Advertising Week: Procession of Icons.

(This is the fourth and last post this week wherein I will be "live blogging" an Advertising Week event without actually being anywhere near the pointless goings-on.)
The results are in: America's favorite ad icons for 2006 are KFC's Colonel Sanders and Kool-Aid Man. America's favorite slogan? (jesus christ) Don't Mess With Texas. What a country full of Fucking Morons.
Anyway, So I am currently (not) standing on venerable Madison Avenue, watching the parade of icons. There goes the Gecko—keying cars and breaking off sideview mirrors. The Burger King just power-puked all over an M&M. Hey, there's Tony The Tiger. "Tony how ya feelin'? Grrrrreat?" The finger. Nice Tony, in front of so many kids. Wow, there's militant anti-tobacco Mayor Bloomberg having Joe Camel and his phallic-symbol nose arrested.
(OK, that sucked. It's Friday, what do you want? Look out Monday [UPDATE: make that Tuesdays from now on] for my next Lies Well Disguised piece on Gawker. I'll have my own fancy logo.)

previously:
1. Advertising Week: Thursday Morning Diversity Seminar.
2. Advertising Week: Texas Hold'em Invitational.
3. Advertising Week: Fishing For The BIG Idea.

"Trees are pretty. Let's use trees."

(click image)
What do you do—advertising-wise—when you're a "group" that sells all the essentials including coffee, cigarettes and cheese wiz, to the tune of $97.9 billion in annual revenue? Why, you buy a pretty stock shot of a forest and, in a classic ad misstep show-&-tell move, you trot out the tired "whole forest" cliché. Add it all up and you get an ad that says...ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Which when you're selling, basically, heart and lung disease, is probably not a bad idea. Just keep the name and the pretty logo (which they paid millions for) in the public eye, right old boys?

previous big-ass company posts:
1. Tastes Good Like A Cigarette Should. Redux.
2. The Good Hands, Bad Taste People.
3. bp. Beyond Poppycock.
4. Vis-a-vis Bullshit.
5. HP. Huckster Plagiarism?
6. The most useless ad page ever.

Advertising Week: Thursday Morning Diversity Seminar.

(This is the third of four posts this week wherein I will be "live blogging" an Advertising Week event without actually being anywhere near the pointless goings-on.)
In response to widespread media criticism, The 4As this morning held an impromptu Diversity Seminar/Breakfast at a secret swanky Manhattan restaurant. However, an anon copyranter operative was able to snap some pics. On hand were Juan Valdez (pictured), Aunt Jemima, and the Travelocity Gnome, who were all seated at a VIP table and served by an all-white staff of top ad industry honchos. Said Phil Dusenberry, former BBDO Chairman, with a laugh, "Wow, that was enlightening. Now I know what it feels like to be a spic slave-mama midget."

previously:
1. Advertising Week: Texas Hold'em Invitational.
2. Advertising Week: Catch & Release—Fishing For the BIG Idea.

Corporate Real Estate Stooges Redefine "Shocking"

(click image)
How this ad was conceived:
1. Decide headline should be "SHOCKING!"
2. Royalty-free stock search for "shocking"
3. Buy photo.
4. Do hackneyed 2/3rds photo, 1/3rd text layout.
"200,000 square feet available immediately?!?" That's fucking punk rawk, Cushman & Wakefield (both of whom are long dead, btw)!!! West 57th is EDGY! Central Park views—Goth! Private dining club—Fight The Power! (scanned from this week's Crain's New York)

some previous NYC realty posts:
1. Taglines are DUMB: NYC Real Estate edition.
2. The Unparalleled Hyperbole of NYC Real Estate Ads.
3. CLEARLY defining your target audience.

I am Woman. Hear me Blubber.

What isn't Jane? She's a Lioness. She's a Kitten. She's a Virgin. She's a Slut. She can Suck the Chrome off a Trailer Hitch. She Loves Eating Pink Cookies. She's a Genius. She's an Idiot. She's a Leader. She's a Lemming. She has a Heart of Gold. She's has a Heart of Stone. She Loves her Parents. She Killed her Parents. She's Zen. She's a Ten. She's Ginger. She's Mary Ann. She's Everything. She's Nothing. She's 8. She's 80.

previous Jane Posts:
1. Jane readership...
2. Jane calls the pose...
3. "Jane you ignorant slut!"

Advertising Week: MSNBC Texas Hold'em Invitational.

(This is the second of four posts this week wherein I will be "live blogging" an Advertising Week event without actually being anywhere near the pointless goings-on.)
*(by invitation only, plebes.)*
Tonight, from 6-9:30pm at the Friar's Club (so exclusive, I couldn't even get into their website), drunken ad kingpins will be going all in with ill-gotten gains "earned" from all those bloated client fees & commissions. The irony! Gambling with clients' money! Just So Fucking Beautiful! It ain't for charity, either. It's an old-fashioned swingin' dicks party. One (OK, I) can only hope that Donny Douche Deutsch loses his agency, TV show, and the shirt off his back. Though he probably wouldn't mind that last one.
(yes, I am "live-blogging" this four hours before hand)

previously:
Advertising Week: Catch and Release. Fishing For the BIG Idea.

Johnnie Walker Tells NFLers to Forgo Anesthesia, Drive Drunk.

(click image)
I found this execution in the NFL preview issue of Sports Illustrated. Two thoughts came to mind. One: I should Chug JW and forgo anesthesia during my next injury operation? Two: Even though so many Pro athletes these days—especially football players—are getting DWI arrests, that's no reason to stop driving shitfaced. Keep crookedly walking that sobriety test yellow line.
previous Johnnie Walker ads:
• the official sports drink of the NY Yankees.
• the Beirut bombed bridge billboard.

Again, I'm yelling at a bottle of cognac.

The first rule you learn in ad school is that there are no rules. The second rule you learn is that you don't give nonhuman products human characteristics, unless there is a damn good reason. I've talked to alcoholic drinks before, yes. But I initiated those conversations. This will be the second time I've responded to a mouthy Courvoisier decanter (here's the first):
'No YOU wish, you inanimate, molded piece of shit. Here's what I wish: I wish I had you in my hands so I could throw you out onto Lafayette St. and watch you die. Earn it? Way to evoke the last cheesy words Tom Hanks' Captain Miller spits out in Saving Private Ryan.'
xo,
copyranter

previously:1. Worst. Anthropomorphism. EVER.
2. Can't spell "anthropomorphism" without "Mohr"

Advertising Week: Catch and Release. Fishing For the BIG Idea.

(This is the first of four posts this week wherein I will be "live blogging" an Advertising Week event without actually being anywhere near the pointless goings-on.)
Right now, at the McGraw Hill auditorium, top Chief Marketing Officers from top companies are discussing—the BIG idea. Questions being addressed are:
• What species is the BIG idea?
• Once you've caught one, how do you keep it?
• And how do you maintain its freshness?
(seriously, those are the topics)
Questions not being addressed include:
• What do Chief Marketing Officers know about ideas?
• How many weeks a year do Chief Marketing Officers spend on vacation?
• What's that smell?
Also, standing outside pounding on the locked doors is Donny Douche Deutsch with legal papers in his hand that claim he OWNS the phrase "Big Idea".

last year's advertising week coverage:
1. Hucksters To End Middle East Violence.
2. Brains And Advertising Don't Mix.
3. Real Men Don't Attend Ad Conferences.
4. Advertising Week Goody Bag

apt brings the badass SoHo 'tude.

"Cosmopolitan furnishings" store apt on Greene Street gets right in the fucking face of fucking futons with this back cover ad from last week's Time Out New York.
apt: (carrying shiv) "Fuuutons, come out and plaaay..."
Futons: "No thanks. But we'd just like say that, um, we cost 400 not 1500 bucks, and we don't have an annoying seam down the middle of us."
apt: ...

previously:
1. NYC Window Displays: Zamir Furs.
2. I GLOVE NEW YORK
3. The Great Wall of New York

Weekly Column at Gawker.

I wrote a diatribe on Gawker.com today about Advertising Week 2006 (link). This is the first of a series of posts titled "Lies Well Disguised" that I will be writing for them over the next few months.
Also starting tomorrow, I will be "Live" Blogging one Advertising Week Event a day, without actually attending the event.

So, reading Business Week will give me Encephalitis?

In a laughably stupid ode to the very good print work that British ad agency Abbott Mead Vickers (fuck you, BBDO) used to do for the far superior Economist, Business Week has begun a "brainy" new ad campaign that would make me feel laughably stupid—if I actually read the rag. GET IT, kindergarteners?!? The second brain is BIGGER!!! Now, put your heads down and take a nappie.

Yep, the Lion ate both White Gladiators and Black Slaves without a second thought.

Yesterday's New York Times magazine had a special advertising section titled "Leadership on Diversity" that featured ads from about 20 large companies bugling their so-called progressive hiring ways (The one from the Department of Homeland Security which included a pic of a Muslim woman was precious.). Half of the ads lamely crammed the word Diversity right in the headline, as some very junior (and very white) copywriters just outta ad school spent about five pissed off minutes working on this lowly assignment before handing the first two lines that popped into their heads into their creative directors. Whew. That's outta the way. Onto the much more important men's body spray print ad.

previously:
1. NEWS FLASH! Advertising Industry Doesn't Like Minorities
2. R&R, minus R&B.

STOP READING COPYRANTER NOW!

I was going to do a post about the new CW's (the fifth network!) ad campaign—the "Free To Be Funny" Jim Belushi execution is quite ironic. But, Dale Hrabi at RADAR online has written a thorough and thoroughly entertaining piece on it. Recommended reading.
(here's the link)

Y&R thanks me for screwing you.

(click image. I converted it to b/w so you could read it better)
Paging through my super-exciting guide to the upcoming super-exciting Advertising Week NYC, I came upon this example from the less-is-more art direction school via New York ad agency Young & Rubicam. Way to make it even more likely that us ad hacks will not get laid and will get the shit beat out of us when the conversation turns to "what we do." And while we're at it, let's add some other wonderful contributions we've made to the New World Order: the $100 t-shirt; the $300 sneaker; the $100,000 SUV; and the fucking $15 cocktails that I have to always buy rounds of because I'm the douche who gets overpaid to dupe people.
previously:
1. ANDYs promoted with Anilingus.
2. I believe that should be: Lies Well Disguised.

What I saw on vacation at Burning Man.

NO, I wasn't at Burning Man.
I'm too fucking fussy. And I don't like painted boobies.

The Balvenie Weenie® brings his A Game.

Between the Balvenie Weenie® and the Op-Ed page, I owe much thanks to the Wall Street Journal for supplying me with comic relief every week. Here, the mouthless Weenie leaves his parents' house to try to score some trim. It's the same woman he failed with last March. What would Amber's response be? As always, leave your reply in the comments: To get you started:
• "Well then your name must be Dick, because, see, you're a Dick."
• My favorite color is Get The Fuck Away From Me."
• "I'd rather eat those flowers than hear another word come out of your ugly mouthless face."

previously:
1. out again with the Balvenie Weenie™.
2. Balvenie Weenie, Cinco de Mayo edition.
3. The Balvenie Weenie Motto.
4. The Balvenie Weenie.

Cotton. The Fabric Of Their Size Double Zero Lives.

(click image)
"Nao-mini" raises the roof here in an elegant little number that's sure to be balled up and thrown in her assistant's face later. Ad from a series (see below) for cotton, inc. appearing in Women's Wear Daily that shows just how influential Nicole Ritchie has become. Why use anorexic models when Dolls can be custom-made to be even more anorexic-ier?

previously:
1. Models lighter than Cotton.

Book Advertising. The Hackiest of the Hack.

(the below comments do not apply to the one excellent NYC publishing house that I have done work for, a house that has been very willing to try new, fresh approaches)
The Book Publishing Industry is dying. And it ain’t a quietly-in-its-sleep death. It’s a getting-hacked-to-pieces-by-machetes death. And speaking of hack, have you ever taken a good look at book advertising? Open any New York Times Arts Section to the book page and look at the ads—every single one of them looks EXACTLY the same: big jacket shot, surrounded by “Read it today!”—USA Today; “Entertaining read!”—Entertainment Weekly; and other such asinine attributes (at right, we have the brilliant move of repeating the author's name and title as the "headline"). Not one of the ads provokes even a slight glance in its direction. One of the reasons for this is that book ads are not placed to sell books. They are placed to literarily suck off the author/agent. Another reason is that most book publishers have the visual imagination of a dead slug. If one brave rogue publishing house would step away from the crap pack and actually adopt a well-designed campaign look for their ads, and then truly give readers an inkling of a notion as to what the experience of reading the actual advertised book might be, well, that house would become a FUCKING STAR. Savvy authors would be begging them to sign them. But, the publishers now are just too frightfully desperate to try anything even a smidgen different, let alone adventurous, to attract the new readers they desperately need. They’re a group of neutered pussies. And they’re as good as dead.

Embassy Suites ad inadvertently poignant.

The ones with kidney failure certainly don't. Scanned from this week's New Yorker. Calculating when the story first broke (the first death was on September 7th, about a week later, the 3 major network evening news programs reported it), Embassy had plenty of time to pull the ad. Instead, they get to look idiotic.

previously:
R&R, minus R&B.

She looks pretty good for a cancer sufferer, doesn't she?

(click image)
Ah yes. The Fake Patient. Look at the healthy glow. The neutral expression. Have you seen these ads in the New York Times and New York magazine, seemingly featuring portraits of Sloan-Kettering cancer patients? Probably some of you figured out these attractive—but not too attractive— people are just carefully-selected models, maybe some of you didn't, or didn't care. Usually, hospitals willl include a "model used for illustrative purposes only" disclaimer line in the ad. Not S-K. Pretty damn deceptive for an internationally recognized top cancer treatment center, don't you think? Well at least if any of the models ever do get the Big C, Sloan-Kettering will probably be the first place they call.

previously:
1. Welcome to the (fake) people_ready business.
2. The Fake Testimonial. Now with more Fake.

Jane's readership now includes the lucrative 7-9 year-old female demographic group.

Let's summarize: Jane reads Kafka. Memorized Zoolander. Whitens her teeth. Tells filthy jokes. Practices yoga. Perfected her keg stand. And now we learn she writes Gramps every week, and can burp the fucking alphabet. I'm seriously not that impressed. If she could burp Zoolander and tell filthy Kafka jokes, then I'd be all over that freaky bitch.

previously:
1. Jane calls the pose "Downward Facing Slutdog"
2. "Jane, you ignorant slut!" (apologies to Jane Curtin)

What's on your headstone, Tommy?

Four-Fifths? How drunk were you when you wrote that Dewarism, Dewar? At the website, where Dewarism is described as "A social. political, and economic doctrine based on the writing of Tommy Dewar," you can read all 22 of the Scotsman's chestnuts. I got one question: why are all the hard liquor sellers trying to engage me in such heady discourse (see below)? After consuming their mind-numbing hootch, the only conversation I'm interested in is the one that directs the cabbie on how to get my throbbing head home so's I can pass out.

previously:
1. The drunken conversation is waiting.
2. An Unsigned Letter from a Distillery in Holland.
3. Worst. Anthropomorphism. EVER.

The Colonel wants his Coke® money.

Africa is the "It" continent right now. And Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi knows it. Which is why the pissed off Krazy Kolonel is claiming that the "It" in "Coke Is It" is in fact African.
"The essential ingredients for Coca-Cola come from African plants and so compensation must be paid to us."
(story link)
(is this fucking week over yet?)

I believe that should be: Lies Well Disguised.

It's been bloated agency McCann Erickson's tagline since 19 fucking 12. They even got it trademarked before service industries were allowed to trademark words. So proud, they are, it's still on their website today (under About, then History). WHAT AN ABSOLUTE LOAD OF OLD AD GUY SHIT. "For everything else, there's Mastercard?" Yeah, tons of truthiness in that statement. And those fake ads for Microsoft—as honest as the day is long. Keep raising the bar, boys. The rest of us hucksters need a shining beacon of veracity to reach for.
previously:
1. Welcome to the (fake) people_ready business.
2. The Fake Testimonial. Now with more Fake.

Jane calls the pose "Downward Facing Slutdog"

Last time we visited with the Kafka-reading Jane, the stats said she wasn't really reading her namesake magazine much anymore. She's got no time! What with all the teeth-whitening, memorizing Zoolander, yoga classes, perfecting her bikini keg stand, and the subsequent bitchin' hangovers. Seriously, look into those eyes. J-Love's a Zombie these days.

Taglines are DUMB: NYC Real Estate Edition.

let's fucking shvo? Good thing you got that pearl trademarked, Mr. Michael Shvo, a "charismatic, hard-charging" man with a "visionary's singular and passionate viewpoint" according to the SHVO website. (my keyboard now needs renovation, thanks to my vomit) Shvo is "solely focused on the concepting, marketing, and sales of luxury condominiums..." They should focus a little more on the concepting, marketing, and selling of themselves.

previously:
1. Taglines are DUMB: Tobacco Edition.
2. Taglines are DUMB: NYC Auto Show Edition.

Where were you when it happened?

It was a day like no other in the history of this great nation. I'm, of course, talking about Leelee (or, as I've called her since that day, "ee") Sobieski's reading of her 9/11 poem on Jay Leno. Here's the transcript (found here). NEVER forget.

This Day And All The Rest
One day.
One.
More than another.
The other,
that day,
those people,
too many,
too personal,
but not.
People you know know,
but you yourself know not.
Crashing down,
all frown,
hurting,
walking,
silently screaming,
slowly running,
often feeling nothing.
Seeing the lucky ones fleeing,
seeing those trapped inside.
Cry.
Cry.
It's OK.
It's not OK.
Smile if it's natural
Feel alive.
The president speaks,
The situation reeks an act of war.
I enter my room, close the door
Sit here.
Here where buildings do not fall to the floor.
we young will experience much more
future, liberty, the freedom to mope about in poetry.
My brother I love you.
Old friends and family too.
Safe for now glad to know I'm alive with all of you.
Feel what is real feel later heal.
One.
One person feeling the same as all the rest.
Please let us act and do what is best.

previously:
1. Who CARES where we were...

NoHo Ass.

Kate has gone from 'Your ass will never work in this town again' to 'Your ass is being plastered all over this town.' David Yurman sells jewelry, I guess? Word has it that Moss did lines off of her own tookas during the shoot. Sorry about the blurriness (click her). It was 7am, and I hadn't had coffee. That's the excuse I'm going with. Click here more gratuitous ASS in ads. (Lafayette @ Great Jones)
(post for two cheeky admen across the pond: Scamp & FishNChimps)
previously:
1. Five-story models compete for my love.
2. American Apparel: Made With Dov.
3. A small price to pay for a big package.
4. The G-Star Glory Hole.

copyranter makes very tiny New York Times debut.

Last night, on the Times empire zone blog (6th item down), my New York Attorney General post about the candidates' placards got linked to. copyranter. On the website of the National Paper Of Record. The cyber Gray lady. The same paper that features the Ambien® of advertising columnists, Stuart Elliott. Wow. Sooo honored.
previously:
1. copyranter makes NY Post Debut.
2. copyranter getting annoyed by all these reporters calling.

That's $3,653.75 a Minute.

Fourteen Thousand, Six Hundred and Fifteen Dollars? For what looks like a failed late-19th century flying machine? And, you're still bragging about an award you won 15 years ago? Sorry scam artists. The claim of a beneficial cardio workout in four fucking minutes is complete hooey. Not pictured: this bullshit product is endorsed by bullshit, spittle-lipped motivational huckster Tony Robbins.

previously:
1. geezerJock? Yes, geezerJock.
2. Coming Soon: The Glute Ottoman.

Alex, get upstairs and put your big pants on!

(click image)
A-Rod? Milk? I seriously doubt it. No, the most disingenuous athlete in the history of sports probably starts every morning with a 5am shot of an illegal, proprietary, platelet-infused proton/electrolyte concoction that costs $1,000 an ounce (then he spends 3 hours flossing and grooming his hair). So, sorry Little Leaguers. If you want to grow up to be a $25 million a year Major League douchebag, Milk ain't the answer. You're better off soaking yourself every day in Derek Jeter's Driven. And Alex? I'm sure those Gay rumors over the years have reached your ears. Just a heads up dude—this ad is going to be hung in more than a few NYC gym lockers this Fall.

previously:
1. Yankee Clubhouse Soon To Smell Like Whorehouse.
2. Is IT In YOU?

out again with Balvenie Weenie™.

Time for commenter participation again! What would the bartender's riposte be to the Balvenie Weenie's yet-again clever conversation starter? Here's a couple quickies:
—Shut the fuck up, you anal fissure.
—How about a Triple? Some rot gut, a kick in the balls, and a punch in your mouthless face?
—We don't serve whiners.
OK, those suck. You can do better (I'm looking at you, anon "I'd fuck him" commenter.). Check the previous BW posts below to get the idiotic flavor.

previously:
1. The Balvenie Weenie Motto.
2. Balvenie Weenie, Cinco de Mayo edition.
3. The Balvenie Weenie.

The New York Attorney General Primary—The Signs.

Frankly, I couldn't care less. Andrew Cuomo seems a real Douchebag. Mark Green is a perpetual Loser. Green is endorsed by the New York Times. Cuomo is endorsed by every two-bit politician in the State. So, I gotta take a look at the posters: MG4AG stomps all over Cuomo's ugly pro forma placard. But, I'm a registered Independent and can't vote in today's primary. Sorry, Markie.

previously:
1. SHTICKBALL
2. debate?
3. Ferrer For Mayor. Better Than Fair.

Fine. Here's something I actually like.

Iggy Pop, who was singing punk rock before the Sex Pistols even knew what the hell sex was, is the model for John Varvatos' new campaign (Flash slide show at the site). This is smart. Combine Iggy's weird, head-turning face and the fact that he's rarely been photographed with any clothing on above the waist and, well, the posters just work.
(on Hudson St.)

previously:
I uh like something...

Donnie Douche continues to break the big stories.

This month's Gotham, Prick Jason Binn's NYC pub, saw the return of Deutsch Mark, adman Donny Deutsch's little column about his show The "Big Idea." In it, he talks about interviewing Bill Gates. Here was his Ta-Da moment:
Deutsch: "What's on you iPod?"
Gates: "I don't have an iPod."

previously:
1. Cosmic Blob Supplants Donnie Deutsch's Ego As Largest Thing In Known Universe.
2. Donnie Deutsch Mark!
3. That's Mr. 'Douche', Brittney.
4. Increase Market Share With Byzantine Chants.

Pataki vs. a Worker Ant.

New York Governor George Pataki, left. A recent pic of Ground Zero, right.


A common worker ant, left. What Ground Zero would look like today if this ant was Governor, right.

André Balazs has a new black beaver.

Despite an apparent reconnection with Black Mamba, the small-headed hotelier ( I ride the elevator with him often. Good-looking man. Small features.) has introduced a big black beaver to downtown New York—the William Beaver House (site). Go to the site, and watch the fella tap his feet to some Mambo music (a tribute to Uma?). But I'm a little disappointed in you André. A truly dedicated womanizer would have developed a residence a block south at the corner of Broad and Beaver.

previously:
1. The Unparalleled Hyperbole of NYC Real Estate Advertising.
2. CLEARLY defining your target audience.
3. Free Jade Jagger Real Doll™ With Every Condo.

"Introduce your friends to a little German."

(click image)
He's not a puppet. No, he's supposed to be a live, little German man. Jesus, this is fucking weird. There's even Web video spots at the site littlegerman.com. Well, I guess if you're selling a German Riesling, you want to make sure we remember German. They should put him on the bottle though, because after seeing this ad, there's no room left in my mind to remember the brand name.

previously:
1. Strange Image of the Week, #2.
2. Strange Image of the Week.

Who CARES where we were...

...we weren't on the top 30 floors of one of the Towers. We weren't on duty at a City firehouse. That's all that fucking matters about where we were five years ago Monday. Unlike the first round of ads seeking donations to build the World Trade Center Memorial (bottom of page)—effective messages featuring the makeshift memorials put up by grieving New Yorkers—the second wave uses stupid art-directed scenarios such as the one at right (click image):
"Yeah, I was at the gym, and it was the first time EVER that I benched 225, so it was like I KNEW something big was happening. I've never been able to get 225 again. Man, I'll always remember that rep—and, yeah, also those 3,000 dead people."

Revisit old friends Chairry the talking chair, Globey the Globe, plus Pee Wee's newest pal—Porny the Porn Closet.
(lafayette st. @ bleecker st.)

previously:
1. Christian Slater is a Germ.
2. SEX MACHINE FRIDAY!!!
3. Duck-Voiced Men Have Needs, Too.

BREAKING: PRICK named to Ad Hall of Achievement.

Jason Binn, Short Prick (right), and publisher of a bunch of absolutely awful magazines, will be inducted into the Advertising Hall of Achievement (I'm typing through my own pizza puke right now). I was alerted to this by fishbowlny (edited by the very pleasant Dylan Stableford. Nice curse-word free, dry sense of humor he has.). Here's the link to my evidence of Binn's prickness. Prick.

Genworth Financial Courts Centenarian Demo.

(click image)
Real ball-scratcher here. I've seen a couple of ads in the campaign, which features only biddies and geezers over 100. No mention of whether these death-defying dames and duffers are Genworth customers. As far as I can tell, the point of the ads is: Owning a home will help you live to 100? Or, if you live to 100, you'll finally have a firm financial foundation? I really have nothing else to say about this. It is truly a mystery to me.

previously:
1. The only celebrity endorsement I've ever liked.
2. The Good Hands, Bad Taste People.
3. Meet John Dowd. Banker. Founding Father.
4. What the Marketing Director of Deutsche Bank Jerks Off To Every Morning.

The Maddens. Lots of Tats. Lots of Causes.

Anything that keeps the Good Charlotte boys away from the recording studio is pretty OK by me. Reportedly, they are also against infecting young seals with AIDS, and the clubbing of AIDS-infected youths. They'd also like to make it clear that the sandwiches they club must be vegan. NO bacon. Then and only then, will the Maddens smash the shit out them—using recyclable clubs—with all their faux-punky anger & might.

previously:
Evening Wood

Axe now cures hangovers.

(click image)
No asterisk? No caveat? Not content with their claim that wearing their body spray will make women jump on your dick until it's raw, Axe seems determined to address every frat boy's every problem with one of their cheap ass-smelling products. What next? Axe memorization shampoo?

previously:
eau de ASS