Archive for April, 2009

Plane crash accidents – how to survive

OK, well I hope that title got your attention. Because honestly, do you really think I’m qualified to give you tips to survive a plane crash?

Geez – I’m in advertising. My job is to convince people to buy things they don’t need and can’t afford.

Apologies to all who have purchased the latest Audi R8. It really won’t make the girls believe you have style or substance, but a rather small willy. In fact, our research shows that you are probably an un-stylish middle-aged man that earns over $250K but still shops at Aldi, hasn’t had sex since the Beijing Olympics and secretly thinks the red-head kid from Harry Potter is cool.

Sorry, off on a tangent.

Where was I….ahh plane crashes.

What is the whole big deal with phobia about plane crashes? These days you honestly have more chance of dying from chili-poisoning by accidentally using Tabasco sauce as lube, than from dying in a plane crash.

I flew from Santiago to Sydney, and landed yesterday morning. In Santiago, not having slept a great deal and pretty much drinking the entire time, you naturally would assume I’d been looking forward to at least a bit of rest on the flight home.

Haven’t you noticed that whenever you’re hungover on a plane, you are sat next to either 1) a fat bloke, 2) a Mormon who believes God allocated him the 18 hour flight to save your soul, 3) a whiny little kid, 4) a man who is just outright smelly?

Well, I had to sit next to a twisted combination of all 4; an overweight, pimply son of a Chilean missionary who was coughing and smelt of Vics Vapour Drops and wanted to talk to me about the church of the latter day saints. His name was Adelmo.

So, in an effort to disengage from conversation with him, I pretended to read. Problem was, they confiscated my book at security. Thought it was a bomb making guide or something – not sure how they got that from “Memoirs of a Geisha”. The only thing on board that was in English was one of those flight-safety pamphlets which brings me back to the original topic of this post.

Firstly, the pamphlet advises you to sit down and ensure your seat belt is fastened.

Sorry, I don’t buy it.

If the 747 I’m traveling in is plunging nose-first into the Pacific ocean, the last thing I want is to slowly drown in icy waters trapped in my seat watching feces from fellow passengers floating in front of my face.

I’m going out with a bang and would rather experience the sensation of flying headfirst down the aisle into business class.

Seat-belts save lives

Seat-belts save lives

The first thing I’m doing is taking off my seat belt and walking to the on board kitchen to raid the alcohol fridge. If I’m going to hell, I’d rather go pissed and happy. I’d also recommend chatting up the nearest sexy flight attendant too.

What is it with the flight attendants at the start of every trip going through the same routine of pointing out where the exit doors are etc? People watch the pre-flight safety demo only because they’re imagining Maria the Chilean flight hostess in a bikini.

She should spend her time in a more productive way, by telling people to pray to Allah, Buddha, Bono, Obama or whatever god they believe in. Perhaps that part of the safety demo could sound something like this:

In the event of emergency, please pray to your god.

For Islamic believers, please observe the onboard flight service managers who will now point to the nearest illuminated arrows which point to the direction of Mecca. Note that this arrow is subject to change pending the plane going into a tailspin.

Buddhists, the flight attendants will be handing out free hash to help you reach enlightenment faster.

Mormons, if this plane crashes, praying will do nothing. God is telling you that you didn’t convert enough sinners and you didn’t try hard enough. For starters, stop eating so many Vics Vapour Drops, they really are a distraction from the cause.

Atheists, if you have not yet discovered God, he was actually hiding in a t-shirt stall in Camden Markets.


April 28, 2009 at 8:02 am 2 comments

10 Things The Modern Man Doesn’t Understand

Unfortunately for my sanity today, I left my book at home. Subsequently, I had to face my morning commute with nothing to do except ponder the meaning of life (fishing), eavesdrop on conversations, and stare at the vandalism that brain-dead youths with short-man syndrome inflicted on the carriage walls.

Ever the list maker and inspired by the conversation between two females discussing the strengths and weaknesses of Loreal compared to Nivea, I formed the following list of 10 Things The Modern Man Doesn’t Understand:

  1. Desperate Housewives. Add to that Sex In The City and Gray’s Anatomy. Face it – we don’t care about Carrie’s latest boyfriend’s sleeping habits and we certainly don’t want to discuss it. We’re only watching this because we’re trying to gain nookie points. We’d much rather be watching the Monday Night Football.
  2. Women’s Adversity to Football. Rugby League, Soccer, AFL, Traditional Iberian 3-Legged Football – whatever your footy code, the chances are your missus would rather snort chili powder than spend 2 hours watching your team on the tele.
  3. Lily Allen. She’s not ‘cute’, can’t sing and pretends to be white trash. To my horror, Triple M (traditionally a rock station) is ‘diversifying’ (i.e. becoming gay), and playing Lily Allen once an hour.
  4. Reality TV. Seriously, on behalf of all society – please treat us with some kind of intellectual respect. “Coming up in Big Brother. The housemates’ game of Rock, Scissors, Paper has driven Ang to tears. She tells us all about this terrifying experience in the Diary Room.”
  5. Ugly Babies.  You know the type. The screaming, wrinkly little bundles of venom that are pushed around the shopping centre which all women within a 5m radius will inevitably ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at.  They’re not cute. In fact they resemble over sized scrotum’s.
  6. Short Hair On Women. You’ll either look like a lesbian or a chai-latte drinking arts student who can’t afford the chai-latte she’s drinking. The same goes for fringes – you know the type that Lily Allen has made ‘fashionable’. Definitely not attractive. It looks stupid.
  7. Emoticons. Smily faces 🙂 Tongue pokey faces 😛   If you are a pimply 15 year old (or have the emotional intelligence of one), fine. For everyone else, not fine.
  8. Why Women Don’t Understand Fishing. Men have traditionally been hunters and providers. Fishing with our mates is in our instinct (and bragging about who was the biggest ‘provider’ at the pub afterwards).
  9. Bright Red Lips and Blue Mascara. It’s not classy. You’ll look like a twenty-dollar hooker. Don’t believe me? If a man bought you twenty-dollar’s worth of drinks at the bar, having this ‘look’ will make him assume you’ll sleep with him. Either that or you’ll look like Lily Allen.
  10. Gen Y’ers That Talk Like They’re From the O.C. Like, you know…that’s like SO not cute.

April 16, 2009 at 10:05 pm 3 comments

Job Titles. Do They Really Mean Anything?

Adam Sandler in the Waterboy called himself an “Aquatic Distribution Engineer”.

Mark, a bloke I met in a pub in Edinburgh, cleans dishes at the same pub. His job title is “Hospitality Hygiene Officer”.

Even the guys that fix our computers in the office when we have download too much porn, err….I mean programs have the title:  “Global Systems Analyst”.





What the?

"Senior Restaurant Quality De-Mitigation Officer's" get to wear a special star

"Senior Customer Service Officers" get to wear a special star

My mate Jadey from Darwin is a door to door Tampon Machine saleswoman.

Yes, that’s right. She sells those machines that dispense those white fluffy cylindrical things for $2 that are good for practical jokes and unclogging drains.

Have a guess what her title is?

National Business Development Manager.

A joke I know. However, one word of advice. If you are ever having a beer with ol’e Jadey, don’t ever ask her what she does for a living.

For the next 2 hours, you’ll be bombarded with the intricacies of the door-to-door tampon-machine selling business.

However, it’s not “tampon-machine” selling to her.

On the contrary, she is a key stakeholder in the “Primary Plumbing Hygiene Treatment” industry.

Excuse me?

I thought you sell fanny-plugs for a living?

Say that and you’ll be walking home with a cheek that resembles a red Aboriginal hand painting. Believe me I know from experience.

And since when is a female reproductive organ known as a  ‘primary plumbing’ organ?

That will really shake-up the German pornographic script writers wouldn’t it.

“Agh vould larke to vlick your prumary pvlumbing awgun”

April 12, 2009 at 6:45 pm 1 comment

Does God need to review his sales strategy?

God must have a lot of money as he everywhere, controls the world and basically is one hella influential dude.

We can therefore assume that like any decent household brand, he solidly routinely invests in his marketing and sales strategy to drive brand advocacy.




Camden to be exact.

I hop out of the tube and am confronted with what appears to be a cross between Santa Clause, a diabetic Colonel Sanders and a salivating homeless bum. This creature (who unsurprisingly has an odour resembling my grandmother’s feet) is holding a hand-painted placard that stipulates in no uncertain terms “all unbelievers will burn in the fiery fathoms of hell”.

Roger is currently refining his communication skils

Roger is currently refining his communication skills


Excuse me?

Firstly, if Roger The Bum’s words were to be truly adhered to, there would be a lot of sorry-looking one-handed adolescent boys walking around the streets of London.

Secondly, what if you are left handed and have already taken Roger’s advice? How are you mean to throw it away? Headbutt it?

Thirdly, who incorporates the words ‘fathoms’ in everyday English literature?

Seriously, if God is serious about driving subscriptions, he should review his sales strategy and perhaps employ a professional marketing agency.

April 8, 2009 at 6:52 pm Leave a comment