I've often wanted to work in advertising. for numerous reasons. Initially I think it's because so many of the adverts that I see irritate the living fuck out of me on a regular basis, either from the lies, the implied lies, the inane bollocks, the insane science, the orgasmic hair products and the horrendous dubbing. How difficult can it be to make 30 seconds worth of television and sell a product without insulting, offending or lying to the public? On top of that you'd have the challenge of making the advert entertaining, but as you plainly see, my ideas are cool and would help sell.

Maybe it's the way my mind works, but I analyse adverts as they come along and can't help but pick up on details that the advert makers probably don't want you to focus on. I also have the occasional drinking session where people shout out random products out and it's my job to repackage and retag them so they would appeal to the mass market. So every now and then I'll be giving you another insight into the advertising world by giving my spin on it, either by explaining an advert I've seen or by giving my take on advertising something in a new way. For Instance ...

Science Gone Mental : Actimel
For instance, recently 'Actimel' stopped mentioning it's cheif ingredient in it's adverts. Now I could cope quite easily with Pro-Tensium and Hydro-Theramides; Plant Sterols, though sounding stupid do actually exist; but when an advert proudly proclaims it owes everything to Bifidus-Digestivum you know that something is badly wrong. It's like something you'd explain to a retarded four year old child in explanation for it's belly wobblies. I seriously can't help but laugh when Bifidus Digestivum is mentioned on the TV.

Lessons In Life : Somerfield
A man is pushing a shopping trolley around a lovely pleasant, quiet supermarket. It's got to be 3am. In a parallel universe. He spies a lovely attractive young woman doing the same thing coming towards him down the aisle. They approach each other. Their trolleys touch. The eyes meet. The breathing quickens. True love blossoms in their hearts. A baby plummets from the ceiling into one of the trolleys. They push the trolley off to live happily ever after. Voice Over : "Wouldn't it be great if everything you ever wanted came all at once?" .... Somerfield logo comes up. AM I THE ONLY PERSON TO SEE THE BABY PLUMMET FROM THE CEILING??? DO YOU KNOW HOW HIGH THE CEILINGS ARE IN YOUR AVERAGE SUPERMARKET??? Somerfield ... We Drop Babies.

NEW TAGLINES

Tipp-Ex - Because even Shakespeare fucked up every now and then.

New Zealand Lamb - You can hardly taste the semen

Andrex - It's like a small puppy licking you clean

Tampax - You might be angry, but at least you're not dirty

More later...

I have a dream. It regularly occurs and nothing I do can get me away from it. It starts simply enough with me sitting on the bank of a river while throwing crumbs for the fish. The fish come up to the surface and watch me for a while from under the water with insane staring unblinking curious eyes. One of the pokes his face above the water and talks to me.

"Hello Mr Jon" says the fish
"Hello Mr Fish" says I
"What are you doing, Mr Jon?"
"I'm giving you food, Mr Fish"
"Why would you be doing that, then, Mr Jon?"
"Because you asked me to, Mr Fish"
"Why would we ask you to do that, Mr Jon?"
"I don't know, Mr Fish. Maybe you had a plan?"
"I think I'd remember if I had a plan, Mr Jon. And anyway, your food tastes wrong"
"But you've not tasted my food, Mr Fish, how do you know if it tastes wrong?"
"Because it looks like it tastes wrong, and it isn't blue with green stripes."
"Why don't you try tasting the food first, Mr Fish, before judging that it's wrong?"
"I'll taste it if you make it blue with green stripes."
"But Mr Fish, you never told me you wanted food to be blue with green stripes before!"
"I've only just decided, Mr Jon. Don't you think food would be better to be blue with green stripes?"
"But Mr Fish, I have some food here. It's all ready and it's exactly what you wanted, if you really want food that's blue with green stripes I'll have to go away and make it and I don't know when I'll be back. And then you might not want food that's blue with green stripes anymore!"
"Well Mr Jon, I've thought about what you said and think you should start right away then."
"Yes, Mr Fish."
"Oh, and Mr Jon?"
"Yes, Mr Fish?"
"Best make it square, while you're at it. Blue food with green stripes always tastes better when it's square"
"Yes, Mr Fish"

Then I would walk away from the river on a trek across the mighty savannah and see all there was to see. I would walk around the edge of the quarry of the shouting hippos, all of them shouting for the attention of all the others or hiding in holes sleeping and gaining their strength back until it's their time again for the shouting.

I found the aincient slamming temple, the holiest of shrines. It is said that the wisest creatures in all the land visit this temple almost every day and in a ritual of purification they slam thier foreheads into the walls repeatedly until a divine grace settles upon them or until they black out.

The red and blue donkeys with the white and black shoes were fighting with the black and white donkeys with the blue and red hats. Again. And the red and blue donkeys with the white and black shoes had a point, so did the black and white donkeys with the blue and red hats. But because the red and blue dokeys with the white and black shoes hated the black and white donkeys with the blue and red hats and the black and white donkeys with the blue and red hats hated the red and blue donkeys with the white and black shoes, they got a small pink lemur to bring messages between them all. And since the small pink lemur hated all donkeys of all colours, he delivered the messages wrong and then bitched to all his small pink lemur friends.

The gibbons poked things with sticks and the gorillas poked the gibbons. The penguins poked the gorillas and the goats poked the penguins. There were too many to count and everyone was unhappy. And everytime you looked again there were more penguins and less gibbons. So although every time you looked there was more bleating and much more quacking, and lots and lots and lots more poking, there was less and less things being poked. Which made the penguins angry.

Eventually I reached my kitchen and I sat with my coffee and tried to figure out how to make blue breadcrumbs with green stripes and make them square. At least until it was time to knock off and go home.

Sweet dreams are made of this

To hear me speak of my hatred of most mankind and my desire to do actual bodily harm to almost everybody I meet, you could easily fall into the trap of thinking that I'm the small quiet chappy that sits in the corner mumbling to himself in between regular hot steamy mugs of bovril, possibly wondering about precisely where he spends his evenings and sure to be overlooked in any sort of police investigation.

Now to shatter your illusions, along with my genius-level intellect I am also well over six foot with a staggering level of athletic ability and the power to melt your bones with my mind. So as easy as it would be to reach over and twist your head until it pops right off your shoulders I keep my murderous tendencies under control. Which is very frustrating.

So the only reasonable way of obliterating an individual foe is to construct logical arguments which are so undeniable that even the commonest layman would agree that my foe has the intellectual capacity of a dolphin's fart. Unfortunately the dolphin's fart in question is generally so fucking ignorant that I have to conduct my argument in words of two syllables or less. Which, again, is very frustrating.

There is a point to my wittering on this score. When the laser-monkey-death-robots start marching through your town and murdering people left right and centre, don't raise a band of heroic stragglers to hunt the source of the malice. And if you do, and you get to the source, and a creepy voice tells you not to look behind the curtain, then DON'T look behind the curtain … for your own sake. I mean, by that point you might have been able to figure out I'm not in a chatting mood. Imagine twitching back the curtain expecting to find a spider monkey and being presented with a full grown angry mountain gorilla.

One day, I swear to God, one day…

Have you ever felt the need to whine about your life incessantly into your diary in the hope that somebody else would sneak into your bedroom to read it? Have you ever got so frustrated with that ignorant wanker on the bus listening to his personal stereo so loud that you've got to tell somebody, anybody, but there's nobody who even pretends to listen to you anymore? Have you ever felt the need to hold a pen over a blank piece of paper in the certain knowledge that the greatest work of literature is only a few penstrokes away … if only you could think of something to write about? If the answer to any of these questions is yes then CONGRATULATIONS! You're ready to write your very own blog.

What is a blog?
A blog, (or weB LOG) is an online diary of the writers thoughts, feelings, inspirations and insights into life, the universe and everything. Now picture that concept multiplied by every idiot you've ever met trying to vocalise his or her internal thought processes with a yellow crayon onto damp toilet paper. That's what your average blog is and it's just about as readable.

Who writes a blog?
Everybody. Everybody you've ever met or are ever likely to meet writes a blog. Your own grandmother writes a blog. Why aren't you? People's pets write blogs. People write blogs for fictional pets they don't have and have never seen. People write blogs about life on other planets when the furthest they've ever been is the Tesco's outside surbiton. If you can think of it, somebody writes about it on a daily basis. From the Butcher, The Baker and The Candlestick Maker to the Waiter, the Teacher and the Plod.

Why write a blog?
If it's to become famous, then give up now. Those people that have heard of famous bloggers are never going to own up to it in real conversation with real people and your chances of ever making any money at it are about as likely as a nun showing up on your doorstep with a selection of high quality porn the nunnery had had enough of. So realistically the only reason to write a blog is because you feel like it and you don't really care if people don't see it.

How do I start a blog?
There are a few sites online that specialise in setting you up with the space, the names and the site all for you. All you have to do is pick one, run the setup and then start typing. First, there's LiveJournal, home of the billion blogs and they let you know it. LiveJournal is so big that it's impossible to care about any of it, so it's the place to go if you want to be lost instantly in the shuffle. MySpace is perfect for the Doom-Cookie and angst market. It specialises in posting your nightmarish poetry followed by artistic photos of your eyeshadow-ridden friends telling you how much they love you and empathise with your dead cat. Then BlogSpot is huge but still tries to give you the feeling they care about YOU. It's colourful, easy enough to use and plenty of space for you to advertise your new book (with links to amazon). And finally you could go it alone. Buy some space, a domain and learn a big of html. A diary is after all, just a big blank page and that way you have ultimate control over how it looks and what's on it. So you'll probably end up with it being bright pink or pure black. Good choice.

What to write a blog about?
It's always useful to come up with a creative vision after you've spent weeks figuring out your screen name (DoomBaby318), the colour scheme(black), your avatar (a teddy with a mohawk) and then told each and every one of your friends to read it. Fuck it, you got yourself into this mess, figure it out yourself. Otherwise just go back to whining about how much your job is shit, your boss is a dick, girls are your best friends but you've not been laid in 3 years, nobody understands the pressure you're under and how the Tool concert you went to left you in tears. That should hold you until your next hiatus.

How do I make my blog stand out?
You can't. Actually, that's a lie. You could put on detailed plans of how you're planning on stalking and killing a major celebrity. Or you could discuss fundamentalist terrorism with both the pros and cons (always good for a giggle and an arrest). But for the most part, nobody cares and nobody knows it's there. The best you can do is keep at it and keep improving and hope that somebody reads it and looks occasionally.

I've run out of ideas, what do I do now?
Well, if you still feel the need to share your thoughts even when there's fuck all crawling about inside your tiny angst-ridden little blue-black dyed skull then there's always the 'What sort of ***** are you test' that is rampant around the net, where you can get an asinine moron with no sense of logic or judgement to tell you that you have the intelligence of Jean Luc Picard, the deductive abilities of Howard the Duck, the sexual proclivities of a dead otter and that you've been sorted into Gryffendor. Well done you.

I've just been fired, how did that happen?
Because you gave your own name, your bosses name, the company where you work and you started slagging off everything from Jewish fundamentalism to your boss' sexual technique… and you told everybody you work with about your blog.

For every 1 blog that's readable, there's 300 that's full of whining unreadable shite. It's so rare to find the tiny spot of gold in the mountain of dribbling faeces that it's like the feel of Michael Jackson's white gloved hand when you find someone worth reading. Which is why I was so happy when I happened randomly across one blog. When I read it the entire blog for that day was "On my walk home from work, I will be counting the people I pass and choking the eighth one to death." (by Thoth Reliquary) Which just about sums up a lot of life.

Now piss off and leave me in peace.

Always, ALWAYS remember to get dressed in the morning BEFORE taking your hallucinogenic drugs.