By now the haze of Christmas parties is bound to have worn off and you’ll be sitting there with nothing to show from the festive period but a photocopy of your genitals and an unplanned pregnancy; you’re probably looking back on the month or so preceding this and thinking, “Where did it all go wrong?”
That’s simple. You’re one of these people who gets so excited about the concept of Christmas that you vomit all over your facebook with excitement the first time you see that terrible Coca Cola advert.
SO YOU’VE PROBABLY ALREADY GUESSED THAT I’M GOING TO RUB IT IN YOUR FACE WHILE YOU RUB YOURSELF AND WONDER IF YOU MIGHT HAVE CRABS.
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Christmas is a time of giving and it’s also a time for making so much money that to view it all packed into one room would melt the mind of anyone from the working classes while simultaneously destabilising the economic security of a developing African country.
Of course, anyone with 70 pence and a reasonable idea of how to sell a Twix to a starving man can turn a profit in this world and if you keep scaling things up then eventually you’ll be left with enough money to buy Greece, pump it full of fake snow and turn it into a Winter Wonderland theme park in time for next Christmas but that doesn’t mean that Christmas is all about clawing at cash.
EVEN THOUGH IT IS.
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There’s no video content for this week’s Badvertising, primarily because caretaker of the advertising corner, Michael Park, has become the victim of legal action after a woman’s head exploded after seeing his smug, self-involved face on her computer screen more than the appointed twice in a month. This means that it’s back to plain ol’ words!
When you’re making an advert, it’s important to establish a relationship for the sake of the viewer. Now, what do we mean by that? There are myriad different types of relationships in advertising from the authoritarian ‘expert’ who spends a worrying amount of time bellowing out of the television, to the ‘friends’ who love nothing more than snuggling up on a couch eating Maltesers and taking intravenous injections of air freshener.
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When E4 had eventually grown tired of showing endless repeats of Friends and Scrubs, the channel eventually spat out its own unique programming, aimed at the sort of person that hecklerspray writers aren’t; the young, the cool, the hip and the trendy. Arseholes, basically.
On one end of the spectrum, there was Skins, a programme which captured everyone’s dream college lifestyle, in a show which frequently used drugs, booze and sex, but portrayed them in the most extreme way to great effect.
Skins was escapism for most whilst The Inbetweeners offered a firmer dose of reality, especially for hormonal teenage boys. These are the sort of people who couldn’t quite make that move from fingering a girl to using an empty packet of Space Raiders as a makeshift condom when that first awkward sexual experience arrived.
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Here at hecklerspray we love to get involved in the great big sexism debate that rears its head every time Editor Mof slaps one of the female writers on the arse and tells them that they’re doing a great job “for a bird”. After that, the ensuing three day wildcat strike by our female staff will come to an end and everything will return to normal. Until next week.
It will come as no surprise to many of our readers that things don’t actually go that way at all and that it is the male writers who live in fear of their colleagues sexually harassing them while belting out ‘Swagger Jagger’ by Cher Lloyd at the tops of their voices. We don’t dare call it caterwauling because they can and will slash our faces.
The hecklerspray bedsit is a liberated feminist zone… of fear.
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Beer. Lager. Come on folks. We all love a nice cool, refreshing lager after a hard day sitting in the bedsit, angrily hacking words into our typewriters but lager advertising is notorious for playing up to ‘laddy’ stereotypes or generally misrepresenting the product as being anything more than yellow piss-water that no-one in their right mind would splash out three quid on.
Beer advertising is a minefield. On the one hand you have pressure from the public saying “GIVE US MORE BOOZE AND GIVE US IT CHEAPER!” and on the other there is pressure from regulators and central government saying, “DON’T GIVE THEM MORE BOOZE, THEY KEEP HITTING EACH OTHER WITH BROKEN BOTTLES!”
Under such pressure it is difficult to encourage people to consume the product in quantity which, make no mistake, is exactly what alcohol manufacturers want you to do. The more you buy, the more they sell to pubs, clubs, supermarkets and off-licenses.
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Hello, readers! There’s a Royal Wedding tomorrow! I’m sure you’ve missed most of the coverage though, the press and media have decided to be quite low-key in their build up to the nuptials and have decided just to show the odd quick snippet of footage just to remind people that it’s actually happening.
Here at hecklerspray we want to offer our own form of congratulations and advice to the happy couple who are going to spend most of their lives dodging the limelight. Married life, eh? Living with someone? It’s tough, it really is.
In sitcoms, relationships are used as devices to reveal character traits that one would usually miss, usually a negative one for comic effect. Or, in the case of Two & A Half Men, to parallel Charlie Sheen’s life for no comic effect whatsoever.
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Beauty, real beauty, isn’t skin deep.
Wait – no wait – beauty is skin deep. It’s all those internal organs that aren’t. Also the veins are jammed way down deep in there. And you know what? All that inside stuff can be as ugly as it needs to be, because those things usually aren’t what have to pose for pictures and such.
Unless you’re unfortunate enough to get our Uncle Morty as a mortician. Taking pictures of things with their skin off is a definite passion of his. You should have seen it when he had the former mayor down there. It was gorgeous.
You know what else is gorgeous? You – but only when you properly exfoliate with the grainy dung of a nightingale. Don’t be ashamed – nowadays bird poo is as essential to true attractiveness as tooth paste and hair conditioner.
It’s good enough for the Beckhams you know. They smear themselves with it all the time.
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