Crickey!

Another month flies by and it’s been a good one.

It’s a month that has seen what I think could well be a long running favourite here at TWA, Acorn Stair Lifts.

It features poor little witless Jimmy.

Just sat there trying to use a stairlift but he’s going nowhere. Because he’s sat on a stool, tied to a bannister with a scarf, that he’s trying to make it go up and down with the remote for the tele.

Poor, poor, little witless Jimmy.

The Acorn entry in TWA also broke the news that Mou was resigning from Acorn. Now, I’m not sure how directly this advert affected his decision to resign but, as we’re all nice boys and girls, let’s wish him the best of luck in the future. Unless he finds work with Picture obviously.

Anyway, here’s the voting this month:

1. Acorn Stairlift
2. Picture Loans - Dad’s Found Your Scooter
3. Injury Lawyers 4 U - Billy Murray
4. Picture Loans - An Adult Conversation
5. The Gadget Help Line

So, moving as effortlessly as one of their very own stairlifts, Acorn debut at the top of the charts.

Well done Acorn for being so very shit at adverts.

We salute you.

Until next month, tut ta.

You know, I thought Alpen’s attempt to sex up muesli last year was a little desperate but that’s nothing compared to Envirofone’s attempt to sex up the world of mobile phone recycling.

Their advert is a little bit like a play on the old joke in which an attractive woman appears on an old man’s doorstep and tells him “I’m here to offer you super sex!”. To which the man replies “I’ll have the soup, please.”

Yes the Environfone advert poses the question: Which do men prefer, a scantily clad young woman or 32 quid?

Or as Chelsea Monks, who submitted this bad ad, asks:

What red blooded male would pass her up for a tenner??!!

Quite.

In fact, I was so unsure about which I prefer, I’ve had to watch this advert 50 or 60 times in a row now. And my view on this matter is still slightly blurred - along with my view of everything else after seeing her dirty pillows so many times.

Anyway, I’ve come to the conclusion that she is either a ghost - which would explain why he appears not to notice her - or that she charges at least £32 for whatever service she offers - and this is why he is so focused on his goal.

Yep, definitely one of those two options.

Cheers, Chelsea Monks.

You know, I’ve heard few more convincing arguments to get Sky+ - what with it’s exorbitant monthly charges only to find yourself watching re-runs of the Good Life on UKTVGold - then the fact that Ross Kemp’s nan has it.

How celebrity obsessed would you really have to be to do anything just because Ross Kemp’s nan has done it?

Note to readers: I would like to point out at this moment that the blue rinse I’ve had done was through my own personal choice that was in no way influenced by Kemp’s nan’s hair style.

Yes, it seems that the best Sky could get out of Britain’s best loved man-child/fake hardman/lobotomised monkey impersonator is that his nan has Sky+ to watch the snooker.

I think you’ll agree, it’s his utter simplicity that’s his genius.

Judge for yourself.

How do you convince people that they’re not eating enough chicken - in a convenient bite size format - late at night?

Simple:

Thanks to Jonny Chestwig for submitting this bad ad.

It’s been a bad few months for democracy.

We’ve recently found out that Ant and Dec didn’t really win the Peoples Choice Award at the 1896 British Comedy Awards. It was actually won by some woman that does impressions of Dickens characters, or something like that (to be honest I’ve not fully paid attention to this story), but Robbie Williams hates Dickens so he fixed the result.

Then there’s the shenanigans in Zimbabwe where the ruling Zanu PF party are trying to win the election by not telling people that they’ve actually lost and hoping no-one notices. Well Mugabe, the games up, TV’s Worst Adverts has noticed!

Finally there’s the recent mayoral election in London in which Boris Johnson rigged the vote to beat Ken Livingstone.

Oh no, hang on, Boris didn’t rig the vote, he won fair and square. Hhm, I can’t decide if this is because Londoners are a bunch of ungrateful bastards or just all really up for a laugh (”Let the blonde haired buffoon have a go. We want to see what he fucks up first!” etc.)

At this point, I should probably lay my cards on the table and say I know very little about, and have even less of an interest in, politics.

You see I get all of my political opinions by reading the headlines in tabloid newspapers. That’s how I know things like “Gordon Brown: Descended from crocodiles!” and “Government Minister masturbates to climax in ear of the Iraq war!” and “Cost of living set to treble by the time you’ve finished reading this headline!”.

OK, I don’t really read the headlines. I scan them and take in “the vibe”. And that’s what I got. Crocodiles hey? I wondered why he never cries…

But anyway, there you have it. Proof, if ever it were needed, that democracy’s beauty is also its fatal flaw: Any old idiot can vote. Yep, as long as you’ve got a pulse and you’ve registered, you can vote. Although in some parts of Birmingham a pulse isn’t even necessarily required.

Which brings me to Product of the Year.

Product of the Year is the UK’s biggest consumer survey; sent out to 12,000 households, of which about 60% bother to respond. It allows *consumers* to vote for products on a panel selected short-list that manufacturers have had to pay to be on. Which, to be fair, isn’t too dissimilar to the process for parliamentary elections.

Full details of the Product of the Year selection process can be found on their Web site. Here’s my favourite bit though:

A system developed in France ensures that greater weight is given to votes cast by people who have actually tried the products.

What?

Greater weight is given to votes cast by people who have actually tried the products?

Come on, what sort of idiot would vote something “Product of the Year” when they’ve never actually used it? Let alone vote something “Product of the Year” when they’ve never actually used it and presumably state that they’ve never used it!

The claimed benefits of winning Product of the Year are reasonably substantial. Previous winners have seen their sales improve by “10% to 100% or more“. Just because of they now carry the Product of the Year logo.

So not only are we stupid enough to vote for products that we’ve never used, we’re also stupid enough to base our opinions on the opinions of other people who are stupid enough to vote for something that they’ve never used.

So remember the next time you’re tempted to buy “Always with Silk” just because it carries the Product of the Year in the Feminine Care category, I voted for it and I’ve never even stuck one up myself. Not even tried to.

And I bet that makes you feel pretty, well, stupid.

Anyways, here’s a selection of Product of the Year adverts from just before TWA time began - or 2006 as it’s more popularly known:

Thanks to Gordon for submitting this bad ad.

I can’t help but feel that if anybody actually thinks that their broadband is the reason their home is unhappy they need to be taken into care for their own safety.

Because, as any sane person knows, the things that actually make your home unhappy are:

1. Light Switches
2. Duvets
3. Extension Cables
4. Hair Scrunchies
5. Tea Towels

Broadband doesn’t even feature on the list, the idiots.

So come on O2, starting talking some sense!

A blank canvas. A carte blanche. A free hand. Do whatever you want.

Sounds great, doesn’t it?

Well, except for the fact that there’re few things more terrifying that the prospect of having no rules at all. Trying to comprehend the possibilities of complete freedom is enough to make your brain go all Halliwell on your arse and for you to curl up in a ball on the floor whilst gently sobbing for your mother.

That’s why when we have the choice to do whatever we want, so many of us end up doing nothing at all (or writing blogs about adverts and the such).

So, that’s my thoughts on freedom - it’s not all it cracked up to be - some times you need rules to stop you from becoming a gibbering wreck.

Anyway, here’s a question for you:

Do you remember the Ford Cougar?

It was a “sport saloon” (according to the internet) and Ford sold about 3 of them in the UK (according to my brain) in the late 90’s.

For those that remember the car this might sound like quite a high estimate of actual cars sold but I know they sold at least one because I worked with a bloke that had one. Can you believe he was a smug, middle-class, bell-end with a misplaced opinion of himself and a bad taste in woolly jumpers and a worse taste in cars? And, using water tight logic, seeing as I worked with like 50 people I figure they probably sold two more.

Anyway the Cougar was named after the “large, tawny cat, Felis concolor, of North and South America: now greatly reduced in number and endangered in some areas” (thanks Dictionary.Com) where as the wholly differently named Kuga - the new SUV from Ford - means “we like the name ‘Cougar’ but we already used it on another car”.

But believe me, “Cougar” and “Kuga” are two very different names. They’re spelt different for a start. Look:

“Cougar” and “Kuga”.

See?

And go on, say them out loud.

“Cougar”
“Kuga”
“Cougar”
“Kuga”

Hear? Sound different too, don’t they?

“What do you drive?” Someone might ask you.
“A Ford Cougar” you might reply.
“What are you, a smug middle-class bell-end from the late 90’s?” they might mock.
“No, I said Kuga. Totally different name.” you might be forced to say.
“Oh, I misheard.” they might apologise.

Here’s another question for you:

Do you know the difference between the Ford Maverick and the Nissan Terrano?

If you say you do, then you’re either talking about the name badge or you’re a liar. Because they were the same. Built in the same factory by the same Spaniards.

By sharing the costs, it’s less expensive to build a new car, you see, so there’s more money in the coffers for the annual hunting trip to shoot Kugas (or at least something that sounds like a Kuga) in North and South America.

Here’s a final question for you:

Have you heard of the Nissan Qashqui?

Hhm, I thought you might have.

Now, I’m not implying that the Kuga and the Qashqui are the same. It’s just I can’t help but think that the canvas that Ford started drawing the new Kuga on wasn’t quite as blank as they’d like us to believe.

The Kuga’s probably a much better car for it too.

This is probably the worst use of a survey to support a claim that I’ve ever seen on a cosmetics advert.

The Claim: Rimmel’s Volume Booster Lip Gloss gives a “Lip plumping sensation” and gives you “Sexy and voluptuous lips“.

The Statistics: 47% of 34 women agreed.

Not only is a survey of 34 women completely useless (was it of 34 women that were in the office that day?) but not even 50% of the women asked agreed with the statement!

Magical.

Judge for yourself.

Do you remember the good old days?

You know, when Britain was Great and when old people used to live in bungalows?

Well those days are gone, my friend.

Nowadays there’s either a hoodie or an illegal immigrant on every single street corner and old people don’t live in bungalows any more - they live in regular houses with stairs and everything.

“What’s this madness?” I hear you cry. “Old people cant do stairs!”

Cardigans - Yes.

Werthers - Yes.

Stairs - No.

But I’ll tell you why old people don’t live in bungalows any more, it’s because bungalows are for old people and old people don’t want to be old people. They want to be young people so pretend that they still are by living in young people’s houses. You know, the ones with stairs and everything.

And if you try to get them to move to a bungalow now, they flatly refuse. And we all know how belligerent old people can be. You’re forever hearing them say things like:

“Why did I come into this room?”

and

“Whoops, my trousers have fallen down”

and

“I didn’t discover the Arc of the Covenant and the Holy Grail and set free a shit load of enslaved Indian children to not live in a house with stairs!”

Leaving you with no choice but to reply:

“Look, they were just films, Harrison. You didn’t actually do any of that stuff. Now pull your trousers up and read this Acorn Stairlifts brochure you’ve been looking for.”

Yep, Acorn Stairlifts help give old people that eternal youth fantasy that all pensioners - well, the ones who don’t live in the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull - are looking for.

Don’t believe me? Watch their advert.

WATCH IT!

Possibly. The. Worst. Advert. On. TV.

The lack of subtlety of the advert is amazing. It’s nearly the advertising equivalent of pulling your chair up really close to an old person and speaking loudly in their ear. This is undoubtedly because all old people are a little bit mental in the brain and can’t understand anything unless you clearly spell it out for them. You know, clearly spelt out or somehow related to a story about the War.

In fact, I don’t know why they didn’t just go the whole hog and have an advert that is simply a shot from a conservatory onto a garden, with a face that’s near the camera and out of focus, and a voice over saying:

“YOU KNOW ACORN STAIRLIFTS COULD REALLY HELP YOU GET ABOUT THE HOUSE MORE, DEARY. THAT’S RIGHT, CHURCHILL HAD ONE AT DUNKIRK.”

Anyways, it’s the whole little Jimmy sub-plot in this advert that throws me. You can’t help but feel sorry for him.

He’s clearly adopted (Come on, make some effort to get 3 actors that look vaguely alike) and he’s not coping with it very well. So he’s gone all “Romanian orphan” on us and is sat on a stool, tied to a bannister with a scarf, that he’s trying to make it go up and down with the remote for the tele.

Good God, Jimmy! You’re what, 10 years old? Don’t you have any friends to play with? From the way he’s dressed, I suspect not.

A shabby old t-shirt, trousers that are too short in the leg and (sharp intake of breath) sandals with socks! In my opinion making your child wear sandals with socks is tantamount to child abuse. You might as well send them Youth Hostelling on Jersey or to Austria to stay with Uncle Josef for few months. That’s how serious an offence “sandals with socks” actually is.

That’s the sort of thing that could scar a poor kid for life. It really could.

So when the old man proclaims “He’s going to be an engineer, like his Granddad.” (Although quite how the old duffer knows who the adopted kids Granddad is, isn’t explained), I suspect what’s closer to the truth is that little Jimmy is “going to be a little bit mental in his brain, like his Granddad”.

Because he’s sat on a stool, tied to a bannister with a scarf, that he’s trying to make it go up and down with the remote for the tele.

In reality I suspect it’s a highly clever way to make old men think that having a stair lift in their home isn’t such an embarrassment, particularly if it’s to help you do something for your grand kids. And yes, a lot of Grandsons look up to their Granddads. But it’s just so laughably unsubtle and such a ponderous tale (”Hang on a minute Dad, it’s gone quiet…”) that I want to scratch my own eyes out just to have something to do until the advert finishes.

Anyway, what do I really know? I’m off to lie in a cardboard box in front of the oven and try to operate a conveyor with my mobile phone so I can be just like my Granddad.

Ta ta.

This is the first entry in a new and hopefully long running category on TV’s Worst Adverts - Parental Guidance.

It’s devoted to the brilliant small print shown along with movie trailers to let movie goers know exactly what they’re in for. Except it never does let movie goers konw what their in for because they’re always so vague.

You know the sort:

“This film contains scenes of mild peril.”

What? Or worse

“This film contains one usage of the French language.”

Why?

Now I’ve made these insights to a film’s content seem slightly ridiculous but they are sometimes genuinely useful and on the odd occasion I’ve even wished that I paid more attention.

For example, had I noticed the tiny little letters, flashed on the screen for a split second, spelling out the following phrase:

“This film contains no plot and one gratuitous use of Mike Tyson”

I probably wouldn’t have gone to see Crocodile Dundee 3. There’s 2 hours of my life I’ll never get back.

Anyway, here’s the UK trailer for the film Iron Man:

Those with sharp eyesight may have noticed the excellent guidance warning potential viewers:

“Contains moderate violence and one use of moderate language”

Now, I must confess I’ve not actually seen the film so I’m a little bit confused what they mean by that. So I can’t say for sure but I imagine the “moderate violence” use of “moderate language” to be something like this:

Man 1: “I say nuked the damned French!”
Man 2: “I think we should maybe try diplomatic channels first.”
Man 1: “Fucking moderate fag!”
Man 2 Punches Man 1.
Man 2: “Sorry for punching you Man 1, I’m normally less violent and more moderate than that.”

You know, having watched a Hollywood blockbuster before, I understandably imagined that’s what happened until I checked in with the always excellent ParentPreviews.com.

By all accounts the film actually contains scenes in which (Note from Silky: You might want to stop reading now if you’re of a delicate constitution):

“One man is killed by a ricocheting bullet, another catches fire and a third is repeatedly shot in the chest.”

what’s more:

“The script includes infrequent use of profanities and vulgarities.”

I know - shocking! Why didn’t they just say that in the first place?

Anyways, if you spot any excellent please e-mail them in to me at the address on the bottom of the About TV’s Worst Adverts page.