Oi! Scumbag! Your house is a filth-infested, shit-hole and it’s killing your kids!

So implies the latest advert from Oust as they attempt to “Howard Hughes” our squalid lives.

Yes, it turns out we’re surrounded by millions of conniving bacteria just waiting to infect us when we least expect it.

When we’re walking through a room.
When we’re throwing something in the bin.
When we’re DRAWING THE FUCKING CURTAINS!

That’s right, even your curtains are bacterial A-bombs just waiting to go off in that sewer you call “home”.

Nowhere is safe, I tell you. Nowhere!

In fact, there’s bacteria on your mouse as you’re browsing this site. Now it’s on your hand.
Just scratched your nose? Now it’s on your face.
Just licked your lips? Now it’s IN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!

But don’t worry because as we all know (thanks to those kindly folks at Yakult and Danone) we have about 3 mega-zillion bacteria living inside us as we live and breath (Wikipedia tells me there’re actually about “10 to the power of 14 micro-organisms in the gut” although this can more than quadruple after visit to that dodgy Chinese down the street). And these bacteria are made up of some good bacteria, some bad bacteria.

You know what it’s like though, it’s the few thoughtless idiots that give all bacteria a bad name (E. Coli, I’m looking at you). That’s always how it starts; a bad egg, a couple of nasty headlines, a few terrifying adverts.

And the nation is crippled with paranoia.

We stop preparing our meals on the toilet seat. We stop forcing our kids to eat of the lid of the bin. And we spray everything with Oust.

In fact I’m so concerned about one day picking up the TV remote and bacteria eating my hand off that I’ve commissioner a crop-sprayer to fly over my house twice a day to squirt a few thousand gallons of Oust all over it.

And I’ve fashioned a hermetically sealed outfit made from an old diver’s suit. (Note to anyone else wanting to make one of these outfits: After the first test run I discovered that the only major down side to the hermetically sealed outfit is that you die of suffocation fairly shorty after putting on the afore mentioned outfit. A quick modification with the filter from my Dyson vacuum and it’s ready to go.) It’s a guaranteed germ free existence plus the added bonus of being able to walk under water. What have you got to say to that Oust?

Oh, wait, news just in: It’s not that bad. It’s just manufacturers making it seem worse than it actually is to shift more products.

Right, well, I feel a bit of a fool now for the whole aeroplane thing and the diving suit.

But hey, at least I wasn’t stupid enough to spray my dirty curtains!

Judge for yourself.

From Our Sponsors

It all started with a potty-mouthed dog and, as hard as it is to believe, TVs Worst Adverts has made it up to 100 entries.

So as a treat for you all I thought I’d give you a break from reading the rubbish I write and hand the keys to TWA to one of our regular readers, Mike.

Cheers, Mike!

Audi R8

There’s something not quite right about the Audi R8 advert and E-mails to Audi UK may show why.

First off the mobile phone giant T-Mobile had a complaint:

The next email was from respected motor journalist and TV presenter Jeremy Clarkson:

And finally Porsche had a point to make:

Can you imagine?

Hoards of drunken teenagers, rampaging through the streets, dragging their Addidas Classic clad heels and their hooded topped, er, heads over to your house intent on smashing up your gnomes, ripping up your daisies and wiping their pubescent backsides on your wedding dress.

It’s an apocalyptic scene, yes, but it’s one that strike fear into the very hearts of Daily Mail readers across the land.

Obviously it’s one that very rarely happens but, fuck it, it shifts newspapers.

Sadly, the mum from the current BT adverts (You know the updated version of the Goldblend couple. Now they’ve got kids but a modern twist; she’s divorced, he’s younger etc.) seems to have read the Mail and believed it to be based in fact. So much so she is racked with terror and paranoia when she rumbles her son Tom hosting the Worst House Party In The History Of House Parties Ever.

“What’s going on?” she asks with such a mix naivety, shock and accusation that you’d think she’s just caught Tom in a post coital embrace with his little sister as they wilfully delete the folders with all the pictures of themselves as babies.

I mean teenagers, what are they like?

Watching cartoons, drinking lemonade. Fucking hooligans!

What I mean to say is, how very sanitised this view of middle class life and adolescence in the year 2007 actually is.

You know, I’m reliably informed that in the original draft of the script the Mum is so ashamed of just how whet Tom is that she unlocks the drinks cabinet, forces a pint of Jack Daniels down his neck, phones one of her recently divorced friends who is desperate to get back in the saddle and give Tom a couple of “Mummy & Daddies Special Bedroom Party” pills.

But revision after revision became slightly more watered down until we got to this:

“Tom has 4 friends and opens a bottle of fizzy pop. It sprays on the carpet.”

Magical.

Do those marketing execs at BT not remember what being a teenager of middle class parents was actually like?

Judge for yourself.

It seems that Wilkinson Sword have decided to throw subtlety out of the window.

I say this because previously in razor adverts there was only ever the implication that a close shave would make your more attractive to women. This was usually achieved by a shot of a man (with a cleanly shaven face) and an attractive women stroking it (the face).

Sometimes, they would ramp things up a little with a saucy tag line: “The Best a Man Can Get”. Missus! But that was as far as things went.

Wilkinson Sword, however, decided that Neanderthal man wouldn’t understand the implied connection between shaving and sex. So they came up with the (terribly dubbed) “How was it for you?” campaign. Which, whilst I’m on it, couldn’t have been written by a man for simply reason that since the dawn of time (and the birth of the previously mentioned Neanderthal man) no man has ever uttered the words “How was it to you?” to another man.

At the very least, it hasn’t been uttered by a man who would be overly bothered whether a woman found him attractive. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but make your mind up Wilkinson Sword; are you going for the Homo- or Hetero- market?

Anyway, what with there being more heterosexual men needing to shave then there are homosexual men needing to shave, it appears that Wilkinson Sword have decided to definitely target the former group.

We know this because at the very start of the new advert there’s a mixed-sex couple having a bit of a sexy romp. This is accompanied by the line “Let’s try something new”. Very kinky.

Sadly, it turns out that the “something new” was to “make yourself look like an Eastern European sex offender”. And this presumably means that the only sex you’ll be getting is in the showers whilst staying at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. Again, blurring the line between straight and gay.

I can’t decide if it’s very clever multi-orientation marketing or steaming great mess of an advert.

Either way, I’ve been asked by the authorities to ask you that if you should see any of the following men, please report them immediately to your nearest Police Station.

Thank you for your co-operation with this.

Judge for yourself.

Science – it’s going to save us all.

I genuinely believe that. I think science is the only thing that will make the giant environmental shit on our own door step we’re currently having go back up humanity’s back passage.

Mostly I believe this because we’re too lazy to save ourselves. I’m even too lazy to turn the light off when I close the fridge door, so science solved that one for me. And I’m too lazy to walk to the recycling bins down the road, so science has made my car more efficient. God, I’m even too lazy to swim to Florida for my holidays so science made the teleporter (OK, they haven’t done that last one – yet).

Anyway, science is ace at saving things and that’s we all love it.

But you know who traditionally hasn’t given a split atom about science in the past? Women.

Or at least that was until L’Oreal blew the minds of women World-wide with their “Here comes the science bit – concentrate!”. And more recently women were dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st cnetury with the crap-tastic Clear Blue Pregnancy Tester advert (Are they taking the piss? Oh yes, they actually are).

And suddenly women thought “Wow, science! It can save me/tell me if I’m pregnant in a flashy electronic way!”. But mostly they thought “Wow, science can save me!”

Yes, so now women, like Walt Disney before them, have a “science can give me eternal life” fantasy. However, unlike Walt Disney women’s quest for eternal life involves less sleeping next to some McCain’s Micro-chips for the next 1000 years, and more smothering their bodies in cream.

Nivea’s DNAge is one of the latest adverts to combine the power of science and the dream of living forever to part ugly/insecure women from their money:

And DNAge is magical stuff as the Nivea Website tells us, their cream contains:

“…the powerful combination of Folic Acid and Creatine to stimulate cell renewal and help protect the skin cells’ DNA against further external damage.”

But then again, this sort of power is also contained in breakfast cereal and steak.

Either way, what I really love about the new advert for DNAge Hand Cream is the statistics used to support the claims (As always the results of trials are printed in the smallest font available with the lowest contrast at the bottom of the screen):

“60% agreed based on trial of 27 women”.

Yep, 60% of 27 women thought their hands looked younger after rubbing Nivea DNAge into them. Hardly unequivocal is it?

So here’s my advice women, save yourself some cash and have another portion of Special K with a nice juicy steak on the side!

Update

Thanks to Stephen in the comments below for pointing out an error in my original post (now corrected) and for the link to his complaint to the ASA.

For those who don’t have the time (or possibly inclination) to read it, in short the ASA said the advert was (and I’m paraphrasing here) “Bollocks” and it must (paraphrasing again) “never been shown again on punishment of death”.

Good work, Stephen.

So there was I just the other day lamenting that Honda seems to have lost it’s way a little since the “Cogs” advert and along comes the new advert from Guinness:

Hhm, more than a little similar to the “Cogs” ad, wouldn’t you say?

Maybe, maybe not.

I get the feeling that a lot of the guys who make these ads simply lusted after Domino Rally as kids. Now they’re big boys, they’re just getting the opportunity to act out their fantasies.

The trouble I have with Guinness adverts is that to live up to their “Good things come to those who wait” tag line some of their adverts are way too long. This latest advert is no exception but puts a twist on that theme by being really dull too. By the time it got the end, I was half way through the Times crossword. And not the Quick one; the Cryptic one. And I’m shit at crosswords.

Anyway, for those of you who couldn’t make it to the end of the advert, it ends with a shot of a giant pint of Guinness. Now, what does that remind me of….

Here’s an old one that’s come back to haunt us again.

Before I get going, surely that should be “This is what Honda sounds like” or am I missing a trick?

I’ve been a really big fan of Honda adverts in recent years. They’ve produced some absolutely superb stuff (See here, here and here for proof).

So this ad is more then a little bit disappointing:

In fact it’s more than disappointing. It’s completely pointless. It’s pompous beyond belief and surely only cements the Honda civic place in the affections of Classic FM listening wankers.

What makes me angriest about it though is that the one sound missing from the advert is the one I’d love to hear the most: the sound of a Honda civic running down a choir in an abandoned car-park.

Maybe I’m being too hard on it, but I think that the previous adverts I’ve linked to above really connected with people. Although there’s the odd parody of the choir advert, you only need to see the advert for 118 below to see what an impact the “Cogs” advert had on TV adverts:

Come on Honda, make another classic for us.

As the Tesco war machine marches on Argos, spear-heading the attack is Martine “Does my bum look big in this. Yes because it’s huge” McCutcheon. Oh, and that bloke from Spooks.

Martine spent many years in Eastenders, playing Judy to Ross Kemp‘s Punch. And thankfully, she didn’t waste her time in the company of the master. She spent those days polishing her acting skills until she got a shine on them much like you get on the proverbial turd. Only slightly duller.

Where as Kemp’s acting is cardboard cutout, McCutcheon’s is full on wooden.

When faced with a particularly challenging scene, she draws inspiration from an alter-ego she has created called Marine McButtcheek – a failed actress and singer on the slag-heap of life. This inspiration nearly always manifests itself as a huge wooden arse on legs, topped off with a pearly white rictus smile. The desire never to become Marine produces some of Martine’s finest work.

And so it is in the latest advert for Tesco Direct.

From the way she staggers through her “Very Romantic” line like Stephen Hawking with a flat battery, I can only presume that the joined up writing on her cue cards was a. bit. too. hard. to. read.

Shame on you, Martine. Shame. If Kemp were alive today, he’d be rolling in his grave.

To be fair to her, maybe she’s struggling with nerves because she’s in the company of a horrific letch (who’s quite clearly set up the date with the sole intent to sexually assault poor, bumper-butted Martine).

But what amazes me most though, is that Tesco has enough money to corrupt some of the greats in the British entertainment game (Sir Terry Wogan, Lord Ronnie Corbett and, er, Jimmy Nesbitt) so why didn’t they try and get someone who can at least read half-a-dozen lines of script?

Surely Patsy Palmer would have been available?

Judge for yourself.

While I’m on the theme of car insurance…. GoCompare.com.

My problems with this ad is pretty straight forward. It’s the bloody tag line:

“Why GoCompare anywhere else?” the tiny man in the computer asks us.

Why go compare anywhere else? Oh, the humanity!

OK, I get it, you’re playing on our knowledge of patronising American phrases such as “Go figure” and “Do the math”. But, if the truth be told, if anyone ever directs on of these phrase at me, I tend to to come back with another Americanism: “Go fuck yourself”.

Reactionary, yes, but completely justified, I think you’ll agree.

This faux valley-girl ghetto speak that’s seeping into our culture thanks to our lust for celebrity (and those celebrities on the whole being as thick as two short Paris Hiltons) drives me potty. Potty, I tell you.

OK, I’m not completely innocent. Yes, I say “OK” like, huh, a million times a day, girlfriend, but other than that I don’t use too many half-witted Americanisms (and if you disagree you can so talk to the hand… etc).

So here’s my advice GoCompare, when you’ve got a company with a name that makes no sense in English don’t then shoe-horn it into a painful tag line. Let’s just all agree you made a mistake naming your company “GoCompare” and move on. Don’t keep digging.

Of course, it could be worse they could have included a ridiculous claim in the advert too like they’ve invented a unique way to rate insurance policies (“So 5-stars is good, you say?”).

So in summary: Oh my God, Whatever, Etc.

I hate my car insurance company.

They charge me through the nose for something I have not choice but to buy. Bastards.

Plus, when I come to renew my policy, despite having made no claims, they offer me a price that is higher than if I were to take out a new policy with them over the Web. Shits.

Then they can never understand a word I say when I ring them up. “What’s my policy number? It’s B-986…. no, no, B for Bravo. For BRAVO. Dash, no, no, DASH!”. Idiots.

And they give me free break down cover too. Except when I broke down, guess what, the free cover didn’t cover my break down. So I had to pay for it, through the nose again. Shits.

But as much as I hate my insurers I have never launched into a 4-letter-word tirade of such ferocity as the women in the new Esure advert. Blimey, she really let’s rip, doesn’t she?

What amazes me though is that her expression doesn’t change at all. Whenever I do have moments or rage-overload my whole face turns bright red, my arms fling out in all directions, and I dance around like a monkey in the final stages of syphilis madness. But she remains as calm as a Hindu cow.

Of course, this could be explained by the fact she’s just seen Michael Winner looking like he’s talking from beyond the grave. I suppose that would account for her swearing fit too. “Previously when I was with… Jesus & Mary-Mother of God! I’ve just seen a mother-fucking ghost…” etc.

Now, if ever there were an opportunity for Michael to get in a sly “Calm down, Dear!” that foul-mouthed onslaught was it. But I don’t think he could be bothered. Winner certainly doesn’t look like he’s got much time left in the World if, in fact, he isn’t already actually dead. What’s for certain is he’s essentially turned into the Mr Burns of TV adverts; with his frail body and gaunt expression it’s all he can do to lift his arm to give a thumbs-up.

“I’m meeting real Esure customers. Exxcellleeent.”

Regardless of whether he has a contract to fulfil, I can’t believe that he is doing the Esure brand any good continuing to appear in these adverts.

So come on Michael, do the decent thing; spend your last few minutes of life enjoying yourself and not scaring the bejesus out of middle-aged women.

Judge for yourself.

Update

I have an admission to make, just as the shock of seeing Michael Winner sent that women in to a swear-a-thon it must have made me temporarily deaf. One a second viewing I managed to hear him say “Calm down, Dear!”.

Apologies for any distress my temporary deafness caused you or your families.