Random Ramblings – Much ado about Ads

Posted: October 11, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

Hey y’all. This time, I have decided to ramble on only about advertising. First off, I know you missed me so much you wanted to die. You cried every night because my silence meant you had to go back to your heathen, decadent ways, watching badly made porn and downloading the latest horrible shitty excuse for music. But you don’t need to cry any more. Come… suckle at my many tits. That’s right – it’s no longer just Anna and Nina. While I was gone I had a surgery done to add extra boobs to my middle, because:
1. It’s pointless, letting all that space from below the twins to my crotch go to waste.
2. I wanted to show someone what it really means to be a bitch.
I’ve pretty much gotten barking down to a fine art, and moving around on all fours is easy (perverts, please save your thoughts for later), so all I needed were about three more pairs of boobs. That being said, I am officially a bitch. I guess I could make money in some brothel in Norway or Iceland… I’m sure there are people with kinky fantasies who would feel better about screwing me as opposed to an actual bitch that could turn around and bite off their penises.
I know, I promised I would ramble about advertising. And here I am already breaking that promise. Well, not that you’re worth me promising to sling my poop on your face… Besides, I was kinda advertising my boobs. All eight of them. Now let’s get down to the real thing.
We all know ads lie. Like when a drink says “contains real fruit juice” on its can or bottle, you could easily be distracted by the word “real” from the word “contains”. See, if the manufacturer were to be really honest with you, he would have elaborated. “’Contains,’ as in never mind that there’re all sorts of artificial flavors and colors and preservatives and carcinogens… It’s also got real fruit juice! Deliciously healthy poison in a can.” But I’m guessing there wouldn’t be enough space on a conventional can for them to put all that on, so in the end, it’s easier to say “contains real fruit juice.” And you go on your merry way sipping like the health-conscious eejit you really are. Relax. I fell for that, too. In some alternate universe, six hundred and sixty six former lives ago, I think.
But really though, I think slogans ought to try a little bit of honesty, at the very least. I mean it’s not like I don’t already know I didn’t need that butt massager I bought the other day, or that chugging down all those bottles of coke back in school was not helping to keep the pounds away. But I really don’t appreciate them lying to me in spite of the fact that they’re ruining my life… not to mention, my bank account. See, that’s why I appreciate Auntie Anne’s… their pretzels are worth every extra tire you get around your gut. And they had/have a nice slogan: “Auntie Anne’s… Spoiling dinner since 1988!” I LOVE THAT! Did you guys sense the wave of honesty from that one sentence wash over you like I did?! Granted, it says nothing about all the other things eating those sinfully delicious pretzels do, but at least, it’s partially honest. I could live with that.
See, another thing I hate about advertising and all things advertising related, is all the randomness that the companies incorporate into their logos. I feel, instead of fancy letters and images and whatnot, logos should capture the truth. Take McDonald’s, for instance. The logo should be an obese guy scarfing down fries and burgers while shedding tears. And if what I’ve heard of those fast food chains is true, then one of the fries should hold a gun to his head. Because apparently, some of the stuff they put in those things you eat get you addicted.

McDiabetes

I dunno. Na demsay demsay I dey talk. I think the same logo should be used for good ole Colonel Sanders too – just replace the burgers and fries with some KFC chicken. Yum. Your belle dey rumble abi? Fool.
As I was saying, of course not all eateries would have the same sort of logo. You could replace the obese guy with an obese chick. Or with a picture of Angelina Jolie or some other skinny super model chowing down on the food, beside a picture of her sticking two fingers down her throat to get it all out after the photo shoot. And in cases like Mr. Biggs, it could be a picture of a hungry customer trying to eat while defending her food from flies. Or maybe a more honest logo would be a pic of their toilets. Seriously, have you gone into their toilets? Some with pee, some un-flushable, some un-flushable containing un-flushables… no running water makes you wonder if the dude giving you your sausage just used the bathroom, jiggled his peter and used that same hand to give you your meal… and then there’s the creepy messages on the bathroom walls and doors:
“Do you want to be fuck and suck ur pussy good? Call this number, am David but trust my penis is Goliath…”
I shit you not. And this sort of advertising seems to be working well for those creeps…because that shit’s like, viral, and they ain’t stopped yet. And management doesn’t think it’s necessary to get rid of the messages. Who knows? Maybe those nice, humble boys and girls behind the counter double as gigolos and prostitutes at night, and that’s the real reason Mr. Biggs is still in business. What a perverted world.
Still on advertising, and all things related, I want to ramble for a bit about GT Assur. Oh yeah, they’re now “Mansard Insurance”. My bad… but seriously, Mansard? I don’t know why but it sounds like a really cool name for my super gay friend. I’ll suggest it to him. I’m pretty sure when he reads this, it’s off to get an affidavit. And yes, my dear friend is gay. Get over it. It’s not your ass he’s poking… or you’re not poking his ass… I should ask him if he’s a top or bottom or if he’s versatile… I sense my friend Mansard is a bottom though. He’s such a diva. I love him. But I cannot have him. *Deep Sigh* I’ll ask him if he can ignore my twins – my octuplets, I mean – and if he would settle for a dildo instead, seeing as I don’t have the real schlong and I’m gonna need my hmn-hmn-hmn for the work I have to do in Norway. Or Iceland. Haven’t decided yet.
Next: Coke. I came across a billboard that said, “A Billion Reasons to Believe In Africa”. I know, at first you’ll think, aww, that’s sweet! They’re talking about you and me, Average Jide and Average Nneka. But I see through that. They’re not talking about us. They’re talking about the number of crates they sell each day. They’re talking about the tons of moolah they make off of us each day. I’m sure their ad exec is sitting somewhere, laughing his ass off while he burns one thousand naira notes and dollars. And the five thousand naira notes he got way ahead of its official “release” date. Fucking douche.
MTN: My observation? An MTN sim card is kinda like how it’s supposedly gonna be with 666. You know, mark of the beast, and all. Nobody wanted it, it juuuuust kinda sorta crept up on us, and became a necessity because everyone else had it. And now you can’t get rid of it, because you keep remembering you spent twenty grand on that shit and now it’s dirt cheap. I’m surprised the government hasn’t gone after those fucks. Oh wait… riiiiiight… almost forgot. This is Nigeria.
Then there’s William Beer… it’s got this one ad on BRT busses with a few guys just chilling with some William. And the slogan says: “Where there’s a Will…”



What? There’s a way? A way to drink beer? Or where there’s a Will there are gay guys (no offence, Mansard)? Because if you think about it, anyone who drinks Will… is literally sucking William… the way I see it, the bottle’s Willy and the beer’s Willy’s little Willy’s ejac… okay I’m done.
Ovaltine: “Rich in Malt. Rich in Taste. Rich in Happiness.” Malt, I get. Taste, of course. But happiness? I bought a tin just to check. There’s no “happiness” in the ingredients. They lied. And so I’m stuck with this tin of Ovaltine till it finishes, and every time I drink it, I feel so fucking unhappy because they lied to me. And why the hell is it called “Ovaltine”? There’s nothing fucking oval about the tin! Eejits.
Airtel: “Fast Is An Attitude.” No it’s not. It’s an ADVERB. E.g., fast dancing. And an adjective. E.g., fast car. See? An “attitude” is what I’m giving you right now. It’s called a “fuck-you-I-know-English-and-you-don’t” attitude. See what I did there? That whole quoted sentence? That’s an adjective. Dumbasses.
Mortein: “Our Voices Against Malaria.” Now hold the fucking phone. First off, voices don’t cure malaria. Neither do they kill mosquitoes. And frankly, neither does Mortein. The day one of you insecticide making eejits decided we needed more fragrant insecticides was the day mosquitoes had a massive orgy in celebration of your stupidity. If it doesn’t smell like it’s gonna kill me, I ain’t using it. And why the fuck would I be spraying a cockroach for close to ten seconds right in its face with Mortein, and it just keeps moving? The hell!
Cowbell: “Our Milk”. Don’t even get me started. And a “Cowbellocracy”? Areyoufrickinkiddinme?!?!

MTN’s “win an aeroplane”. Lemme break this down for you. You’re an average Azubuike, going about your business. And then suddenly, MTN sends you a congratulations text, because you’re the lucky winner of this here “airoplane”. Keep in mind, you’re already having issues buying fuel for your car. And then MTN dumps an airplane on your ass. Now obviously, you want that shit. But then after signing here and initialing there, you find you can’t sell it, the asswipes only gave you a plane, but no pilot (and those guys have mad fees) and then not only that, you gotta buy fuel for the plane (which is expensive as hell). And even if you wanted to own a one-plane airline, you gotta find staff, crew members… Bottomline, congratulations. You’re a broke son of a bitch with an airplane and no pilot. But if you’re creative and business minded like yours truly, you would consider turning that shit into a night club or strip joint. First of its kind in Nigeria. Shit… now I wish I would be the lucky SOB.
I could go on and on, but this is getting too long. So I’ll end with La Voltic. Slogan: “Don’t say water. Say La Voltic.” Really? Why the hell would I chuck a simple two syllable word for three-syllabled “La Voltic”??? No thanks. But I bet my buddy Mansard would just looooove the way it would roll off his tongue when he gets really thirsty as he gets effed in the a by Gustavo. Or while he effs Gustavo’s a. I really need to find out if he’s a top or a bottom. If he agrees to being with me… Dear God I hope he’s a bottom. My ass is still a pristine virgin. I’d like to keep shit that way. Pun intended.

Authored By Vanessa;

Vanessa is one of our admins here at LaCritique and can be reached at flyyness@gmail.com

Follow her on Twitter @VanessaKanu , follow La Critique @LaCritique_ng

Advertisements
Comments
  1. babarde says:

    lol….all i can say

  2. jiraiya says:

    Don’t even get me started bout biggs,I’ll starve than eat there! Plus,mansard really does sound gay! Lol.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s