanced on by her male co-workers, as compared to how many times her ideas have been taken seriously.)

Kenneth Cole’s Puns are Re-Hyphen-Tarded.

The man’s heart is in the right place (His "sole" will be saved.), but his words sure as Hell ain’t. Approximately 3 percent of all pun ads work. Cole has been responsible for a lot of the other 97%. Sorry, but there's nothing "punny" about homelessness. Nor AIDS (ouch).

(photo taken at 6th & 14th by New York's 24-hour man on the street, Bucky Turco.)

MUCUS

My mild head cold has become a moderate head cold. Therefore, here's a microscopic view of Mucus.

PHLEGM

I have a mild head cold today. Therefore, here's an Electron Microscope view of
Phlegm.
Back Monday with ad-related expectorating.

I like something...

The new VW GTI spots, via Crispin Porter + Bogusky and featuring the excellent Peter Stormare, a Swede, playing an insane German engineer, are pretty funny. And the use of Stormare cements the brand in your brain. Here are the 3 spots:
"wrecking ball"
"crate"
"catapult"
(adweek, on top of things as usual, doesn't even mention Stormare in their initial story. Good journalism there.)

"This is my Diaphragm. Scared?"

The headline here is so wrong, I seriously now have a headache.
(no different than most mornings in the adworld vortex of hate, pain, and anxiety, though.) [update: I forgot guilt.].
This online ad appeared during the two weeks prior to the Super Bowl; thus the "Sports" reference.
But that's where the logic ends. Love is a sport? Maybe a Tug-of War using a piece of barbed wire. Where everyone wins? Yeah, on the tiny faraway planet of Stupidia.
(a new sublevel of idiocy from True.)

Divorce Lawyer Ads.

Who was the first Divorce Lawyer to put his/her pic in an ad? And why now does EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM—NO REALLY I LOOKED THROUGH HUNDREDS OF THESE FUCKING ADS AND EVERY ONE OF THEM HAS THE LAWYER'S PIC IN IT—feel it makes for a better ad?

And WTF are you so happy about, smiley? It's my fucking DIVORCE.
(ed. note: I am divorced. Big surprise, I know. Fuck you.)