Serial Kitty

The above graphic is a screen-shot from a Foxnews.com story about a cat that seems to "predict" impending death in nursing homes.

Good grief - I hope I'm not the only person who's seeing a demented coorrelation between CAT and DEATH.

Doctor: (standing in front of locked medicine cabinet, scratching chin) "Hmmmm. The Strychnine is all gone again. I wonder if someone has gotten their paws on that key we lost last year..."

Wipe this.

The above graphic is a scan of a napkin taken from a Godfather's pizza restaurant.

The napkin contains an important message - a message so important, the company decided to print it on thousands of napkins!

Using the napkin itself, we can decipher the important message:

1. Big Shot has become such a problem for "da family" they need to spend a great deal of money to correct it.

2. The problem? Big Shot has let "da family" down by being piggish at the dinner table.

3. "da family" is dysfunctional, believing public insults to be the only way to get Big Shot to straighten up.

Who's "da family"? - well, presumably, The Godfather's restaurant company.

Who's "Big Shot"? - well, obviously a frequent customer.

Note to self: Don't mess around with "da family." In fact, you're better off steering clear altogether!


NOTE: A Sadvertising reader pointed out Godfather's "Gangster" shtick. Ya'know, the REAL Godfather would have just sent a couple heavies and beat the snot out of Big Shot.

I'm sorry, honey, but since we made Pookie say "Yo Mama!"...

The above graphic is a combination of a scan from a piece of legalese that accompanied a "Baby I'm Yours" doll and its new owner.

"Baby I'm Yours" is a doll-brand marketed by Target department stores. The doll emits odd noises that are intended to simulate a typical human infant. In reality, it sounds like a bag of hungry kittens, but that's another subject.

Anyway, the circled wording reads:

Caution: changes or modifications not expressly approved by the party responsible for compliance could void the user's authority to operate the equipment.

Read again - "...could void the user's authority to operate..."

Wow. Little Jenna could have her authority to play with Pookie VOIDED if she did any messin' with the doll's voice chips.

SFX: KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Muffled voice: Is this the home of Jenna Hanson?

Kid: DAD! There's a bunch of guys surrounding the house!

Dad: Close the curtains! Honey - get Pookie!

Mom: (hysterically) You mean...!?

Dad: I'm afraid so...since we programed Pookie to speak Swedish, Jenna's authority to play with Pookie is VOID!! (Looks wife into eyes and delivers an impassioned line) QUICK! FLUSH POOKIE!

Mom: (sobs as she runs down hall to scramble through Jenna's toy bin in time...)


Yeah, yeah, the flier is some off-the-shelf piece of legal salami, likely written a decade ago for some other product.

BUT Target® has the talent and passion to make sure their products aren't treated with such an off-hand manner. Business must realize these little details are important - they get passed around the birthday table, blogged by fifth-rate writers and ultimately, reflect on the precious reputation of the retailer.

But since they brought it up, I wonder if there's some way I can hack it to say something other than, "Mew!" "RarRarRarRar!" and "Murm"...

Forget the corner office - you want a Consol!

The ad above is from a 1940 edition of Flight - a British airplane magazine. Remember - in 1940, England was bombed by Germany as part of the Nazi's offensive plan for world domination.

Thankfully, "Constructors, Ltd" of Birmingham was there to make sure "KEY PERSONNEL" were protected with their Consol Shelter.

Presumably, at the first sign of enemy bombers, Key Personnel would don their insect costumes and enter the Consol, secure in knowing they were immune from raining death.

There's a certain humor to these nickel porta-potties - it's easy to imagine some highly valuable (Key) VP trundling into his Consol with the London Times under his arm and a cup of tea in hand.

But what happens to those who aren't "Key Personnel?"

Picture some upper-level wonk, figuring out who's "KEY" and who isn't: "Let's see - I have 25 Consols and 55 employees...Jenkins, I'm sorry, but you and the rest of Marketing will just have to run like hell."

Anyway, good tidings to you on this happy Monday and may you all be KEY PERSONNEL all week long!

Cupcakes, Down Under

The graphic above is a scan taken from a circular flier for the Australian grocery store, "Coles."

Aside from the fact that the company has a lousy proofreader (can you find it?), the company ALSO has a lousy Art Director.

Or, worse, a comfortable familiarity with flies.

Thanks to the swell people at Geedos.com for their permission to link to the original post:
http://www.geedos.com/wordpress/?p=263

Down, Spot. Down.

Somewhere, some bone-headed art director is STILL laughing about "...the funniest photo shoot EVAR!"

Somewhere, some little old lady turned a corner at PetMart, looked up and went straight to ER.

Somewhere, some dog is gnawing on his Zanies™ Bone.

Right here, I feel a little uncomfortable looking at this package.

Yep. Gotta get me one.

The photo above is of the "Lil'Marc Potty Training Urinal for Boys."

Sweet jimminy! Do boys REALLY NEED to be TRAINED to pee in a urinal?!

Parent: "Dale, pee there. No, there. NOooOO...THERE! THERE! PEE THERE!! AAGGGH! YOU'RE NOT GOING TO APPLEBEES UNTIL YOU CAN PEE STRAIGHT!!"

According to the web site, there are "colorful reward stickers and helpful hints enclosed."

I hope those "reward stickers" are Chevy logos.

And the "hints"...? "DON'T MAKE EYE CONTACT WHILE TALKING AND USING LIL'MARC URINAL."

I, Expert.

The graphics in this post were taken from the Terro Ant Killer website. Pay attention to the blue-shirted dude in the lower right - he's The Expert.

But first...

Ants are awful. Granted, they don't have the horrible stigma associated with Black Widow spiders, Plague-carrying fleas or Killer bees. Instead, an ant infestation is a sign of more subtle pain - the pain of meaning: "Hello. This house has so much old food laying around, we decided to colonize!"

Before you get self-righteous, bear in mind that a child can whip a ketchup-soaked piece of hamburger bun across the room and into an unseen gap faster than an adult can blink. We try to get what we can, but sometimes even our expert skills miss the rolling Cheerio™ or bouncing Gummy Bear.

Our aim is hospital-clean. Sometimes we miss. Today, we have ants. Guilty.

BUT! That's why there's Terro! (cue harp music, angel sighs and clouds parting).

Anyway, I spent the night setting up Terro bait all over the house. As a person who prides himself on his desire to learn, I went to the Terro website to learn more about this miracle killer...and discovered the "The Expert."



That's the guy - The Expert. No name. No credentials. Just "The Expert." Maybe Terro is trying to give The Expert that aura of mystery - the kind of vibe reserved for hit men, illegal arms merchants and successful multi-level marketing people.

I just want to know why I should listen to him. Personally, the blue shirt, tie, premature gray, wide-spaced bushy eyes and Joker-mouth creep me out. But then again, he's an Expert in death. Millions, BILLIONS die by this guy's genius, every day.

Somewhere, in the recesses of my foundation (how do I know? I read it from THE EXPERT!), some poor little worker ant is puking boric acid, spending his last seconds of life - "Leave! (cough cough) Th'they...(puke!) brought in...(cough, gasp)...THE EXPERT!"

The other ants shudder in Terro (pun!) leaving behind our child-infested house.

"Honey, good news! I just found this LifeSaver stuck to the heat register! The last time the kids had LifeSavers was Halloween!"

"Any mandible marks on that ol'LifeSaver?"

"Not a one! It's as fresh as yesterday!"

"Ah, that's just great, dear! Isn't it great we have Terro?"

"No. Isn't it great, Terro has THE EXPERT?!"

die you little freaks...

Yeah it's "Breathtaking." And it might be your LAST!

The graphic above is a scan from Boys Life magazine featuring an ad for Cherokee, North Carolina.

Evidently, Cherokee, North Carolina is a place where people can learn about Cherokee culture - part tourist trap, part historical site...I'd go. But only after I'm sure it's safe.

The headline reads: "We hope you have your First Aid merit badge. Cherokee is quite breathtaking."

Hmmm.

'Don't know about this...I don't want to take my family some place that will require me or anyone else to say, "Boy! Am I glad I know first-aid!"

Oh, ok. I read the next line, "...Cherokee is quite breathtaking."

Ahh. Cherokee will take my breath away! As in...beauty, magnitude, awestruck-ness.

No, wait a minute...there's something else about that ad that doesn't seem right...maybe it's that mad fat guy slathered in red paint giving me the death-stare.

After a bit of thought, having one's "First Aid" merit badge is a little passive. If I go to Cherokee, North Carolina, I want a pistol permit.

Yeah, that'll make her cry alright.

The graphic above is a scan from the May 2007 edition of Parents® magazine - the topic, "Mother's Day Masterpiece" is part of a section dedicated to ways "Dads" can, "...give your wife a meaningful work of art...".

It's actually an advertorial ad for the photo service "mydavinci.com." What "mydavinci.com" does is alter uploaded photos to simulate a hand-painted/drawn piece of art.

Neat idea - perfect for people who don't have Photoshop skills or other expensive image-altering software.

But why did mydavinci.com choose a photo that rendered the perfectly fine-looking lady into Chucky - the knife wielding evil doll from the b-movie franchise?



Point #4 on the advertorial reads, "Get out the tissues. We swear this gift will make her cry."

Well DUH! She'll cry, then after she's shaken that off, she'll make Chucky seem as harmless as dryer lint.