McDonald’s seems to appear again and again on this feature.

Before you all think we must have got food poisoning off them once and subsequently hate Ronald McDonald, we don’t. Honestly, their advertising is just complete and utter pants. Nowadays, they have improved, but we’re still unconvinced that farmers hug all the cows before slashing their throats.

This time we’re travelling back to merry old 1978 where everyone in this advert seemed to be quite posh. Maybe McDonald’s wanted us to believe that people with class dined in their restaurants and not just scummy kids who’d steal the free straws, napkins and packets of sauce. Contain yourself, it’s after the jump…

First of all, we’ve never seen a fast food restaurant plonked so close to a river/canal/pond/ocean. Unless this is in a fancy area likes Cannes, then the idea of having floating McDonalds never really took off. The bloke on the jetski seems like he’d prefer to dine on deer and drinks dragon’s blood. But no, instead he chomps on the common person’s burger. Though we think he is comparing the lady in the advert to a Big Mac. The pervert.

So what is it about a Big Mac that keeps on making you come back? The child in the commercial seems to think it’s the sesame seed on top of the bun. If you’re reading this small child of the 70’s, it could be time to let you in on a little secret. It’s not the seeds. If the seeds are what kept you coming back, you’d probably retain some sort of normal body shape. Instead, 31 years later, there’s a good chance that all your return visits to McDonalds’s probably mean that you can no longer support your own weight and you constantly sweat processed cheese. That’s a lot of seeds.

McDonald’s also seemed to have crafted the world’s biggest burger for this advert. Couples, however, don’t seem to stop and stare at the giant mass of meat, bread and sauce that’s baring down in front of them, almost like a giant alien creature that’s coming to enslave the human race by inviting adults to gobble down its yummy exterior. Inside you’ll hear the distant moans of people who are trapped and fighting to get out.

The most hilarious thing of all is when the advert pulls to a shot of a McDonald’s drive thru. Subsequently, you’d assume that we’d see happy smiling families driving away with bags of food. Instead, we see people jogging past in nerdy-looking outfits. God bless you Mr Director, you really thought this through didn’t you?

Almost as successful as launching a range of salads. Oh.

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Do you like facts? Well it just so happens that we have one that will not only enlighten your day, but that of your friends and family.

Take Bono’s name and remove the b, n and one of the o’s. With the singular o add a G in front of it and the letter d after the o. What does this give you? A complicated sentence and the word God.

You see this is what Bono is, God. He is able to do anything. From releasing crap record after crap record to saving the world, Bono does it all! After whoring out U2 to Apple and the iPod campaign, he has now turned to bloody Blackberry.

There are a few errors in this clip. Let us point them out:

1 – There isn’t a choir of African children singing the chorus to the song in the advert in their native tongue. You’d think they’d be thankful for the U2-branded iPod’s and Irish-grown potatoes.

2 – Those circular balls of light should be replaced with bullets, let’s see him dodge those. That’s just to prove he’s superhuman.

3 – It isn’t possible for a gathering of that size for people to see U2. Yes, we know morons congregate in numbers, but there can’t be that amount of people who like U2. From the advert, you’d assume every Irish person had to attend a gig as part of national service.

With Bono dragging the band into more advertising, we’d like to propose our plans for a U2-based advert. Using our new and exciting mobile phone, we aim to launch the product ’shit for brains telecommunication device’. Here, we have launched something so simple that even a pensioner could navigate the handset with ease.

The campaign is simple. We need a celebrity to munch on a plate of poo, replacing their human brains for poo. We should bloody go into advertising. Bono, can you help us out?

There is a new soft drink advert that is doing the rounds online. Most are claiming that the promotional video is taken from a banned German advertising campaign for Sprite.

The commercial is ten kinds of gross. Thank heavens that wherever it comes from, it seems not to actually be on the air in any country.

Watching this oral sex-based advert will make you never want to drink Sprite again. Well, Sprite or any other drink that even remotely has the consistency of semen. So that includes milk, eggnog and perhaps even Baileys.

The video first surfaced yesterday and had a mini viral wave. Though most did not know its origins, the premise needed little explanation. It was some form of NSFW promo that may as well have been an actual porno. A really dull porno, where the leading lady stops in the middle of her duties to rehydrate.

The reports, 24 hours in, are still conflicted. The HuffPo is claiming that this is a real Sprite advert that was banned in Germany. However, Gawker is claiming that this is just made by an advertising agency in hopes of Sprite picking them up.

Real or fake, the only thing anyone is likely to pick up is a nasty case of crabs. Not since the Burger King blowjob ads has an ad agency shown such a lack of judgement in what people will actually want to consume.

The advert’s premise is this: it shows a couple in their kitchen doing the nasty. The man is sweaty, the woman bored, the work surfaces are rather sparkly clean. The woman soon bores of giving a lazy blowjob and stops to have a bit of a think. She forgets what she is thinking about and gets back to business. Then, all of a sudden there is an avalanche of Sprite being poured on her face (an obvious euphemism for something else).

There are three lessons to be learnt from this advert.

One, always be sure to spit polish your work surfaces as you never know who may pop over for a quickie. Two, at least attempt to look enthused as you give bad head. Three – this is the most important – only amateurs spit. The girl in the advert, barraged with a face full of soda, opts to spit the product out. This makes it seem as though it probably does taste like spunk. If you really wanted to sell the ad, shitty ad agency, the girl should have swallowed.

For those with a filthy mind, you can watch the NSFW advert here…

This was a guest post by the wonderful wonderful Amy Grindhouse. Go get her.

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Unless you’re Michael Jackson, Gary Glitter or Jonathan King the beginning of the advert for Dynamo Washing Powder won’t do much for you.

Last time we remembered, watching children taking their clothes off is just a little bit wrong.

But who are we to judge when we smother dog food across our genitals for some easy loving? Maybe there is a market for paedophile washing up powder. It’ll get those greasy stains right off. Even the white ones.

Because this is a South African advert, you’d assume that a South African person would do the voice over. Right? Apparently not in this case, as it seems the narrator is someone doing a crap impression of a German. The way he says “penetrate” is also quite worrying, perhaps he is a washed-up porn star.

Just to top the wrongness of this campaign off, the creators of this advert think a child wiggling their arse will make you buy it. We’d ask Michael if it did the trick for him, but you know, it’s a bit complicated.

This isn’t so much of a bad advert as a “what the hell were they thinking?” advert.

As most people will know, The Flintstones was a programme for children, set in the time of the Stone Age. Because animators were lazy at the time, the same plotlines happened in The Jetsons, which was based in the future.

With the average age of a child watching The Flintstones about ten and under, you’d have thought Barney and Fred would be flogging sweets, army propaganda or toys. In a very odd twist, they are in fact puffing away on a Winston cigarette. Something that any sane parent wouldn’t give to their ickle child.

We know a couple of things about this advert:

A) It’s old. Look at it! There is no colour, so we have to assume it was made before God created colour, or prior to sweatshop colouring in camps being established in China.

B) The advert’s a bit rubbish. Think about it, have you ever had the privilege of puffing on a Winston? No, we haven’t and unless you’re a million years old, you won’t have heard of the product.

And what’s the conclusion of all of this? Cartoon characters aren’t actually real and things not done in colour are rubbish.

When you think of delicious meaty burgers oozing with grease, most people will imagine the golden arches of McDonald’s.

The core spokesman for the burger giant is Ronald McDonald. He is a larger than life clown who makes children plump by giving them fatty treats and artery clogging drinks.

At one point, McDonald’s appointed another clown like character by the name of Justin Timberlake. He was in charge of flogging off McDonalds limp salads that we’re designed to make you feel less guilty about visiting the fast food chain.

In Japan, Ronald McDonald seems to have undergone some sort of surgery to transform himself into a childbearing woman. This fifteen-second advert almost tries to make the new Tomato McGrand burger sexy. How a tranny clown rubbing his face in a windy room does this is beyond us. Instead, we get the impressions he/she will lob some ninja death stars at us.

This isn’t so much a crap commercial where an advertiser thought of the idea ten seconds before the pitch.

It’s just really annoying and pointless really and we don’t understand what it does to promote slabs of chocolate.

Whilst we get slight amusement at laughing at two stupid-looking children with some sort of facial deformity, it gets boring after a while. In the future, the childstars will develop a sense of dred after being recognised when being let out in public.

They’ll also grow to hate their parents after finding out they let them appear in the advert for £50 and a year’s supply of Wispa bars each.

Perhaps their tongues should have gone mental, not their eyebrows. After all, we eat with our mouths and not our facial hair. Well, there was that once.

Take that anti-drink-driving campaign from about ten years back. Remember the one? Some bloke called Dave was in the pub with his mates, who were urging him to sink another pint with the refrain “just one more, Dave.” In the next scene, Dave has a horrific car crash and is reduced to a bedridden vegetable being fed slop by his mother – who, in a Swiftian twist of irony, tries to feed him a spoonful with the refrain “just one more, Dave.”

All very clever and affecting, yeah. Unless you’re a kid, of course, at which point you run out into the school playground and make David Hargreaves cry by thrusting spoonfuls of Muller Crunch Corner at him while shouting – you guessed it – “just one more, Dave.” We’re sorry, David. So very sorry.

Why has hecklerspray gone on this rant? Because we couldn’t help but draw parallels with the new Think F.A.S.T campaign: a well-meaning PSA about dealing with stroke victims whose effectiveness will no doubt be diluted by children the nation over pissing themselves with laughter at the lady’s silly face and trying their best to emulate it with their pals.

As for the rest of us? Well, we’re probably just wondering exactly how F.A.S.T that ambulance will actually be arriving. What’s the betting on 45 minutes?

Bugger off theme parks and paintballing! It’s all about the thrill of walking around an empty shop that always has a sale on.

Granddad wants a leather sofa because he’s a bondage fanatic. Gran wants leather and fabric because she likes to experiment. Sam asked for red and Suzie wanted flowers. Dad told them to piss off as he’s buying the bastard thing and won’t pay over £600 for something that cost £40 to make in China. Mum’s even tighter and won’t go over £300. The cheesy salesman rubbed his hands as he sold them something that’ll collapse and break just as the warranty expires.

But that doesn’t matter! In a year’s time they’ll be back for more comedy adventures in DFS when Sam gets his hand stuck down the back of the sofa and Granddad meets his mistress at the checkout.

Yeah, yeah, it’s almost the end of January, 2009 has kicked in in earnest, and frankly you can’t be bothered sticking to an arbitrary plan you made to shed those pounds (simply because you managed to convince yourself for a brief second that this year might not be as soul-crushingly disappointing as the last one, and that your ambitions and schemes might actually work out without being shredded apart like so much worthless confetti)?

Awww, who are we to lecture you? What you need is the help of the good people behind AYDS. Take a look…

Iggy, what happened? Did the royalty cheques for Lust For Life dry up?

It appears so as the once radical and slightly mental member of The Stooges has forgotten his punk ethos and decided to sell his soul to an insurance company. Another pissing insurance company, why do they think that famous people will get plebs off council estates in Sunderland to go with their company?

This advert doesn’t really explain anything. Are we covered against swarms of killer bees that can fire lasers at us? Would Swiftcover send a brick layer round if a polar bear knocked down one of our walls? We need some answers.

All the advert proves is that Iggy Pop still can’t afford a shirt and can’t string a sentence together. It makes Johnny Rotten’s butter commercial look slightly bearable.

At the moment the whole universe seems to have been affected by a few people in the banking world.

Subsequently some people are out of jobs, interest rates get cut and everyone ends up paying over the odds for everything.

So what would be the worst thing to possibly to do in a situation like this? Going bust is one thing but re-branding your company comes somewhere close. At a cost of redesigning logos and notifying customers, it all adds up. You’ll need to tell the humble public of the decision. You know, so people know who they’re actually insured with.

Norwich Union is now called Aviva for no particular reason and, instead of hiring out thirty seconds of TV advertising time to tell us this with a cost effective still, they had to go all glitzy and clever on us. Ringo Star, Alice Cooper, Dame Edna and Bruce Willis have all been drafted in to tell us that their careers would have gone tits up if they hadn’t changed from their original dull names.

Do we care? Not really, it’s more interesting to know how much Bruce Willis got paid to promote something he’s never heard of. In the case of Ringo Star, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had been christened Megatron 2000 With New Grilling Facilities. He’s always going to be known as the annoying twat out of The Beatles.

A few things immediately leapt out at us after viewing this advert.

First of all, John Lennon was dead the last time we checked. So how could he donate his cheeky Scouse tones to a charity appeal nearly thirty years after his death? Did the cocktail of drugs he took in his lifetime finally cause his decayed corpse to rise from the dead and seek out charitable causes? Though it would be slightly creepy and cool, it turns out that pesky Yoko Ono has donated his voice and image to the campaign. Now we know you can donate these alongside blood, sperm and the flu.

Now, don’t get us wrong, the campaign is a great one – it supplies computers to the world’s poorest children, so that they can read hecklerspray and leave badly-spelt comments for us to laugh at. But, really, the advert’s creators should have chosen someone other than John Lennon. He hails from Liverpool, so he’ll no doubt be able to get the laptops a little bit cheaper off the back of a lorry from his mate’s brother’s cousin.

Once a Scouser always a Scouser. Even from beyond the grave.

For 364 days a year, we’re meant to believe that an aging old man is whipping thousands of elves to death in his sweatshop in the North Pole so spoilt children everywhere can get Guitar Hero on December 25th.

As we grow up, we all realise that Santa isn’t real and the man whose lap we sat on in the local shopping centre possibly gets his kicks like Gary Glitter. But how do we all discover Santa isn’t real? Is it because we hear our dads knocking over the Christmas tree at 4am when depositing gifts or because an older child told us?

Neither. It’s because Coca Cola actually own Santa. We’re not sure if he was made in a laboratory deep under the ground, but the jolly fat man we know and love is literally the spokesman of a fizzy drinks company. When he blurts out ho ho ho this is actually a subliminal message that registers in your mind as “DRINK ALL THE SUGAR WATER YOU CAN RIGHT NOW ,YOU LITTLE BASTARD”.

Apparently this is a desire that many of us share, which is why M&S has decided to ward off economic collapse by advertising Christmas using its normal collection of models in conjunction with Take That, who Happen To Have An Album Out. And what fun they all seem to be having – look, there’s Twiggy greeting the boys with a welcome note that looks like used to be used for holding children to ransom! Look, there’s Mark Owen trying to distract everyone from the fact he resembles Old Man Steptoe more and more with every passing day by cuddling a tinselly puppy!

Look, there’s the startlingly masculine model acting out Bernie Clifton: The Motion Picture during a game of charades! Look, there’s everyone getting progressively drunker and drunker until they inevitably end up in a disgusting swingers’ orgy where Lily Cole will have to end up with the tinselly dog because Robbie Williams isn’t in the band any more!

Look, M&S, you’ve gone about this all wrong. Christmas is about goodwill to all men. And what sort of goodwill do you think you’re promoting by waiting a full 77 seconds before letting Noemi Lenoir get her bra out? You utter sods.