The main meaning of Xmas has for many, many years been blatant consumption and this is borne out by the torrent of crap adverts that assail us daily on the TV. Ridiculously named perfumes (obsession, desire, lust, diarrhoea) are marketed by pouting vixens in satin while some scent crazed moron whispers in a vaguely French accent. With all the creativity, humour and imagination put into adverts these days why are these perfume adverts still churning out the same tired cliches?
And last night, an advert for another fabulous gift idea – the Babytoss hair curler, immediately followed by an advert for the Babytoss hair straightener. If that doesn’t sum it up nicely, what does?
“It’s beginning to feel a bit like Christmas!…”
;0)
Why you…
I only have hear that cursed song and my blood boils! And then, I can’t get the damn thing outta my head.
I have adjusted the lyrics; so whenever I hear it, I now hear:
“It’s beginning to look like bloodshed, bring your high powered guns….”
Thank you! Oh Thank you!
I was just running across a small ancient bridge in Paris at 5 o’clock in the morning, in black and white, with the strong whiff of Gaultier’s Diarrhoea filling the air. My open bow tie was flapping across my ruffled Tuxedo as I chased a distressed siren, her smudged mascara revealing the recent flow of tears, an ethereal voice whispered “larmes de joie ou de tristesse”. I stopped and stared into the distance, the voice whispered again “Diarrhoea”. “Nah mate, she forget her brand new Babytoss haircurler”
Magnifique! Le whiff de l’ordure est arrivee!