Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Things I Hate: Commercials on the Internet







Wasn't that fun?

A few days ago I was browsing a certain blog dedicated to the fails of mankind and I tried to watch what I believed would be an amusing video clip of a moron doing something stupid and permanently injuring himself. Good times for all!

I clicked the video and was presented with a commercial for a shit light beer that I would never drink on purpose.

The only exception to that rule being, of course, Guy Rule 43, subsection 12e.

"As a man you may NOT criticize the house beer (hereby referred to as Beer of the House) while at a social gathering. You may however whine and bitch about the temperature of the Beer of the House if it is not to your satisfaction. The Host reserves the right to call you a Nancy-Boy and kick you square in the cajones and tell you to bring your own damn beer next time."

Getting back to the point, watching a 30 second commercial before a 22 second long video clip annoyed me to no end and imagine my surprise when I clicked on another video only to find that I had to sit through the exact same commercial once-a-fucking-gain.

I made a choice there and then to boycott this website I had formerly enjoyed and decided to Stumble around the internet for a while. I came across a video called How to Ruin X-Box Live and decided to watch it.

Watch this and prepare to be amazed...

Why, I ask, would someone interested in watching a funny pixelated video about the half-brained, Epsilon-Minus, sub-humans that lurk on X-Box Live be in the market for the product advertised beforehand? (no offense to real gamers of course)

It boggles the mind and just thinking about it is giving a small aneurysm right here in my living room.

The Misanthrope

EDIT: No I do not actually know what Amy Winehouse's pee tastes like.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Things I Hate: What is iPad?

I often regret having cable television. Unless I'm watching hockey, death defying crab fishing or Mantracker there is fuck all on. Even if I do feel like tuning into something the commercials that make up 30 minutes of every hour of programming make me want to stab something... anything really.

The 'What is iPad' commercial in particular makes me so furious I worry about having a stroke and the inside of my head exploding all over the living room walls and my expensive tv.

For those of you who may not have seen it I present it to you now.

iPad is shit.

Now, as an unwilling participant in a miserable, capitalist, free market society I try and play nice and give all companies a fair chance to hawk their crap to me and to some extent clever advertising will influence my purchasing decisions.

For example, I have switched to Old Spice Bodywash because I too want to smell like I am on a horse holding two tickets to that thing you love.

Getting back to the iPad, the first thing that infuriates me are the first three lines of spiel.

What is iPad...?
iPad is thin...
iPad is beautiful...

By this point in the advertisement I can guarantee that I will not be jumping on this iWagon. The commercial begins by asking a legitimate question; what is this iPad thing I've been told I have to buy?

Instead of giving the slightest bit of a hint of what the stupid thing actually does it answers itself in the most superficial way imaginable, by calling it thin and beautiful.

Oh boy, for only $600 bucks I have have something thin and beautiful. My fuck is it shiny too?

Thin and beautiful are not the most important qualities of the electronics I buy. I want a Toughbook because I can use it outside in the rain and drop it down the stairs. I bought a PS3 despite the fact it looks like the monolith from 2010 and causes my shelving unit to sag under it's seemingly impossible weight.

You know what I think? I think this commercial, or at least the first 15 seconds of it, was ripped off directly from a craigslist, 'casual encounters' ad posted by a non-english speaking transvestite named Tibor.

Think about it...

Imagine a lonely advertising executive at his desk. It's three in the morning on a Saturday and he's tired, unshaven and half drunk on the bottle of cheap scotch he keeps in his desk. He's surrounded by story boards, mock-ups, shitty indie music and scripts but nothing seems to work, nothing seems to sing iPad...

Frustrated he flops into his chair behind his desk, takes another swig of coffee and another belt of scotch and boots up his computer. He's decided he needs a distraction, something or someone to take his mind off of looming deadlines and target markets.

He makes his way to craigslist and checks out the casual encounters section. After a few minutes of browsing the ads he comes across an ad for a transvestite named Tibor. He quickly reads, and then rereads the ad with excitement.

"This... This is pure magic!" He shouts enthusiastically

He's done it! He's got the perfect commercial! Filled with new found purpose and vigor he copies the advertisement and gets to work.

This is what he copied.

what is TIBOR? - t4m - 29 (tibor)

what is TIBOR?
TIBOR is thin
TIBOR is beautiful.

TIBOR go anywhere and last all day ;)

There is no right way or wrong way baby. TIBOR is crazy powerful. ;)))

TIBOR is magical, you already know how to use it?

xoxo

TIBOR


TIBOR
  • Location: downtown
  • it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests




PostingID: 999999999


I only hope Tibor got a cut of the profits.

In closing the iPad and the What is iPad? commercial can bite my shiny non-conforming ass.

The Misanthrope

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Things I Hate: Stupid People

When I was younger I had a dream. I dreamt of an enlightened world led by the wise and tolerant. In my dream-world everyone had access to food, health care and education and we all worked together to make a great today and an even greater tomorrow like a great big pile of stoned-out-of-our-tree hippies.

My dream began to crumble when I watched a roommate of mine charge headfirst through a window. This one moment stands out very clearly in my mind because it was one of the first examples of pure unrefined stupid I had ever personally observed. Up until that moment I couldn’t fathom the idea of someone actually standing up and logically justifying running across the room and smashing their face through not one, but two panes of glass. Admittedly alcohol was a factor in the incident.

I moved out of that house shortly after, partly because the level of stupidity was reaching critical mass and partly because while I was away for a weekend everyone else unexpectedly moved out and stole most of my shit.

Later in my life I was presented with a bottle of ‘Sweet Nuclear Jesus in a Tutu’ over proof rum. This stuff smelled like burning tires and tasted like battery acid. On one fateful bender my best friend and I decided to break out this bottle of liquid Hell and proceeded to drink it in shots with Pepto Bismol. The next morning I helped my best friend clean the puke from the walls and discovered that even partially digested Deathrum makes for a fantastic paint remover.

I could probably think up at least a dozen more stupid things I have done or witnessed, including lighting myself on fire, realizing that I had lit my pants on fire, deciding what I was in the middle of doing was more important than being on fire and finally completing what I was doing before putting the fire on my pants out.

You may think these are very stupid things to do, and they are, but for the most part they are justifiable. The friend that ran through the window was upset about a girl, the lethal rum was a result of running out of hooch after the liquor store was closed and the self-immolation was because I was finishing a critical weld at work.

Stupid people are everywhere friends, and chances are you maybe know a few yourself. Here are a few examples of painful and baffling stupidity in it’s most raw and terrifying form.

Benchfucker

This man fucked a bench.

“According to reports from Hong Kong, the “lonely and disturbed” Mr Xing told police he thought it would be fun to have sex with the bench…”

Thinking it would be fun to fuck a bench is not an acceptable explanation, and the reason it is not is because there are no justifiable reasons to screw publicly owned outdoor seating. Mr. Xing may be lonely and disturbed but he is also a moron.

I would also like to state that the entire army of paramedics and doctors that attended to Mr. Xing are also dolts because they spent hours trying to save this man’s penis and he is still able to breed. The situation could have been solved with a pair of bolt cutters and an angle grinder.

Saad Khalid (2 links here for your pleasure)

Saad Khalid is a young man who got caught making bombs and pled guilty to plotting to blow up landmarks in downtown Toronto.

I believe his plea of guilty means that the only reason he didn’t knock over the CN Tower was because he got caught. Saad’s lawyer has recently appeared before a judge asking for a meagre two year sentence for his little terrorist client using the He’s real sorry and it won’t happen again defence. This may work if you get caught fucking a bench but when your crime is conspiring to terrorist up downtown Toronto on September 11, 2006, a date selected “so it will be remembered forever,” telling the judge that being in jail is “pure hell“ and asking to come out of your room now is not acceptable. You sir are a fucking fool of immeasurable proportions.

My bad.

I hope the judge in this case orders Saad to be fired from a cannon into the most remote corner of Greenland for confessing to wanting to blow up Toronto and expecting some kind of mercy. Actually Saad, his lawyer and anyone who sympathises with him should all get strapped onto the next rocket to the moon, or the north end of Winnipeg.

getbehindjesus.net Believers


There is not a string of expletives long and visceral enough to throw at you if you look at this website and truly believe that Jesus has appeared on the bunghole and ass-fur of a fucking terrier named Angus.

If you do, for the sake of humanity, feed yourself to the nearest carnivore because there is no fucking way you can explain to me why Jesus H. Christ, the son of God Himself, would choose to manifest himself at the tail end of the digestive tract of an animal that is known to gleefully eats feces. If you believe this is a “bona fide miracle” as the website suggests, remember that God created you in His image, assface.

People like these make the world retarded. For anyone who was offended by it’s usage here is the definition of the word.

re·tard·ed (rĭ-tär'dĭd)
adj.

1. Often Offensive - Affected with mental retardation.
2. Occurring or developing later than desired or expected; delayed.

While it is often used as a vulgar word I had no intention on using it in such a way. I was simply trying to state that there are people out there that are slowing us down and that those of us who don’t fuck furniture and worship anuses would fare much better if we weren’t surrounded by the millions of retards that do.

The Misanthrope

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Keith Olbermann Is The New Heavyweight Champion of the World

Keith Olbermann is the man.

Over the course of this 14 minute clip Mr. Olbermann lays a vicious verbal smackdown on several top conservative "pundits"

I especially love the first five minutes where he destroys both Sarah "Death Panel" Palin and Glenn "The Human Cold Sore" Beck like the jabronis they are.

I like to think that after he went off the air Mr. Olbermann was so pumped up he bludgeoned Lou Dobbs within an inch of his life using Nancy Grace as a club.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Things I Hate: Cart People

Calgary, Alberta is known around the world for three reasons. We have oil, the Calgary Stampede and some of the craziest motherfuckers to ever load up their life into a shopping cart and go merrily screaming off into the sunset. That last part isn’t entirely true, the cheap abundance of crack is more widely known than the crazies roaming our streets, however it would be easy to lump crack and crazies together in a twisted chicken and egg argument.

Let me state that this is not a rip on the entire homeless community. I’m fairly certain there are some nice people out there that have fallen on hard times and for one reason or another are not able to keep a roof over their heads. These are not the girlfriend-less drummers and liberal arts majors of the world I’m tearing a strip off of. These are the individuals that shun jobs, bills and clean underwear for the simplicity of a rusty metal cart.

Cart People are the roosters of the urban blight. Roosters, or cocks if you will, mark the beginning of the day by crowing to the rising sun. Cart People, or cocks if you will again, commemorate each morning by pushing their rickety shopping carts down my fucking alley, heaped to the brim with the loudest and most useless shit known to the human race.

Cart People will never have anything of real value in their carts. It appears that anything that goes into the cart is simply used to make the cart louder. Single ski boots, ironing boards and textbooks for obsolete computer programming languages are commonly found in the possessions of a Cart Person. They also have an attraction to anything shiny and are thus driven to pick up the bottles and cans that are a cornerstone of bum currency.

Speaking on the topic of bottles and cans, Cart People have secret access to some of the most amazing trash bag technology known to man. If you’ve ever seen a veteran Cart Person you totally know what the fuck I’m taking about. One single Cart Person is able to neatly pack the equivalent of an epic week long Bukowski/Hemingway bender into four steel-belted bags and lash them to their carts with skill that would make the following truck driver jealous.

Totally fucking jealous.

It takes mad ninja skills for me to take my garbage from the can to the chute, and god help me if I put so much as a plastic fork in the trash. When I see a single prong poke through the thin plastic I turn into a crazed bomb technician who’s just cut the wrong wire.

“Fucking run! It’s gonna blow!”

The clickety-fucking-clack of a Cart Person three blocks away is not unlike the call of the ice cream man. Upon first hearing a Cart Person the lazy and empathetic among us know that have about a half hour to gather up their empties and place them by the nearest dumpsters for pick up. I however am far lazier than I am empathetic and prefer to deliver my empty whisky bottles to Cart People via aerial assault from my tenth floor balcony. (edit: those closest to me have advised me that hurling bottles at the homeless may not be entirely helpful)

While Cart People are very guilty of auditory rape they are mostly harmless. They lack the personal touch of the drunk bums you meet on the train at five in the morning. The ones with the half closed eyes, inability to speak in real words, zero balance and breath fumes that are a combination paint thinner and ass. These charming individuals don’t seem to understand ‘ignore’ and seem to mistake my enormous headphones and face buried in some form of reading material as willingness to engage in incoherent babble. No mister creepy-smelly guy on the train, I would not like to give you my money. You are the bane of my commute and I hate you.

I also hate the bums that stand in front of convenience stores and coffee shops and believe opening the door with all the pep of a geriatric quadriplegic entitles them to whatever change I may have when I leave the store. I have a message to all the freelance door-openers of the world. Fuck right off. I do not need a professional entrance and egress coordinator and if I were to hire one they wouldn’t look the embodiment of the word ‘alleyrapist’

To summarize I have a strong dislike for pretty much all of the terrifying weirdos that roam the city streets with impunity. They make everyday just a little more infuriating and a lot more disturbing. If I ever end up homeless I may end up drinking mouthwash and fighting with street signs, and I may end up screaming at you and your children while not wearing pants, but I vow hear and now that I will never become a Cart Person, and if you ever see me strolling down your back alley with a shopping cart at six in the morning please feel free to hurl an empty whisky bottle at the back of my head. Please.

The Misanthrope