Scot points out that your cheap, uncomfortable paper towels may be turning your employees against you. Indeed, this gentleman has already acquired both the demeanor and moustache of the Communist. In other news, were you aware that you can catch Fascism from public restroom toilet seats? Believe it.
My sincerest apologies, ye denizens of the wonderful, monstrous Ecto-Nation, for the deplorable lack of content over the last few days. Your outrage at the passing of a Monday unmoustachioed is, of course, understandable. Had I been able to drag myself to my computer I would have most assuredly fulfilled my duties however, due to the fact that I am a young man in possession of the body of a centenarian, I could not. No, dear readers, the past three days have been spent on my back, the muscles of my lumbar gripping the delicate nerves of my spine in a vise-like death grip. Only through sheer willpower — and 10 milligrams of Cyclobenzaprine — have a been able to lurch over to the keyboard. I pray this will serve as explanation should my normal, typo-laden musings be more…laden…than usual.
That out of the way, on to the clip. The above is an ad for Nike Women featuring Nicola Sanders, who I assume is a runner of some repute and whose organs and muscles all have mouths which they use to spit gibberish at each other. Also, her brain wears a monocle, an image which is so fitting that I dare say I will be unable to look at a brain ever again without superimposing the eyepiece upon it. The whole concept is extremely simple and the animation takes it just far enough into weird territory to work without coming off as horrifying. That’s how it strikes me at least, your unmedicated mileage may vary. Creativity has the hi-res version.
Oh, how I fondly remember those heady, summer days of my youth, the afternoon sun beating down upon us, baking our epidermises as we played under its harsh glare. It roused in our stomachs a powerful hunger and, as if by some magic, at that moment we would hear it.
From afar it wafted towards us, softly at first but growing ever louder, the musical, porcine squealing made its way up the street. Yes, the appearance of the lard carriage was a welcome sight and we waited impatiently as the ungulate lardsmen doled out delicious, creamy lard — no doubt stripped from the loins of their own siblings — to the children who flocked to the hypnotic sounds of the trumpet. As the carriage rolled off into the distance we stood watching it, our craving for lipids sated until the next day when the swine would again make their greasy rounds.
A Thai ad from all the way back in 2005 — ancient by internet standards — for Bridgestone tires. Giving too much away might ruin it for those who have not seen it but I will say this, he deserved better than her. That poodle was a slut.
Unlike our resident fashion mavens, I have little interest in the clothing that adorns my corpulent and odious frame. Owning, as I do, one filthy, purple suit and a wide array of burlap sacks, my attire is merely utilitarian; allowing me to leave the house, if I so choose, without being arrested or shot.
I present these twin ads for SHS clothing, then, without the faintest knowledge of the products they represent. For all I know SHS may deal in fine, iron shoes or suits made from reappropriated hobos. No, I am only interested in the images; and these have it all. Moustaches! Fezzes! Various and sundry corpses of beloved childhood characters!
Yes, there is little that is not amazing here, although the implication that ears are actually solid bone is a bit odd. Lastly, I have no doubt that someone, somewhere will look past the bleached skull of Hello Kitty and the robot skin rug and become apoplectic with rage over the depiction of Caucasian models being flanked by servants whose skin tones are of a decidedly darker hue. Any bets on how long that will take?
Extended Stay hotels has a series of videos in which a woman stalks through one of their rooms, licking everything she can. Ostensibly the ads aim to show just how sterile their guest rooms are while also providing the kind of semi-erotic titillation that only the image of a girl salivating on an alarm clock can provide. It is by far one of the most appalling ads I have ever seen.
I have seen the “Special Reports” featuring news correspondents armed with UV lights exposing the invisible, Pollock-esque glaze of protein that decorates most hotel rooms. Worse yet, I worked in a hotel for two years, most of it night shift and one of my duties was to slip a bill under the doors of people who would be checking out in the morning. Let me assure you, judging from the sounds I heard emanating from some of the rooms as I made the rounds, I have no doubt that someone has done far worse things to your television’s remote than lick it.
A promotional piece for Samsung’s new NV24 HD camera. The clip, featuring a safari, yawning lions, “Banana Boat Song”, and some questionable computer animation, teeters precariously on the edge of absurd and insipid just before losing its balance and plummeting into the abyss when the half eaten corpse of an antelope rises briefly from the dead to sing a verse and, perhaps, jiggle its entrails.
An ad for French toy store Gepeto Village. The visual itself is really very nice, however I am inclined to agree with some of the comments found in the link in that it seems to contradict the message, which is that they wish to keep these toys out of the hands and, in turn, minds of children. If anything, perhaps they should have gone with different text.
As this ad from 1944 so astutely points out, there was a halcyon era when a man whose domestic servant wife presented him with a less than satisfactory meal, could lay into her with his ring hand with zeal of a bare-knuckle prize fighter at a Clown Punching club. Those days are gone, however, and the young people with their absurd, namby-pamby, “feminist” ideas have cast a bad light on what is now known as “domestic abuse” but was once more commonly known as “constructive corporal criticism” (CCC).
Indeed, in the absence of physical punishment husbands are left with few ways to voice their displeasure with the culinary talents of their private cooks wives. As Heinz is well aware, boredom expressed through yawning — or, perhaps, terrible halitosis; the illustration leaves room for either — is, at the current juncture, one of the few, fool-proof means to impress upon these women that their dishes are not up to par. Never mind the fact that one would assume that these women wouldn’t have to be reminded of the fact that their husbands did them a favor by marrying them in the first place, providing them with money and a home, allowing them to birth and rear their children, thereby saving them from a sad, empty life as a common prostitute or a frigid, spinster librarian.
So it’s a good fucking thing for them that the happy Heinz Chef is there to save their asses with his delicious soups, for how else would these “sensitive souls” be able to deal with ignominy of a man struck dumb with ennui at dinnertime. It’s almost too painful to imagine.
Has an elderly member of your family recently gone from berating kids for standing on their lawn to berating unicorns instead? When you visit do they brandish their cane and swear to defend their special, magic combs to the death? If so, remember:
“For prompt control of the agitated, belligerent senile…THORAZINE”
Krazmo attempts to dispel any attempt to discern an over-arching narrative for Don’t Cry sweet potatoes:
I don’t think the theme of the label really has much to do with the type of produce inside. As evidence, I cite the following gallery full of such lovely, obsolete art.
Comment by Krazmo — May 1, 2008 @ 12:55 pm
However, based on the image above it would seem that not all produce imagery is without cohesive thematic intentions. Less can be said for the likes of, say, Gay Johnny Texas Vegetables.
In sheer defiance of the World Wide Web Consortium's will, Ectomo was designed using a non-web-standard font. Luckily, it is included in the excellent font pack released by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, which can be freely downloaded in Mac and PC formats here. Ectomo should still look fine without it, though.
