Adverts I hate – Part 1

 

Okay, so I probably hate most adverts. This is because most of the advertising industry treat consumers (i.e. people) like moronic idiots who live in 1950’s white, middle class nuclear families.

This time of the year the rush to get people to spend money they haven’t got on crap they don’t need reaches its absolute zenith. Therefore I am spoilt in my choice in adverts to hate.

The adverts that currently irritate beyond belief are the dancing showgirls, that’s why mums gone to Iceland ones. I mean, seriously? To make it worse, they often appear FIVE times in one advert break! Yes, FIVE!!

I can’t even begin to explain how wrong these adverts are, but I’ll try anyway.

1. Dancing show girls a la Moulin Rouge – What the fuck? It’s food (sort of) you’re selling. There is no reason to dress women up in sexay costumes to dance and pose seductively to sell food – unless we’re living in some kind of patriarchal society – oh, right, I get it now!

 

2. Jason Donovan as ringmaster – Jason’s shining moment was in ’87/’88 when he married Kylie on tv. Now he gets to be served ‘food’ by dancing girls on TV. Highlight of this advert is when Jason is shown in stockings and high heels, emasculation of the first order.

 

3. “that’s why mums go to Iceland” – This has to be the most craptastic slogan ever. I don’t think I need to explain why this is just so wrong, if I have to, my head will probably explode.

 

4. The ‘food’ – Mums go to Iceland to serve their loving family cheap, processed crap. Doner kebab pizzas? Seriously?

 IGMS

Bastion of bigotry

I have a love/hate relationship with the Daily Mail, actually that’s a morbid curiosity/hate relationship.

Whenever I want to have a good laugh I peruse the Daily Mail Online site, it is a treasure trove of inconsequential celebrity crap, unabashed misogyny, homophobia, and racism. On top of this is sprinkled a heap of cancer and other health related scare stories as well as a fascination with all things Diana.

That, unbeknownst to me until recently, my sister joins me in this rather insidious hobby is somewhat of a relief, as I thought I was alone.
Unfortunately, whilst I start off being amused, I soon end up needing another glass of wine in order to calm my nerves.

I am sure that I shall spend many of my words on this blog venting on the sheer idiocy of this publication, and therefore apologise for any increase in blood pressure this may cause.

IGMS