But a TV that can “make snooker even more enjoyable”, amazingly, isn’t much of a selling point these days.

No, HD is all about being able to see stuff you couldn’t see before.

You know, like being able to see James Bond doing some kind of pastiche of that bit at the end of Empire Strikes Back:

And in a World exclusive TV’s Worst Adverts can reveal the dialogue from the next instalment of these Sony adverts:

Goldfinger: “M never told you what happened to your father.”
James Bond: “She told me enough. She told me you killed him.”
Goldfinger: “No. I am your father”

Yeah, it turns out that Goldfinger is actually James Bond’s father. Who knew? Who knew?

Shockingly at the end of the advert Goldfinger actually does cut James Bond’s nuts off - to which Bond dryly retorts: “Bollocks!”.

Not really.

In reality, I don’t know what the hell this advert is really supposed to be showing us apart from the very obvious “green screening” of Daniel Craig - this generations “you can see the strings!”.

I get the feeling that this advert’s message is as simple as “Watching a Sony HD TV will make you as cool as James Bond”. In much the same way that the Barclay Card advert says “Spending money on your Barclay Card will make you as cool as James Bond” and the Ford Ka advert says “Driving a new Ford Ka will make you as cool as James Bond”.

And, although this message might seem exceptionally shallow, I think that we all agree that the coolest part of the latest James Bond film was when he drove his Ford Ka to Curry’s and bought a new Sony HD TV with his Barclay Card.

So, on the whole, magical stuff.

Toshiba Upscaling TV Advert

Here’s the new advert for Toshiba’s Upscaling TV’s - which “enhances standard definition content to near high definition quality” apparently.

I quite like this advert but can’t help but feel it’s what the Matrix would have been like if it was directed by Gus Van Sant.

It was quirky and funny, completely different to every other advert, and seemed to do the trick for Dairy Milk sales.

But even so, sales still aren’t good enough, and now Cadbury need a cost-efficient way to tap back into some of the public’s gorilla-shaped goodwill.

Why not relaunch the drumming gorilla advert with a different song?

Because it’s everything the first one wasn’t.

It’s tired and predictable (”Oh, I see. It’s a Gorilla playing the drums to a ironically-shit-but-not-that-shit 80’s classic. Brilliant!”) and the way the film changes speed to make the Gorilla drum in time with music is toe curling bad.

But for me, this new version fails because - much like the Cadbury’s Trucks follow-up - it creates nowhere near as much joy as the Phil Collins version. Which, after all, is the whole point of the advert.

And if I had to quantify just how much joy the Bonnie Tyler version creates, I’d have to say, ooh, about a quarter of a cup - not a drop more.

Missing it’s mark but a good 1 and a quarter cupfuls.

What do you all think? Does this new version work for you?

I don’t know if I can face it; grinding out the 7.5 for the minimum wage.

You know how it is, tick follows tock follows tick follows tock, oh and there’s an occasional bong.

You wait. That’s what you do.

Waiting for 17:30, knowing that in 29 minutes times you’ll have made it to the pub and ordered a pint of the black stuff.

Yeah, that’s why 17:59 is traditionally known as “Miller Time!”.

No, no, not “Miller Time”, you idiot! What do you think this is, the 90’s?

No, the marketeers have decided that 17:59 is now “Guinness Time”!

Anyway, regardless of what the actual time is where you are, this advert is letting you know that Guinness have been making, er, Guinness for 249 years now.

Which means next year, to mark the 250th anniversary of the first person experiencing the initial repulsion followed by slow acceptance and ultimate enjoyment of drinking Guinness, will be a year like no other in Ireland’s history - a year where they have a 365 day long drinkathon!

Oh no, hang on, that is just like every other year.

Who cares? Let’s party.

What’s particularly interesting about this advert though is that previously little had been known about how the World’s most famous stout drink is made. The mysterious owner of Guinness is rarely seen in public and no-one has ever been seen entering nor leaving the imposing St James’ Gate brewery.

So it’s wonderful that this ad let’s us see exactly how a pint is made. And who would have thunk it, Guinness is made by Oompa Loompas!

I was a little surprised to see the Ooompa Loompas in a TV advert though, particularly after this warning they gave Mike TV:

Oompa Loompa doompadee doo
I’ve got another puzzle for you
Oompa Loompa doompadah dee
If you are wise you’ll listen to me

What do you get from a glut of TV?
A pain in the neck and an IQ of three
Why don’t you try simply reading a book?
Or could you just not bear to look?

You’ll get no
You’ll get no
You’ll get no
You’ll get no
You’ll get no commercials

Oompa Loompa Doompadee Dah
If you’re not greedy you will go far
You will live in happiness too
Like the Oompa
Oompa Loompa doompadee do

Magical stuff though, I think you’ll agree.

It’s bizarre mix of heady, aspirational guff combined with a completely mental claim that makes it just so very confused.

Make my clothes smell of “white diamonds and lotus flower”, you say? Oh no, I don’t think so.

After all, any self-respecting, social-climber is going to do themselves no favours at all by claiming they smell of “white diamonds”.

“Ooh, you smell nice. What is it?” - the concierge at the new spa you’ve just joined might ask.
“It’s the smell of luxury - white diamonds” - you’d reply.
“Our health club doesn’t want idiots like you as members. Get out!” - he’d be forced to tell you.

And research has shown that you can only make yourself sound cheaper if you claim that the scent your clothes are infused with is, in fact, “white diamonique“.

Ultimately the big problem for me is that, probably like most sane people, I’m at a complete loss as to what white diamonds smell like.

I’m guessing they smell of pretentious bullshit.

I could be wrong of course, because there was a while when, as a impoverished student, I used to smell of Diamond White on a fairly regular basis, and that’s definitely not the kind of odour that would go down too well in a swanky restaurant.

Anyways, whatever it actually smells of, here are a couple more fragrances that I hope Bold will let us infuse our clothes with:

• White Elephant - The fragrance of a gift you wished you hadn’t received.
• Jimmy White - The smell of World Championship failure.
• White Supremacy - The stench of ignorance and hatred.

If you’ve got any more fragrances you wish you could infuse your clothes with, please feel free to add them below.

That’s right, Doug the Security Guard from the new Absolute Radio adverts:

It’s easy to make crass jokes about midgets/Australian soap opera mega stars but it seems that Absolute Radio think just because midgets are inherently “oh so very funny” they don’t need to write any actual jokes for their adverts.

They. Are. Wrong.

What really cheeses (that’s right, I said “cheeses”) me off about these adverts is the implication that the opinions of people who *uses their eyes as part of their job* (you know, a photographer, a pilot, a peeping Tom, that sort of thing) are in some more important than those of us Stevie Wonder types groping our way through the blackness that is lives.

“I’d like to see an eye exam that can test my eyes 100 different ways” babbles Mark Whitney.

Why 100?

Why not 1,000,000 ways. Surely that eye exam has got to be a thousand times betterer than your pathetic little 100 ways.

What relevance has that number actually got to the quality your vision?

Absolutely none, that’s what.

Anyways, now I’m in the mood for ranting, here’s what I’d like from an eye exam:

1. I’d like to see an eye test where the optician doesn’t snort on my face when he’s stood inappropriately close to my face shining a light in my eyes.
2. I’d like to see an eye test where the optician hasn’t drunk a bath tub full of coffee before standing in appropriately close to my face.
3. I’d like to see an eye test that doesn’t last 30 minutes on top of the 15 that I’ve been waiting even though I’ve made an appointment for a weekday.

So, Vision Express when do I get to do my advert?

Anyone else want to share what they’d like to see from an eye test?

For your sake, I hope you did. Because God only knows what might happen to you if didn’t.

At least, God only knows what might happen to you if Dame (my 3rd favourite Dame after Thora Hird and Hilda Bracket) Kelly Holmes’ apocalyptic breakfast-skipping vision of the world is to be believed.

Here’s the shocking evidence Dame Kelly presents us with in here fight to, like, make us eat, err, stuff in the mornings:

A) A boy waits at a bus stop. As he stands to get on the bus THE CONTENTS OF HIS BAG FALLS TO THE FLOOR! The true horror of this event is indescribable.

“He obviously skipped breakfast this morning” tut-tuts Dame Kelly.

B) A woman repeatedly tries to operate a photocopier even though IT ISN’T PLUGGED IN! Oh dear, Lord, No. Noooooo!

“She skipped breakfast too” Kelly smugly informs us.

And although it’s easy to poo-poo Kelly’s advice, after all she’s athletics’ David Beckham, she’s more wooden then the New Forest and she’s wearing a track-suit (how else would we possibly remember Dame Kelly Holmes used to be a sportswoman if it weren’t for her wearing a track suit?) that she stole from the 1970’s, it’s actually very good advice indeed.

Don’t believe me, well you should.

Because on the day Gary Glitter became a paedophile he skipped his breakfast. Yeah, that’s right. His dietary imbalance directly lead to his desire to touch little girls. I’m sure this will come as little comfort to the victims of the Glitter Hands but had he eaten just a single slice of toast they would have been safe.

OK, I made that one up, but this one is true:

One day in August 2004 I skipped breakfast. And ever since that fateful day I’ve had to watch repeated interviews with and listen to inane commentary by Dame Kelly Holmes. Please stop licking your lips! God that dress is inappropriate! Put those eyeballs away!

If only I’d been more of a Crunchy Nutter that day. If only…

Any way, as an Olympian if there’s one thing Dame Kelly Holmes knows how to do it’s run really quickly round a slightly elongated circle. And, as a corporate shill, if there’s one thing that Dame Kelly Holmes knows it’s that if you skip breakfast you *may* miss out on energy for your brain and that eating a balanced breakfast (not just Frosties on Pop Tarts then?) *can* help you perform better.

I know this too because the tiny white text at the bottom of the screen tells us “Research shows that people who eat breakfast tend to perform better in the morning”.

Yeah, research - possibly done by Scientists, possibly done by primary school children (who may or may not have eaten breakfast that day) - categorically shows us that people who can be bothered to shove food down their offence-hole in the mornings *tend* to perform better.

If you’re uncertain as to what “tend” actually means I can tell you. “Tend” means “We couldn’t really prove anything for sure”.

So go on, have a bowl of Corn Flakes every morning and you *might* get better at “zipping things up” and you *could* perform better at “photo copying stuff”.

One thing you’ll know for sure though is that Dame Kelly Holmes won’t be judging you as you fail hopelessly at even the simplest of everyday tasks - you non-Olympian, breakfast-skipping loser.

If George Clooney had his way this advert would never have been shown on our teles (something to do with China vetoing the United Nations’ attempts to force Sudan to allow peacekeepers into the region. Isn’t that just so typical of them?).

But it seems that the power of the Olympic sponsorship deal is greater even than the power of everyone’s favourite people’s Champion and Hollywood bore, George Clooney.

Which magically means we get to watch (see what I did there?…) Omega make the mighty claims that:

“We have the ability to stop time.”

“And to let it run.”

Now I can’t help but think that just because they’ve been the official Olympic timekeepers since 1932 Omega have gotten a little too big for their boots.

Because if you’re honest though Omega, it’s more the second one that the first one isn’t it.

In reality, you have a man, or more likely a computer - putting another honest hard-working proletariat out of a job (wait until Clooney hears about that one) who can stop a watch.

Not time itself.

Come on, you don’t really have any involvement on a universal level, do you?

But then again, if they they did how would we know?

Hang on, why am I suddenly completely naked with full make-up (which I must say has given my skin a dewy glow)?

Not really.

That’s nothing to do with Omega - I always write advert reviews dressed like that.

Stop time? Honestly…

Here’s Scottish Widows’ effort:

You might think it odd that Scottish Widows, a life insurance company, are sponsoring the Olympic Games but if I remember rightly it was Baron de Coubertin who coined the Olympic ideal:

“Swifter, Higher, Stronger and 20% Off Stake Holder Pensions If You Apply Online”.

Wasn’t it?

Enjoy!

“During the war” this. “When I was filming Zulu Dawn” that.

And it never takes them long before they’re repeating the same old stories.

Like this old fella, Peter O’Toole:

God, I swear I’ve heard that story before. Now where was it?

Oh, yes. I remember, it was here:

Thanks to Snooks for submitting this bad ad.

Like this one from Marsten. So I’ll let him/her take it from here:

Apparently this Just for Men advert been around in the States for a while and, just like a bad case of diphtheria, it’s spread over here.

The entire concept hinges on the idea that the kids want their dad to dye his hair. Why does this matter so much to them? Well, they want a new mummy.

Isn’t that sweet?

No. No it’s not.

Implying that the entire gamut of issues facing single-parent families in our modern society can be solved by dying your hair, is fucking ridiculous.

Really, it’s no wonder that the man looks so surprised when he pulls down his newspaper (probably also due in part to having an entire tub of talcum powder tipped over his head during the make-up session for this advert) to be confronted by his kids - I’d be pretty fucking surprised too.

What the fuck is this? An advert for hair dye or an expose into childhood disenfranchisement and the gradual dissolution of the nuclear family?

Obviously what they DIDN’T film was the sequence that was due to take place in the middle, where the father explains to his kids with heartfelt tears flowing, just how difficult things have been since his beloved wife was killed, how he’s taken up drinking to quash the memories, and cries himself to sleep each night through a haze of misery and cheap whisky.

Oh wait, you mean that’s NOT what the advert was going for?

Well then maybe it should leave the idea of ‘kids who want a new mummy’ alone and stick to shilling out hair dye, then!

Because trying to bring serious issues like that into an advert for dye that has a tenancy to wash out, is ultimately about as funny as someone catching a new, rare form of cancer that causes them to set fire to an orphanage and stamp on puppies.

And it’s SO fucking sentimental and mushy, I swear I could just die in a puddle of my own vomit.

So what’s next for ‘Just for Men’? My guess, a heart-warming and sentimental advert about Jack, a quiet loner, who lures women into his basement, strangles them with fishing wire, and wears their skin. And he can do it all and overcome his quietness and lack of confidence, all thanks to Just for Men hair dye!

Nice one, Marsten.

Obviously you can’t have real “real” people in adverts because “real” people have shit hair, and goofy teeth, and dribble uncontrollably from the corner of their mouthes.

“Real” people are the very people you don’t want buying your product - let alone promoting it.

And even if you want the “real” people in your advert to be *quirky*, it’s still safest to get actors to be fake real quirky people for you.

As Orbit demonstrate below:

Thanks to Inssey for submitting this bad ad.

For the purposes of transparency, I should disclose that it wasn’t me who copy and pasted Inssey’s submission into this post but an actor. It turns out she’s better at being me than I am.

What a bitch.

But in the time it’s taken me to get round to writing something (which at the moment is approximately the same time it takes Jupiter to get round the sun) there’s been a bit of a storm in a dog’s bowl over the Chruchill’s Dog using the F-word:

Does it sound like he says “Fuck”?

“Oh Yes” (do you see what I’ve done there?).

Of course, in no way is this as bad as the time the Kia Ora boy used the C-word or when Mr Soft said the N-word (who even knew he could speak?).

But with Churchill’s track record of inappropriate behaviour around women - one that would put even John Leslie to shame - revelations that he swears come as little surprise.

In the next advert I fully expect to see him dry humping the leg of a Queen Mother lookalike (if not the actual Queen Mother - you know what dogs are like, they’ll dig up anything) whilst smoking crack and listening to Scooter.

Where will this dog’s crimes against the British public end?

If you’re anything like me, when you heard that people had complained about Peter Jones’ co-star for having “pointy teeth, green-grey skin, large ears and goblinesque features” you thought “She might bot be the Mona Lisa but that’s a little harsh on Deborah Meaden”.

You’ll then have gone on to feel a little foolish when you found out that the complaints were actually about the Gremlins featured in the BT IT support advert and not about the sour-faced Dragon after all.

Who knew? Who knew?

It does however, turn out that 11 mummies and daddies complained to the ASA that their little prince and princesses got so scared by the advert that they went on to have “nightmares”.

Now, I’m not going to be too critical of the children that were frightened by the Gremlins though, because as a child I had the bejesus scared out of me on a weekly basis by the children’s TV programme Worzel Gummidge.

For all you cocky, city dwelling ex-kids a TV programme about a scarecrow that COMES TO LIFE (yeah, that’s right, bold and capitals) might not seem that bad. But I lived in the countryside, surrounded by fields inhabited by literally hundreds scarecrows which thanks to a kids TV programme I thought COULD COME TO LIFE!

Which sicko thought that was a suitable topic for kids? Honestly.

Anyways, for those of you with a mental age over 4 or those hidden behind a settee, here’s the advert with the frightening Peter Jones and those hilarious Gremlins (I think I got those the right way round):

On TV’s Worst Adverts?

Surely some mistake?

I’ll let Andy, who submitted this bad ad, explain:

It’s just horrific, isn’t it?

Is it? You tell me dear reader, you tell me (you know by voting and leaving comments and shit).

• You make sure they’ve got shoes on their feet.
• You make sure they know the facts of life.
• You make sure they don’t date flora.

The mother in the new Oasis advert appears to have failed her daughter on all three of these points.

Because not only is the poor (and seemingly only 14 years old) girl up the duff, she’s in that state thanks to a man who’s half cactus. And what’s more, she seems to have burnt the soles of her feet during the whole “having sex with a man who looks like he has a very prickly penis” affair.

She does look to have recovered from the coitus fairly well though because one would imagine that ramming a cactus up your vagina and having sun burnt feet would make you walk like John Wayne giving Fern Britton a piggy-back.

Spare a thought for the old Cactus Kid though, will you?

He can’t have had much luck with the ladies growing up covered in spines. Finally finding a consenting partner (lets not even go down the possible cactus man on under-age girl rape route) must have been like all his Christmases coming at once.

Although I can think of one positive of being a cactus man - no post coital snuggling. As the women hobbles off to casualty, you just roll over and drift happily off to sleep.

What bliss.

But just as the mother in this advert has failed her daughter so it seems the ad-makers have failed their botany exams.

For the only explanation (that come within a couple of thousand light years of being logical) for the Cactus Kid to actually be half cactus is to tie in with the tag line “For people who don’t like water”. Except cactuses don’t don’t like water, it’s just they can grow in a dry environment. It’s clearly not the same thing.

God, I bet they feel foolish now I’ve pointed out that flaw in their lunacy.

Anyway while you wait for the final part of this series in which the pain of child birth is compounded by the fact the baby is covered in prickles, here’s the madness of the first part to enjoy:

This is obviously a load of old bollocks.

Don’t believe me?

Well, you have to look no further to see just how vast the chasm is that separates these two noggin states, then these two songs: Eleanor Rigby and The Frog Chorus.

Yes, poor old former genius, Paul McCartney went a little bit mad in the 80’s and has seemingly been on a slippery downward slope ever since.

But that hasn’t stopped us from loving the old duffer - even as he stumbles from one disappointing musical release to another embarrassing court appearance - even as his face slowly turns into that of Droopy.

And this is the face that the British Paralympic Fund have chosen to front their fund raising campaign - promoting their athletes as “super heroes”.

Which makes Sir Paul seem like an odd choice.

You see, Paul McCartney’s recent track record when it comes to judging the characters of disabled people has been, let’s be honest, poor at best.

The last disabled women who he thought was “pretty amazing” turned out to be a screeching, one-legged, former porn-star, crack-pot who cost him £24 million to get rid of.

Good one, Paul.

So when you ask him to front your campaign praising the high quality characters of some disabled women (OK and men), it’s a little like asking the Captain of the Titanic to endorse your brand of binoculars.

Sir Paul tells us that for just £3 a month we can help the Paralympic team’s pursuit of gold medals at the London 2012 games. This, coincidentally, is how Paul McCartney is paying his divorce settlement - in monthly £3 payments.

He’s only got 7,999,984 more payments to make and he will finally be free of Geordie maniac. Aren’t direct debits brilliant?

Anyway, when it comes to advice, if Sir Paul offers to give you some song-writing tips, get your pen and paper out. If he offers to find you a wife, run a mile.

And if you can do that in under 4 minutes, he might be able to get you some funding too.

Girl. Dress.

Tights. Rip.

Vomit. Hair.

Make-up. Smear.

Coat. Marinate.

Skirt. Wet.

Done.

Yes, this is another laughable effort by the Government trying to make us change our attitude towards alcohol.

“You wouldn’t start a night like this” the advert states.

No, you’re right, we wouldn’t.

That’s because nobody, and I mean nobody, goes out with the intention of getting vomit in their hair.

Not a soul.

“So why end it that way?”

Well, it’s a good question and I’m glad you’ve asked it.

One of the main reasons people go out and get so unbelievably drunk and do all the things you show in your advert is that the system has made their lives seem so completely meaningless that the only way they can forget the horrors of the world metaphorically puking in their hair is by drinking too many Smirnoff Ices, falling into the gutter whilst singing the hits of Girls Aloud and then actually puking in their own hair.

That’s one of the reasons. I agree with you, there are more, but that’s one of them.

So maybe if you helped construct more meaning in people’s lives rather than telling them not to “get a wet bottom” you might have a bit more luck reducing the levels of alcohol abuse in the UK.

Until then probably best to stop being so fucking patronising.

Fools.

“What-oh, Silky! Help me out with this blasted crossword, will you? 5 across, 8 letters ‘Found on front doors and Page 3′, K-N-something-C-K-something-R-S”

“Erm, no. No idea, Bertie. But good news, old chum, I’ve got us a job!”

“Oh no, I don’t want to hold a Golf Sale sign all day long.”

“No, no, Bertie, it’s not that again. It’s for a tele advert and they’re going to pay us £200.”

“Oh boy, £200? That is good news. What’s it for?”

“I don’t know exactly. Something called Formoline; it’s for women or something.”

“Right, well how can we drive home the name of the product and that it’s for women without revealing the fact we’ve absolutely no idea what it’s for?”

“That is a tricky one, Bertie, that is a tricky one.”

Thanks to Cath for submitting this bad ad.