When the latest Muller advert breaks into song you might be forgiven for going postal on the nearest large gathering of people. To hear what appears to be a child but could well be an adult who has spent too much time slurping shit yogurt, sing ‘I’ve got my berries’ you’ll have lost all potential remorse and blown your Uncles head clean off with whatever weapon you’ve equipped yourself with. As an Irishman, as I am, to also hear that it comes direct from their farm in ‘Shropshire’ is about as relevant to me personally as a tampon. Or even a Muller tampon, with crunchy bits.
I hate advertising. All of it. It’s rubbish. Fakey might disagree, but his bread and butter is advertising, ‘today's bread today’ and ‘its feet will touch Irish soil first’ and all that, all it does is make my angry that they want my money. And i have no money, largely because of them in the first place.
Thankfully, we Irish haven’t don’t invest as much time into the big sing-song vibe that British Advertisers do. Take the such and such ad where a ‘wacky’ bunch appear in a park and sing Christmas songs to advertise whatever mindless shite it is they are advertising. Every demographic is dragged out, laughing at the hilarity of it all, instead of injecting heroin and selling knock off handbags like most of them do. The Cadbury ad where they imagine an island called ‘Chocolate Island’ with a Caribbean accent that would have Jar Jar binx blushing. The Avonmore ad with some Gaiety wannabe, her glasses on her head like some weird sacrifice to the Celtic Tiger, is as annoying as a milky brick in the face. The Oreo ad where a chilling injection of sexual tension between two 7 years old's encourages ‘dunking’ makes me want to invade Poland. The Meteor ad, which features two bona-fide fuckwits locked into a freezer has me reaching for the padlock. The Stena-line adverts, where they make the child speak like an adult instead of pushing him over the railings like they should, makes me sea-sick. The Guinness ad, ‘Arthur's Day’. Someone should develop a stout called Martha, cause from what I hear, there’s plenty of knobends who’d devour it. ‘To Martha’?? YOU ASSHOLE!
I could go on. And I will..
Coors light. ‘No they’re tears. Maybe he looked at head on you…”. Christ in a blender, this raises my blood pressure. I might just burn down Kielys now. I certainly won’t drink Coors anyway. Spar, Bertie and Louis. About as funny as the receipt you get after handing over the deeds of your house for some nappies in one of their shops. Ikea. ‘Oh my, look at our daughter!! she has turned up at her in a red dress, what a rebel’. Eh, folks? You’re heading for a Madeline McCann of your own if you have the sort of 7 year old that can go out and buy a dress by herself, and arrive independently at her own communion. ‘We have to make some cuts’ from Bulmers. How about starting with the ad?
Go Disgracey Go!