Soapbox For Sale

So there I was, searching You Tube for a glimpse of the new video by Nine Inch Nails, suspecting that it would be a pleasurable experience that would add a little extra happiness to my day. The last thing I expected was that I would end up ranting to the cats again.

I found the video and pressed the play button so that I could listen to a brand new song from one of my favourite recording artists.

After 90 seconds I was in full rant mode.

Why?

Because I had had to endure 90 seconds of watching an advert for a product that I have no interest in at all. 

I had no choice.

It was the final straw. I was so looking forward to the video that when I was asked to spend a whole minute and a half watching a pointless trailer for a violent computer game, in which I have no interest, I simply flipped.

These adverts are so bloody irritating and are popping up everywhere. The internet used to be a safe haven from the endless adverts that plagued television and radio commercials.

The disease has spread to the internet, dear reader – and I am bloody annoyed about it.

My entire life is invaded by people endlessly harassing and haranguing me, urging me to throw away my hard earned cash on products that I have absolutely zero interest in.

There’s no escape.

I feel like I’m being hunted by relentless marketing people who want to beat me into submission so that I turn into one of those poor unfortunate people who end up throwing away their money and filling their houses with trinkets, gadgets, music, movies, clothes, cleaning products, furniture, food, motor accessories and every conceivable product that can be purchased.

My smartphone is a target for a lot of rants – though not because it is a useless gadget. If I am out and about and want to surf the internet on my phone, I invariably end up having advert after advert hurled at the screen.

Why?

Because the advertisers are exploiting my physical weakness and my lack of coordination.

On my tiny smartphone screen (which incidentally is bigger than most, including the latest iPhone), I see a link I have to click with my decrepit eyes. Because my failing eyesight lets me down, my terrible hand-eye coordination and stubby fingers mean that I inadvertently click the wrong link – the bloody link that points to an advert - the link that takes 2 minutes to display and wastes a fraction of MY money because I have forked out for mobile internet and had to waste precious megabytes downloading something that is asking me if I want to buy carpet shampoo.

Imagine this happening on a bus, full of other passengers minding their own business. All they hear is me screaming at my phone:

“FOR PETE’S SAKE!! WHY DID YOU CALL UP A PAGE ADVERTISING SHAKE AND BLOODY VAC? I JUST WANT TO READ THE BLOODY NEWS!!!”



The passengers are divided. All smartphone owners nod in deep understanding because this has happened to them. Others think I’m an imbecile ranting at a poor victim at the other end of my phone and shy away from me as if I am the nutter on the nutty bus.

Why the blithering flump have You Tube decided that covering their videos with an advert is a good idea? If anything it is going to stop people using the service.

And on Facebook – why do you have to watch a bloody video before you play one of their mind-numbing but hopelessly addictive games?

Ranting about adverts is nothing new for me. I’ve been doing it for donkey’s years. The difference is that I thought I had eliminated them from my life.

On TV, I simply started recording everything, whether it be on a video recorder in the 80’s and 90’s or on Sky Plus since I have had satellite TV. This means that now I can simply zap through the commercials. I rarely see a TV commercial these days.

That said, we now have to suffer adverts from companies that sponsor TV programmes so I can’t eliminate all of them. My current favourite TV programme is Dexter and that. Like all drama on Fox TV, is sponsored by a male fragrance in a pink bottle and usually features a rather suspect male model wearing little clothing being groped by an equally scantily clad woman. I am ranting before the credits start.

On the radio, I have long since stopped listening to commercial radio stations, mainly because the music is garbage (I won’t start a rant about that) but also because the DJ’s all talk shit and the adverts are the worst adverts in the world. Here is a typical 30 minutes on a commercial radio station:

00 to 02: News – 50% of which is about pointless celebrities.
03 to 04: Weather (which in the UK is invariably shit).
05 to 07: Stupid bloody adverts.
09 to 17: Inane bollocks from idiotic DJ’s.
18 to 20: Half of a crap song interrupted by yet more inane drivel from DJ’s.
21 to 23: Yet more stupid bloody adverts.
24 to 27: Half of a crap song interrupted by even more insipid idiocy from DJ’s.
28 to 30: Yet MORE stupid bloody adverts.

I thought the internet was my sanctuary but it’s not. Every single web page has been invaded by the inexorable, ruthless advertising machine that ruins all of our lives.***

I will try to end on a positive note.

While some adverts are totally irritating or just plain annoying I have to admit that there have been some adverts over the years that have made me chuckle.

Here are a few of my favourites:

I apologise for any unsolicited adverts supplied by You Tube when viewing these adverts.

By the way – don’t be misled by the title of this blog post. I have absolutely no intention of selling my soapbox.

I need it and it is priceless.

*** Eagle-eyed readers may have noticed the adverts at the foot of this very web page. I apologise for my hypocrisy; I have made all of fifteen shiny new pounds sterling in five years. Impressed?  I’m not!

American TV Commercials

I’ve just returned from a very pleasant trip to the United States and, I tell you something, I’m glad I didn’t fall ill over there. If I had succumbed to an illness that required drugs of some kind I am certain that I would have perished as a result of a horrific treatment related side effect.

Mrs PM and I arrived in Boston around ten days ago and, whilst unpacking, I switched on the TV and started to flick through the channels, searching for something to watch as a background activity. It took a while because every single channel had a TV commercial on it – I was beginning to think that Americans had given up on the idea of watching TV programmes in favour of an endless loop of adverts.

Of course, we have commercials in the UK but in the US, they have millions of the things. I was drawn away from the necessity of packing and sucked into the world of advertising American style. Mrs PM seemed immune and unpacked, making sure that her clothes were impeccably hung up or popped into drawers. I simply watched the TV like a hypnotised idiot.

Here are a couple of commercials that grabbed my attention:

First, a very scary man, with a beard that made him look incredibly sinister, tried to convince me that I could use his services to make sure that the IRS (Internal Revenue Service) would not overtax me. I couldn’t drag my eyes from his beard; it was so perfectly coiffured in perfect harmony with his hair, that for a second I thought I was watching a talking doll. The expression on his face never changed and neither did the tone of his voice. Was he a robot? He certainly scared me into thinking that I should engage his services (otherwise I would have to pay the taxman millions of dollars) – and I’m not even a resident. But he was scary looking and I mean SCARY, so scary in fact that I later had a jet-lagged induced nightmare about him, picturing him as an immigration officer, accusing me of not paying my taxes.

Next came a dreadful advert for fast food with camera close-ups of seafood drowned in a weird looking sauce, all available for the cool price of $1.99, including a bucket of coke (and I mean a huge bucket). There were kids involved and parents smiling as they bit into this horrible looking gunk, with a catchphrase that made me cringe, a catchphrase that somehow stuck in my mind, causing me to suggest trying it for dinner later. Thankfully, Mrs PM hadn’t seen the advert so she replied “WHAT? ARE YOU MENTAL????”

Other products and services were being advertised with a phone number being drilled into the viewer’s skull by being repeated endlessly throughout the commercial:

Call 1-800-BUYJUNK. That’s 1-800-BUYJUNK. By the way, did I tell you that you need to call 1-800-BUYJUNK? If I didn’t then don’t forget to call 1-800-BUYJUNK. That’s 1-800-BUYJUNK. Have you called 1-800-BUYJUNK yet? Why not? Why haven’t you called 1-800-BUYJUNK? Are you insane? This is a once in a lifetime chance for you to call 1-800-BUYJUNK.

However, there was an advert that genuinely terrified me.

As you may know, I have suffered from hypochondria in the past (read about it here). Imagine my shock at seeing a US advert for a drug that could cause more harm than good. For non-American readers, let me explain and give you a detailed description of the commercial. I won’t use the real name of the drug – instead I’ll make on up; for the sake of the description, let’s call this wonder drug Phawxx.

Picture the scene. A smiling middle-aged woman is sitting on a sofa, looking at old photographs. Then she starts to describe, in painful detail, the dreadful medical condition she has and how Phawxx has saved her life.

“Phawxx has helped me live my life again,” she says. She is accompanied by music that, quite frankly, is so melodramatic that it either makes you want to sit there saying “AWWWWW” or (in my case) makes me feel like throwing up.

“Since I discovered Phawxx,” she continues, “I now have a reason to live. Suffering from Dragwart Syndrome is so debilitating it has made me question my very existence.”

“Dragwart Syndrome?” I ask myself. “What in blue blazes is Dragwart Syndrome? Is it some exotic disease I can catch in America? What the hell will happen to me if I catch that?”

I make a note of the name “Dragwart Syndrome” in my notebook, promising to look it up on the internet at the next available opportunity. I also start to plan to buy Phawxx – just in case.

She then goes into great detail about how the wonder drug, Phawxx, has made a difference. We see her in a sun filled garden laughing contentedly with her children; we see her lying in the arms of her devoted husband, both smiling adoringly and staring into each others eyes as if they are love struck teenagers. And the dreadful music plays on.

And then the warnings start. The commercial has lasted around six seconds until this point; the remaining twenty four seconds are devoted to the side effects of Phawxx. A voice over appears and then spends the remaining time warning you what can happen when Phawxx goes bad.

Always consult your doctor before using Phawxx. Possible side effects include: pregnancy, blindness, headaches, vomiting, diarrhoea, stomach cramps, deafness, hair loss and loss of toes. If your skin starts to turn crimson, stop using Phawxx. If your breathing becomes shallow or you fall asleep while walking, stop using Phawxx. In extreme cases, Phawxx can cause Dragwart Syndrome-related death. In some cases, you may grow an extra eye in the middle of your forehead. In others, your left leg and right arm may both wither and drop off unexpectedly. Do not take Phawxx if you have blonde hair, are Chinese, wear purple spectacles or own a cat. If you are male, Phawxx may turn you into a woman. Do not give Phawxx to children under the age of forty. Do not take Phawxx if you are receiving any other treatment for Dragwart Syndrome as the two treatments will combine and turn you into a fish. Ask you doctor about Phawxx.

And all the time, the voiceover man is telling us the ways in which Phawxx can mutate human beings, the nice woman is sitting in her comfy chair, smiling like an angel and laughing with her family. And the dreadful music plays on.

Of course, for any fellow hypochondriacs out there, Dragwart Syndrome is in fact a figment of my imagination (at least I hope it is).

I could go on all day about adverts on American TV but I will leave you with a complaint.

In the UK, on commercial channels, we are warned that adverts are about to come on. Let’s take the sitcom “Friends” as an example of how adverts are shown in the US and the UK.

In the UK a typical episode of Friends, a man will introduce the show and one set of commercials will appear about halfway through the show. A couple of commercials are also broadcast before and after the show.

In the US a typical episode of Friends will be split into about three hundred parts with commercials appearing every few seconds. Adverts will appear between the opening credits and the first part of the show, numerous times during the show and then just before the last scene and the end credits. For a foreigner like me it is impossible to know where the show starts and the adverts end. Even when Joey and Chandler are chatting, there are banners at the bottom of the screen advertising the next show to be ruined by adverts. Incredibly, just before the show ends, you get “close captioning for Friends was brought to you by Phawxx, the wonder drug for Dragwart Syndrome”.

Annoyingly, I was actually watching a sitcom I had never seen before and stupidly left the room and completely missed the final quirky scene.

“That was the best bit of the show,” said Mrs PM.

“Bollocks!” I said.

To be honest, I hate TV commercials as a rule. British commercials are awful but American ones are far worse on the whole. In Britain we at least inject some humour into them to make them a little bit interesting whereas humour is largely omitted from US adverts – either that or they simply aren’t funny.

If it were up to me, I would remove all TV adverts. The BBC is a commercial-free zone and it is small wonder that on the whole more viewers watch it than the other 3000 channels we get over here. The only things the BBC advertises are other BBC shows. That’s good enough for me.

I can do without “Just For Men” and “Phawxx the wonder drug” thank you very much, for my sanity at least.

This post was brought to you by The Plastic Mancunian. Warning - Do not read The Plastic Mancunian after consuming Phawxx as it may turn you into a baboon. Phawxx was brought to you by the weird and sordid imagination of The Plastic Mancunian and should not be taken ever - particularly if you suffer from Dragwart Syndrome.

A Touch Of Grey

Well they’ve done it again: those guys from “Just For Men” have produced yet another miracle that has left me speechless with shock.

The good news is that they seem to be acknowledging the fact that grey hair does not necessarily turn a man into an ugly old codger who is repulsive to women.

The bad news is that they are still exploiting the deep innermost fears that most men have in their middle age.

I was eating a bag of crisps when I saw the commercial for the first time today and now my telly screen is covered with half-chewed potato product. Why? Because once again I ranted with a mouthful of crisps and poor Mrs PM had to endure my tirade.

“Who do these people think we are?” I yelled. “When a man becomes grey, does he bloody well lose his marbles?”

She actually agreed with me that this particular commercial was ridiculous, before making me put away my soapbox and clean the telly.

I would embed the advert into this blog to show you how utterly dreadful it is. However, I simply can’t bring myself to do it. I just can’t – it is so awful. If you are desperate, you can find it on YouTube.

Picture the scene.

A man is sitting on a psychiatrist’s chair. His hair is almost grey but there is evidence that the war against nature has not completely been lost. The narrator says:

“Sooner or later you and your grey hair will face an identity crisis”.

Now for me, the words “identity crisis” say “midlife crisis” and any man feeling inadequate will be punctured by those words.

The man in the advert morphs into two versions of himself; one has a full head of jet black hair, the other has a full head of grey hair that is pretty close to being white.

Sitting in the chair facing him is a sexy female psychiatrist who is staring at the morphed men with a professional air, and not in the least bit surprised that there are now two men in front of her.

The grey-haired version of our hero says “My hair says experience”

The black-haired version of our hero sneers and says “My hair says energy”.

At this point I said “Bleeuuurrghhhh!!!”

As with all “Just For Men” commercials, the miracle cure was then introduced:

“Touch of Grey – Best Of Both”

We then see the original semi-grey man, combing some goo into his hair and our narrator says:

“…combs away a little grey without getting rid of it all. Never too much; just right”

We then see the two men re-morph into a single man with black hair but just a little grey here and there and he says the following (please make sure that you don’t have a mouthful of food when you read this – your computer screen will never forgive you):

“Now I look like I know what I’m doing – and can still do it.”

And what of the professional female psychiatrist? Instead of running from the room, screaming about men splitting into two people and then rebonding, she turns into a fawning bimbette, obviously in awe of the mutant who has appeared in front of her.

Am I the only one who despises these kinds of advert? I’ve ranted about them before but they are getting worse. They are preying on our fears, guys. They are trying to make believe that you can mutate into a successful good looking man who only has to wink at a women to ensnare her.

It will not work. Instead of looking like a grey-haired man you will look like a muppet. Don’t believe them. If you are in the middle of a midlife crisis this is NOT what you need.

We are being exploited again, guys. There IS no elixir that will make you irresistible to women or turn you into a successful businessman.

Don’t forget – if you have wrinkles and grey hair, you will look normal. If you have wrinkles and jet black hair you will look like a goon.

Worse still, if you think that “Touch of Grey” is middle ground, then consider this scenario:

What if you run out of the goo before you have completed the job? You will end up with one side of your head black and the other side grey. You will look like this:







You be a complete arse and have to shave the whole lot off, which will age you even more and kick your self-esteem in the nuts.

Don’t go there – I implore you. Please, just grow old gracefully.