The Daddy Longlegs

This is a long, self-indulgent post. And I understand that most readers prefer the short, sharp anecdotal posts. But this is an important topic, so I won’t be silenced. So if you’re one of the hardcore, highbrow fans of the blog, settle in, grab a cup of tea and read my latest. Otherwise, scroll down to some of the shorter posts, which have a laughter track and broad target demographic.

Conflict and coexistence – the Daddy Longlegs and humans

There has been a recent spate of incidents involving the resident Daddy Longlegs and my shower (why Daddy? I’m changing it to Mummy). As a general rule, I won’t kill any living creature. I generally relocate spiders, worms, beetles, bumblebees, dragonflies, leprechauns etc, so they can start a new life outside. I actually enjoy the company of moths. I do, however, sometimes ask why I have so many different species residing in my house – how did they all hear about me? They just know. I have different strategies for different species, the deployment of which is based on the weather. If it’s raining, rather than condemn the little creatures to a volatile life in the wet, I’ll simply grant asylum and place them in the spare room until the weather improves. While this is usually met with some form of resistance from spiders (running away, playing dead, biting, disagreements over area of resettlement), it has proven to be an effective strategy in preserving the lives of these misunderstood creatures. However, this policy has been tested due to the recent influx of Mummy Longlegs insisting on residing in my shower, the most hazardous region for a spider. Continue Reading

Posted in Analysis, Fiction Post Comment

‘Humour’

Australians tend to think they’re funny, but in reality, they are not. As I write this I hear an Australian dickhead say, ‘Yeah, speak for yourself mate!’ before bursting into hysterical laughter, ‘HA HA HA HA HA!’. ‘Ya big dickhead! HA HA HA HA HA!’.
‘That was good Wazza’.
‘Thanks Shaz. By the way, show us ya tits love. HA HA HA HA HA!’
Shaz diligently complies, and wiggles her little tities.
‘HA HA HA HA HA! Fuck I love Australia. Fuck all cunts, it’s the best fuckin country in the world….. CUNT! HA HA HA HA!’
Meanwhile, the rest of the world looks on with horror.
‘What is wrong with these people?’.
‘You don’t like it?! Well fuck off ya fuckin towel head! HA HA HA!’
And so on.

I first realised how comedically challenged Australians were when I left the country, and started working in English ad agencies. These guys were pros. They would riff all day with witty, subtly crafted humour so dry sometimes it was serious. It made me very anxious. Here I was all these years thinking I was funny, and that the world thought we were a funny nation, only to see us for what we really were. Eventually I’d have to sit back, put my hands in the air and say, ‘Guys, I’m just not up to it. Where I’m from, Aussie ‘larrikin’ humour is funny. We just yell stuff out and laugh. I didn’t know humour needed craft, timing and wit. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m sorry’.
‘It’s ok, we know. We didn’t expect anything from you. You’re Australian. Just sit there and take notes’.
‘Ok’.

For the perfect snapshot into the differences between English and Australian humour, one only has to look at the TV. In Australia, there’s a show called The Project. In Australia, it’s ‘funny’. So I excitedly tuned in and was greeted by really really really blonde woman (no offence to blondes, but this was a new Pantone) who were really really tanned. They had very white teeth. They were covered in so much makeup that I didn’t actually know what they looked like. And there was also a man who looked like an anxious mannequin smiling in pain. Why am I critiquing peoples looks like a Daily Mail journalist? Because it reflected the quality of laughs. Then there’s Exhibit B in England, Have I Got News for You. Firstly, looks are not considered relevant. In fact, you’ll probably gain more credibility if your face looks like an arse. The people are very unattractive, pasty and filled with angst. Their teeth are yellow and broken. Who cares. The humour is crafted, unscripted, witty and funny. Priorities

Now, I understand that what I’m doing – critiquing a facet of Australian culture – is in some quartes a felony. If you’re not blindly subscribing to the militant patriotism of the flag-waving, slut-loving, bogan nationalists, you’re liable to be told, ‘Well fuck back off to pommy land ya snobby little cunt, you’ve changed mate. It’s cunts like you that fuck this nation the fuck fuck shit cunt tits’.
‘Um, What?’.
‘Don’t get smart with me you know-all little cunt or I’ll fucking smash this VB bottle on the fuck fuck abbo abbot titties’.
‘Ok, Your parents are siblings. Got it’.
So I’ll balance it out by saying it’s not all Australians that are comedicly challenged. Or lack subtlety. Many are funny. And I do like Australia very much. I’m certainly grateful I fluked being born here, instead of being born in one of the countries we invade.
‘Watch it you ungrateful little cunt! Go war!!’
It’s just the fuck fuck titty bang bang, gullible, herd-like, inbred bogans who think they are clever, witty and funny, when in reality, they are not.
‘Speak for yourself, cunt! HA HA HA HA!’ And so on.

Posted in Analysis Post Comment

Toilets in The Workplace

I’m introducing a new initiative that seeks to critically analyse the lavatory conditions of the agencies in which I work in 2014. The initiative will assess conditions such as privacy, proximity of lavatory to colleagues, number of cubicles, urinal dividers and height of doors. Toilets are a vital part of the workplace, the comfortable use of which is a fundamental human right.

Assessment 1: A medium-large design agency in affluent south yarra. Expectations: high.

Analysis: extremely disappointing. It is clear the owner of the company has no appreciation of toilet culture. The space within the lavatory is very small, meaning tension in the toilet is always high. Two urinals only, close proximity to one another, no divider. This means upon entering the toilet and seeing an anxious colleague hunched at the urinal, you are forced to make a snap decision: hunch next to him with little hope of the privacy needed at high risk of stage fright, or conduct a walk out. A walk out is a sign of weakness, especially if the urinator turned to look at you upon entering.  It is a no win situation.

The location of any workplace toilet is critical to its success. The toilet of the agency in question is located in the heart of the workplace, meaning that if you should suffer the misfortune of needing to do a poo, you are required to do the walk of shame. It also demands a silent poo, so as to avoid colleagues hearing the soundtrack to last nights dinner. The tiny lavatory space means your only chance of ever achieving a poo is to hope no-one is in the lavatory upon entry. If the coast is clear (and clean), a panic poo is encouraged. This means pooing as fast as you can, the aim being to have finalised your poo before a colleague enters. If you poo fast enough, you can create the impression to your colleagues that you were simply doing an extended pee, followed by some vanity in the mirror, thus avoiding the walk of shame. However, If you are mid-poo when someone enters, you are required to make a critical choice: a) pause your poo and wait until the urinator has departed, creating the possible question ‘what’s going on in there?’, or b) continue panic pooing, suffering the humiliation of having your poo sounds heard by the urinator, who is less than 2 metres away. The pooer suffers the added ignominy of knowing that the only thing separating he from the urinator is a flimsy cut of timber, the length of which is barely sufficient for even the most minimal expectation of privacy.

Post-poo, the pooer is forced to wash hands and escape immediately, so as to avoid allocation of blame for any undesirable results of the poo. This creates a knock-on effect of blame. An innocent urinator may unfairly be assigned blame for the lingering smell of a previous pooers work, if they should happen to be washing their hands as a colleague enters. This is known as the ‘Lottery of Blame’ theory.

Faced with this grim scenario, your correspondent chose to hold it in. If you attempt to conduct a hold-in, you are advised to limit coffee intake, and avoid cereal for breakfast.

The lavatory of this otherwise savvy agency is to be condemned in the strongest possible terms. Referral to the regulatory body is recommended.

Posted in Analysis, Anecdote, Fiction Post Comment

#Hashtag

Some of you may have noticed I’ve been using a few hashtags in my photo captions. The hashtag, if used correctly, can be a useful technique to add some extra bounce to your text. However, many people abuse the hashtag, by using it incessantly, unnecessarily, and inappropriately. For example, Shellie updates everyone that she’s at the coffee shop – ‘I’m at the local coffee shop having a coffee with friends’. Ok, not sure why you told everyone this, but we understand what you’re doing, there’s no confusion – you’re drinking a coffee. Then, like a machine gun fires a lethal round of bullets, Shellie unleashes a tirade of reckless hashtags: #coffee #coffeeshop #coffeedrinker #fun #latte #coffeelove #weekend #Sundays #cafe #London #friends #friendship #friendsforlife. Whoa, slow down kid, we get it. But wait, there’s more #love #art #casual #sip #uk #coffee #milk #poo #etc #etc. Some of them aren’t even words, what the fuck is a coffeelove? By the end of it, everyone is in tears, ‘Stop, please stop, we understand what you’re doing, no more hashtags, please!’. The hashtagger then descends into tongues, shaking all over, frothing at the mouth #goat #grass #baby #person #mental #building #cup #dildo #god #bridge #street #duck #qwack #qwack #qwack… Shellie! Shellie…. *Bang!* #gun #smoking #shellie #dead

I always wonder what hashtagger is trying to achieve with the tongue-styled hashtags. Do they think that I read the update, ‘I’m at the local coffee shop having a coffee with friends’, and think, ‘Oh, look at that, shellie’s on the moon with a coffee. Fantastic. Oh wait, theres some descriptive hashtags too, providing me with more information. Oh, it says #coffeeshop, oh, I get it, she’s at the coffee shop, not the moon. Superb use of hashtag Shellie. Thanks. Well done mate’.

Posted in Analysis Post Comment

‘Israel has the right to defend itself’.

ISRAEL_BLOGMAST

 

Welcome to Life in the Bizarro World

If this is self defence, then what exactly is attack? Please advise. Welcome to life in the bizarro world. The Orwellian world where black is white, bad is good and war is peace. Not double speak, triple speak. Where the fourth biggest military in the world feels the need to defend themselves, by wiping out 113 people, in less than a week, many of whom are children. Because those pesty little Palestinians don’t like being occupied. They don’t like their embargo. Every now and again they rattle their cage. How dare they complain in this way.

Hands up who actually knows the chronology of events leading to the latest conflict? Why did those erratic little peasants in the Gaza strip decide to fire rockets in the first place? Isn’t it silly to just relentlessly fire rockets, for no reason? Why do they always provoke the poor Israelis and their gigantic military? The Israelis are just trying to obtain peace, (through occupation and attrition), so what is wrong with these strange people? Answers, anyone?

‘Because they’re Palestinians, and it’s in their nature to be terrorists’.

Thanks, Binyamin Netanyahu. But I think, actually, it was because on November 4, when an unarmed Palestinian civilian dared to wander too close to the border (i.e the dog chewed off his leash and strayed too far from his kennel), the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) soldiers yelled at him ‘Bad dog!’, and killed him. Even though he was absolutely no threat. And, mentally ill. But that’s obviously ok. They’re only Palestinians, they die in this fashion all the time. We just don’t hear about it, because they’re only Palestinians.

Strangely, the Palestinians didn’t like their people being unnecessarily killed. Not sure why they didnt just accept it and say, ‘Too bad, only a Muslim’. Strange. So they fired some rockets. This was all after another Gazan had already been killed by the IDF, for firing mortars. Then a 13 year old Gazan was killed when Israeli tanks and helicopters entered Gaza. None of this was newsworthy, none of it is part of the current script. The script says that Israel is defending itself against Hamas rockets. The script never changes.

The jostling went back and forth, luckily there were no casualties. By casualties I mean IDF soldiers. There were Palestinian casualties, of course, but luckily they don’t count. Palestinians die all the time, but they’re lesser people. They’re caged animals. So, there were no casualties, none at all, and a ceasefire was about to be signed by a member of Hamas. Game over. But wait! The Israelis need to defend themselves. But how? Ah, let’s kill one of their political leaders. Which one? The one who was about to sign the ceasefire, of course. Really? Why? Isn’t he being an obedient little Muslim? Yes he is, but no-one will know, plus, we have an election coming up, and if the people talk about issues other than national security, we’re fucked. It’ll be good… politically that is. So this will be a political attack? Isn’t that the definition of terrorism? Yes, but we’re Israelis. They’re Muslims. Isralies and the West fight terror, see? (pointing to news). Ok let’s do it. Splat, he’s gone. Now, gloat on twitter, ‘Eliminated’ like it’s a video game. 

Wait, what exactly do we think Hamas will do now, surely they’re going to retaliate. Of course they won’t! They’ll just learn their lesson. They’ll bend over and take it. Any country who has a political leader assassinated will obviously take it graciously. They will be thankful that we only killed him and not the whole population. They’ll accept what we’ve done.

Curiously, once again, the Palestinians were upset, and… retaliated. I personally didnt understand this. Are they crazy? They should be thanking the IDF for killing their people, after all, it’s just fewer mouths to feed. The rockets start to fly in. The IDF smirk as 99% of the firecrackers miss their targets, ‘Nice try guys. Sigh. Guess we better defend ourselves. Guys, we need to defend ourselves’. Cue 75,000 soldiers who just happen to be around the corner. And warships, drones, tanks, helicopters. Yes! We get to defend ourselves!!

And then it’s game on. The Israelis defend themselves. 10 fatalities. 20. 40. 60. 80. 100. 110. Many of whom are children. Three Israelis die too, but the ratio is even: 3 Isralies is worth at least 113 Palestinians. As Gaza burns, Israel continues to lament the Palestinians daring to resist. Daring to fight back. How dare they?! Eventually, the Palestinians learn their place. They lie down on the ground, roll onto their stomachs, lift their backside up and take 6 inches of the Zionist dream from behind. They don’t dare complain anymore. They’ve learnt their lesson. They’re heads are pulled up, so they can watch their country burn, while another 2 inches of Zionist dream digs deeper. Watch the fourth biggest military in the world occupy your country. Watch a 6 year embargo cripple your economy. Watch 1000’s of political prisoners rot in Israeli jails, without trial. Watch settlements built in the West Bank, in defiance of international law. Don’t dare complain though. Never wander too far from your cage. Drink the contaminated water and know your place. Watch the Israeli military grow bigger and bigger, watch the billions of dollars pouring in from the US. Watch Egypt honour the ‘peace’ agreement. Watch the world sit back and do nothing. Don’t dare fight back. Don’t dare resist. Just take it. Watch 1400 die in 2009, in time for the election. Watch the toll rise again, right on cue, for these elections, as the Israelis defend themselves.

When the rape is finally over, the Palestinian rat is thrown back into his sewer, and told to never defy the master again. Cue the worlds media and photographers to capture it all. But they’re not capturing the Palestinian rat, just yet. First the real story: the distressed Israeli, as he laments his need to defend himself. As he speaks, a Palestinian throws a firecracker. The Israeli sighs, apologises to the the worlds media and says, ‘One minute please, this wont take long’. He pulls out an assault rifle and blows the rat’s head off. Someone taps him on the shoulder, ‘Ah, that was a kid’. ‘What else was I to do, sulk, I though she was a terrorist. There, there (consoling pat on the back), poor Israeli, we understand. Your hands are tied. It’s an impossible situation for you. Go on, keep occupying. Keep humiliating. Keep killing. They’re Palestinians. We get it.

Back To the rape, which is now everywhere. The world watches. Obama chips in and says, ‘Binyamin master, may I please speak? I think you have the right to defend yourself. But, it would be ‘preferable’ if you didn’t. Please?‘ No response, just a death stare from the salivating Netanyahu, who snarls his teeth. ‘Yikes. Sorry master, carry on’. The UK comes out with a radical statement, ‘You may, um, lose some support, if you keep raping everyone. (Not really though. And by the way, sorry, I have to be seen to be in some way impartial. Carry on)’. And then the Australians chip in, with their statement. Hold breath, drumroll please, Gillard and Abbot, the inspirational leaders at the forefront of Australian politics, say their piece: ‘Wait, what did our American masters say (taking notes). Right, we say… Exactly what Washington said’. If ever you needed evidence that Australia didn’t have a foreign policy, and that it just followed that of its American masters, then this was it. They even went further than the US, by using less double speak, proving they are more loyal to the US than the US is to itself (which is Israel).

Back to the Israelis defending themselves. When they’ve made their point, when they’ve finished punishing the Gazans for existing, they’ll accept a ceasefire. The hawks in the rightwing Likud party will be reelected. The American taxpayer will dump another eye watering bag of cash on their laps. The Australians will be looking to the Americans, like a dog looks at it owner, for clues on what to do next. The Gazans will wonder the fuck just happened. The next generation of radicals will be born out of the debree, joining the radicals born out of the 2009 massacre, and the next generation rising out of the Iraq invasion and America’s child killing Drones.

The dance will continue.

We’ll watch the BBC and read the New York Times, and think we’re getting liberal, balanced news.

Then we’ll close our eyes and go to sleep. In the bizarro world, ignorance is bliss.

Posted in Analysis, Israel, Palestine, Politics Post Comment

A JOB INTERVIEW: THE OFFICIAL GUIDE

In these times of mass unemployment, I have taken steps to remedy the plight of the jobless by devising an important guide to assist in preparations for an interview. This will provide readers with a critical edge in a highly competitive marketplace. Print it out, stick it on your wall, take it with you everywhere; this is your ticket to employment and success!
 
Preparing for the interview
Ok, let’s begin. There are a number of things you can do once the interview has been arranged, don’t simply sit back and do nothing! Send a series of follow-up emails saying how much you’re looking forward to the interview; at least 3 emails, as many as 6, they will be impressed by your enthusiasm. Set aside an afternoon to spend outside the building to familiarise yourself with the environment. Take pictures of employees as they leave the premises so you know what they look like. Follow them to lunch, observe what they order, take notes.. this way, when you start work you will have inside knowledge about your colleagues and exude natural insight. Once you’ve taken enough photos of the building and its employees, be sure leave enough time to print them and create an album of your findings, this can be offered as a gift at the interview.
 
The Interview
Upon meeting your interviewer, hand them the gift and ensure you express gratitude by constantly thanking them for this special opportunity and shaking their hand. ‘Thank you sir, I really appreciate this opportunity. Thank you (bow head, shake hand). Thank you. I won’t let you down, thank you.’ If you’re a designer, make sure you bring in pieces of the studio’s artwork for them to autograph. Sit as close to the interviewer as possible to show that you are comfortable with other people. If they try to move away, move closer.

Don’t be afraid to be tactile and show initiative… help them turn the pages of your folio by casually touching their hand, ‘Here, I turn the pages like this’, offering an ominous look into their eyes. By doing this, you’re reassuring the interviewer that you’re keen. Don’t take your eyes off the interviewer the entire time, this is crucial: when they’re looking at your work, when they’re on the phone, when they’re talking to colleagues, hold your intense gaze, you need to assure them you’re paying attention. They may seem unsettled by this, that’s a good sign, it means you have a strong presence. When you are asked a question, wait a few minutes before answering. Hold your gaze, look hungry, driven and inspired. Say, ‘Oh sorry, it’s just that you have such beautiful eyes’. Sometimes whisper the answer to engage them and draw them in. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say’. ‘Whisper’. Smile as you whisper, then twitch back into a serious expression, this shows versatlity and an ability to adapt to different situations. Compliment not just their work, but their personal attributes as well. ‘Oh, you have a really beautiful smile’. Or, ‘You looked really cute when you said that, can you say it again for me? Oh, You have something on your cheek, here, hold still’. They may be alarmed and shrink away from your reaching hand, that’s ok, reassure them… ‘It’s ok, relax, I won’t hurt you. I just want to touch your face’. If they attempt humour, don’t be insensitive and forget to laugh, make sure you laugh out loud. As loud as you can, so much that your face grimaces, flattery pays! Even when they try to talk again, they’re just being modest, keep laughing, stamp your hand on the table and start clapping, they’ll love your vitality. Ask if they’re single, if they are, tell them to keep their spirits up, it’ll come. Ask if you can spend time in the studio next week, simply to observe the workers in action. Even if they say no at first, show up anyway. Help them with the dishes, watch them work, take notes.

The Offer
Sometimes an employer will test an applicant by rejecting them and not offering a position. This is a cruel test and many applicants simply accept the answer and move on. Big mistake! They’re just testing to see if you really want the job. Show up to work on Monday, regardless. Sit down at any spare desk and start working, they’ll be inspired by your commitment and ability to read between the lines. As another test, they may ask you to leave. In response, put your headphones on and act as though you can’t hear. Even if you don’t have headphones, put your hands over your ears as though they are headphones, and bob around as though you’re listening to a really great song. They will love your ability to improvise. Take a phone call. Go to the toilet. Do anything to distract them. They may try to physically remove you, again, it’s just to test your conviction. Take a swipe at them with your mouth, like an authorative dog. Show your teeth and snarl before hunching over your desk, this shows an ability to stay strong in a challenging situation.
 
Then, viola! You’re employed!
Please feel free to ask any questions. If you want to work for me here at LO-FI, get in touch.
And guys, good luck!
xxxx

Posted in Analysis Post Comment

Do’s & Don’ts

While searching for info on renewing my passport, I found the following ‘Do’s & Don’ts’ regarding passport pics. I found the tips quite vague and have since elaborated to give readers a clearer understanding of who can and cannot sit for a passport photograph.

Please read their suggestions, followed by my elaborations: Continue Reading

Posted in Analysis Post Comment

Working For The Empire

I’ve worked for many Empires over the years; that is, large global/semi-global firms whose sole purpose is to expand. I’ve worked in a few different fields, in a few different capacities. Empire’s are interesting beasts. Expansion is key for the Empire, not quality, expansion. We work believing that as the Empire grows, we too will grow. We too enjoy the spoils. But we don’t. We stay where we are. Where we have always been. And where we will always be.

Superiors
Of course personal growth is possible, but it is problematic. The Empire creates an artificial class system, a hierarchy, and workers are expected to honour that class system, respect that hierarchy. Because to grow means to overtake your superior, or to make the superior feel less superior. Superiors don’t like that, that’s why they’re superior. A superior has status anxiety, so if they’re not superior, they are anxious. They don’t want to be anxious, they want to be superior, that’s why they’re superior. So, if they see a threat to their superiority, they’ll do what they can to block it, or, to create ways to make themselves appear important/superior. Plus, if you overtake your superior, it means you’re entitled to more of the Empires money. And if you get more money, it means the Empire compromises its bottom line. This affects expansion. Expansion is key. We can’t have more money, because the Empire is expanding. Expansion needs money. You are the bottom line. It’s better if you just stay in your place, it’s easier that way. It’s much easier to just keep the same superiors, because after all, they are just doing what the Empire asks, they’re just continuing an established thought, so why go to the trouble of changing them? The superiors are rewarded handsomely for their loyalty to the Empire, like rewarding a dog with a juicy bone. At the end of the year when the bonus bones are divided, the guard dogs (superiors) get more. Not for their leadership, not for their insight, but for their ability to keep the regular dogs in line. To keep salaries low. The more you do what I say, dog, the more you keep my house in order, the more bones we’ll throw you.

Dogs, Foxes & Pigs
Sometimes regular dogs do manage to get some more bones, some scraps, but they had to fight dirty for them. To succeed, to achieve personal growth, the regime requires dogs to fight dirty; barking, biting, kissing another dogs arse, licking its balls. Most of the time though, trying to play the game this way, just results in you shitting on your own doorstep, with no one to clean it up. Unless you’re a fox, more specifically, a female fox. Female foxes have an edge over the dogs, because a guard dog will salivate over an attractive fox. If a guard dog sniffs the chance to have his balls licked by a fox, instead of a mere fellow dog, he’ll jump at the chance. It doesn’t matter if the guard dog has a partner; after all, she’s just a bitch. His little tail will wag around the fox, he’ll salivate, he’ll pant, all in the hope he’ll get his balls licked by a fox. It is a pathetic, shameful sight to see this. This is the only time a guard dog will break with the established thought of the regime, and begin to think for himself, when he sniffs the chance of mating with a fox. He’ll try and make things better for the fox. Technically though, he’s still not thinking for himself, he’s thinking for his balls. With his balls, on behalf of his penis. A guard dog never actually thinks for himself, he just shows loyalty to his owner.
The more the guard dog thinks with his balls, something truly amazing happens; he gradually metamorphoses into a pig, until he becomes a pig. The thing about pigs though, they stink. You can hose them down, you can dress them up, you can call them Sir Pig, but they are dirty by nature, so they’ll always stink. The pigs bitch and kids eventually start to smell the stench, but they don’t quite know what it is. They just know it doesn’t smell right. They may even start to think it is themselves that stinks. So in the end they just cover their nose when the pig is around, ignorance is bliss. Likewise the dogs in the regime, it’s just easier not to think.

The First Rule of the Empire
You enter a regime, you enter a movement, thinking this is great; this is where I want to be. Then, the longer you’re there, the more you realise the movement has holes. The movement is contradictory. It’s hypocritical. The movement exists for itself. It is corrupt. It proclaims this. But in reality is that. Just listen to how the dogs bark about the movement when the cameras are off. Pure vitriol. But only when the cameras are off. So eventually, you walk. Before you go, remember the number one rule of the Empire: everyone, absolutely everyone, is free to do as they wish, just as their actions do not conflict with those of the Empire. Your interests must not conflict their interests. Afterall, we’re all just dogs, and dogs must be forever, eternally, everlastingly… loyal to their owner.

Posted in Analysis Post Comment

Dolce & Gabbana


I think I’ve done enough ranting about advertising, so today I’m going to open this one up to my students. Kids, hands up who can tell me what is wrong with this ad? Yes Billy, you.

Um, the man looks like a woman. Even though he’s not a transvestite or cross dresser, he looks like a woman.

Yes, Billy, very good. The man looks like a woman. He exhibits physical characteristics that are worryingly feminine. Nothing wrong with a man wanting to look this way, each to their own, but I suspect this was not the aim of Dolce & Gabbana. This is Photoshop gone wrong. Fail, Dolce & Gabbana, fail.

Next. Yes please Sally, your turn.

The man looks gold, even though he’s Anglo.

Brilliant observation Sally. Yes, this man is gold. He is a gold man. Not because he is mixed race, not even because he’s a sauna junkie, but because D&C have decided it’s cool to be gold. Not tanned. Gold. So they coloured him gold. Write that down kids, It’s cool to look gold. Try and find a way to colour your skin gold.

Kenny, you look quite keen for your point to be heard, you’re turn.

Um, the man looks like a reformed kiddie fiddler.

Kenny, why do you say this?

Um, the look in his eyes, it’s the same one Brother Rory gives me in Religious Education class. Brother Rory is a reformed kiddie fiddler, that’s why he’s part of the Catholic Church.

Kenny, please! Unfortunately you’re wrong here. I’m afraid Brother Rory is still a kiddie fiddler. There have been several complaints. However, it’s the Church’s policy to protect its brand, so you’re just going to have to take it, literally. You be careful around him Kenny, especially during confirmation. Make sure it’s bread he places in your mouth! Bread, Kenny! Now pray to the Pope so he protects you from the Brotherhood.

Yes Sandra, what do you see?

I see a man who is 42 years old, but doesn’t have a single wrinkle or bit of texture or life in his skin.

Fantastic, yes. This is not because he’s the pinnacle of good health, this is because D&C have decided that it’s cool to be a Photoshop file. To not be human. Everybody, please give thanks to D&C for showing us how we should aspire to look, even though it’s not possible. For trying to make us look like Photoshop files. More makeup Sandra, D&C would like more make-up on you please, no wrinkles. Anyone else?

He shaves his chest. He has woman’s lips. His lips are too red. He’s really shiny. The ad took up half a page of my newspaper.

Yes. Who said that last one, Joey? Excellent work Joey. This one is crucial. Some newspapers won’t print ads campaigning for social change or increased awareness on certain issues, for fear of offending people and advertisers, but they’ll print this?!

Ok kids, it’s time for science class. What is this I’m carrying into the classroom?

A very large tank of highly flammable liquid.

Correct. Now, if we mix very large tanks of highly flammable liquid with balls of fire, what happens?

More fire.

And if we place the ad in the fire, what happens?

It burns. D&C burns.

Please throw all other appropriate material in the fire kids. Now here’s some literature with which I’d like you all to familiarise yourselves. You won’t find celebrities or aftershave in these papers. You won’t find ads. Disseminate the material at recess. Together we’ll get things done. Now, fists in the air.
Together Everyone Achieve More.
Dismissed.

Posted in Advertising, Analysis Post Comment

URINAL_MAST
This post will help male readers acquire a clearer understanding of acceptable etiquette in the troth area of a public toilet.

Small Talk
Users are discouraged from attempts at generating conversation at the trough. Trough-time is one time in the day when we should not have to endure small talk and petty chitchat. Recently, while having dinner with friends of friends, I was the victim of trough-talk. ‘I’m off to the lavatory’, I said. To my dismay, one of the table members came with me. I turned around with a confused look, what? Why not wait a few minutes? Are you a child who needs someone else to accompany him to the toilet? We just had dinner, now we’re potentially going to be standing side by side with our penis’ out. This is unacceptable. I gambled that if I went to the trough, he’d go to the cubical. I thought if I go straight to the cubical and avoid the trough, I’ll seem weak, or as though I have something to hide. I put the onus on him. It backfired; not only did he pull up right next to me, he started general chitchat.
Do you have any siblings?
Sister.
Oh great, how old is she?
Struggling to adapt to peeing with a stranger and friendly chitchat, I started buckling under the pressure. Um, he’s 29.
He?
Oh no, I meant my Dad.
Your dad is 29?
What?
How old is your sister?
Penis.
What?
Um, I don’t have one… a sister I mean. Actually, I do have one.
Are you feeling ok?

I felt like saying, ‘Look, I just need to focus on this, you’ve thrown me. I don’t excel at small talk at the best of times, let alone at a trough. I thought I was going to get some quiet time here.’ Instead, I looked at him, ‘I’m ok, just tired’.
The mistake here, of course, was the ‘looking’ part. If trapped in trough-talk, users should avoid attempts at eye contact. So, while I was looking over and carrying on with general chitchat, behind the chitchat, however, I was just thinking ‘Don’t look at his cock don’t look at his cock’, I then forgot what I was saying, because I was thinking, ‘don’t look at his cock don’t look at his cock’. It’s not as though I wanted to look at his cock, it’s kinda like when someone has a glass eye, it throws you off balance. All this meant I was unable to finish the job for which I came. The waterfall had turned into a dripping tap. Stuff this; I’m aborting, ‘See you back at the table’. He keeps talking while I wash my hands. ‘Look, I just wanna go upstairs, why don’t you just let the conversation die damn you! It’s over!’ In the end I just left while he remained at the trough, talking and pissing away.
*Story embellished for effect

Strange Personal Habits
Users are discouraged from bringing their strange personal toilet habits into the public domain of the trough. That is, if you are one of the many men who need to give ‘Mr Johnson’ a friendly yank a few times, in order for him to be woken up and activated, you are labelled INAPPROPRIATE, and are encouraged to wait for a cubicle to become available and refrain from using the trough. Yanking ‘The General’ is unacceptable behaviour at the trough. When someone goes on a yanking session, I usually think, ‘You bastard, why can’t you just be normal’. Further to this, excessive levels of shaking at the conclusion is also discouraged, a simple shake is enough. Just do it and leave please. Taking a peak at the cock next to you is the height of unacceptable troth etiquette. Eyes straight ahead, or down at your own cock, please.

When it comes to ‘Darth Vader’ I generally lean on the private side, that is, if I’m faced with the choice of relieving myself via a trough , or a cubicle, I’ll opt for the latter. It’s not like I have anything to hide, it’s more about not wanting to have my equipment out with freaks. That’s just natural isn’t it? When in the company of strange people, to prefer having ‘Mr Johnson’ back in the living room with his prodigal sons. Think about it, if you’re in an awkward moment/situation, you don’t think, hold on a minute, I know what will ease the tension, and flip out the ‘Chicken Fillet’(?). Or females, if you’re next to a person who is engaged in inappropriate acts, you’re impulse is not to unbutton your top and give your breasts a wiggle to ease the tension. Yes, I prefer my ‘Snake’ to be domesticated rather than slithering freely in the wild.

The Alpha Male
The alpha male is a menace at the trough. Alphas are encouraged to use the cubicle at all times. The alpha male feels at home at the trough, and sees it a chance for him to illustrate his manliness and flex his hypothetical muscle. Alphas often dramatise their actions at the trough, to perpetuate their myth: When taking ‘The Quarterback’ and ‘Wide Receivers’ out of his pants, he tends to bounce his knees as he flops them out, as though lifting a heavy sack of potatoes over a wall and letting it hang. Then, he leans forward and rests his arm on the wall, as though the weight of his gigantic cock and balls hosing down the troth is all too much, so leaning forward is required for support. Then he groans and lets out a gigantic, earth-shattering fart, as though marking his territory. Then, having proved himself to his fellow man, he grooms himself at the mirror for half an hour, so he can then prove himself to woman.

In closing, a troth story from a friend
The story goes, he once entered a work appraisal with a full tank, so 15 minutes in, was forced to excuse himself. While at the trough, the owner of the company just happened to pull up next to him, meaning he was victim of a chronic bout of stage fright, and unable to go. He stood there, mentally cursing his ‘Engine Room’ for failing him at this most crucial of moments. He was then forced to return to his 2-hour appraisal, with a full tank. Tragedy.

Please Vote
Which term for the penis do you prefer?

Mr Johnson, testicals being his prodigal sons
The Chicken Fillet
Texas Coral Snake
The General
The Engine Room
Ed Balls
The rightwing of the Tory party
Cock and balls
Houdini
The Quarterback, Wide Receivers being the nuts
Chopper
Darth Vader
Equipment

Many Thanks

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