I clicked on this ad because there’s a poster in Market Mall with the same woman advertising the same fragrance. Turns out the video is much better than the print ad.
Love the dress. Love the dancing. Love the dancer. Too bad I can’t smell the perfume, haha.
Does this make anyone else laugh like crazy?
RUNNING GROOM LINCOLN!
“Running Groom Lincoln” would be a fantastic alt band.
It would also be a good name for a webcomic.
Or we could just make Lincoln appear randomly in everything.
My Photoshop skills are damn horrible.
Oh, and there’s this ad, too.
HELL YEAH HICKEYS!
That dude on the far right looks waaaaaaay uncomfortable.
Yes, I had some free time tonight. This is why such a thing is dangerous.
Who the hell dreams about Kmart?
Picture it: it’s a few decades into the future and advertising is even more in control of our lives than it is now. You can’t buy anything without it being endorsed by some megacorporation—this includes water, keyboards, backpacks, and smaller corporations.
In the dream I’m part of this small little rebel group. We’re a bunch of young hooligans who are fighting the megacorporations. It’s later revealed that we’re actually a secret division of a much larger movement that’s actively fighting the government (sponsored by Kmart and Microsoft), trying to restore some semblance of life without “Big Advertisement.”
Actually, there’s like a full-scale civil war going on between the government/companies and this big-and-getting-bigger rebel group. There are these huge “war zones” all over the western U.S. where rebel groups have staked out “ad-free” zones and are fighting the government from within using stuff that isn’t branded (which basically leaves them with all this antiquated technology left over from before Big Advertisement took over).
My little group and I are staked out in this abandoned Circle K near the edge of the Grand Canyon. It’s dusty as hell and all the windows are blown out from the passing big company vehicles coming by and blasting missiles into abandon buildings to make sure no one is camping out there (no logical reason why we’ve been able to survive this, but whatev).
There are about ten of us and we look like we’ve just walked out of Fallout ‘cause we’re basically Wastelanders. We’ve refused to wear branded stuff so we’re dressed in these old rags and towels and toilet paper and (for whatever reason) we’ve pilfered a toolbox and are wearing its contents as jewelry (I’ve got a hammer necklace). We eat off-brand Tic-Tacs and non-government sponsored broccoli powder (which is an actual thing) to survive. We don’t drink water ‘cause Kmart owns all the pure water in the U.S., so we’ve made due drinking the soda out of the Circle K’s still-working soda machine (which is for some reason NOT government-sponsored, but whatev again).
And I guess we’ve made these elaborate plans to stage a coup and end the Big Advertisement rule once and for all. There’s this military Subway R.V. that drives by our stakeout every other afternoon. Like every other vehicle in this futuristic commercial world, it is equipped with a bunch of security cameras that record everything in a 360-degree view of the R.V. and reports the video back to the government (it also sells sandwiches, but we’re less concerned about that than we are about its spying capabilities). We’ve got these plans drawn all over the wall of the Circle K detailing our mission to destroy the Subway vehicle by launching it into the Grand Canyon.
SO. Fast-forward a bit.
It’s the day of the big attack and we’re all excited. We take a bunch of bats and crowbars and destroy the Circle K’s soda machine in a pre-coup ritual to bring good luck to the proletarian rebellion. We stand in a circle around a broken soda machine and say the Lord’s Prayer (which is like word for word; WTF, brain), except at the part when we all say “on earth as it is in heaven” I go, “except now it’s ‘on earth as it is in 7-11!’” but nobody gets it and I feel super dumb.
We gather like seven Scud missiles that were lying around inside the building—I have no idea where we got them, but they’ve got the McDonald’s logo all over them—and set them up in the windows so that when the Subway R.V. comes along, we’ll be able to fire.
Hunching beneath the windows, we wait for the R.V., which finally comes rumbling up the road. All of a sudden we all have these little Walkie-Talkies and are talking military-speak to one another, getting ready to fire. I look out the window and wait for the R.V. to pass our pre-designated mark and I shout into the Walkie-Talkie, “Launch Operation Footlong*!”
And so we blast this missile at the Subway R.V. and it goes catapulting into the Grand Canyon. We had rigged it so that we could watch what the Subway cameras was recording, and we were all laughing like devils as the monitors that miraculously appeared in our Circle K showed the R.V. going over the side of the Grand Canyon.
Some dude in our group shouts “FINGER LICKIN’ GOOD!” and everybody laughs. Except me, ‘cause I’m thinking, “you jerks, you laugh at his stupid joke but you won’t even acknowledge my awesome 7-11 pun.”
And then I woke up.
*I swear to god. I can’t make this stuff up.
I thought the Charmin bears had gone by the wayside during my two-year stint without television, but apparently I thought wrong. And lo and behold, the baby bears have yet to have learned how to wipe without shredding the TP enough to leave little pieces on their behinds.
I don’t understand.
1. This has never happened to me in the whole history of wiping my own butt. Is my technique wrong or something? Is this really a common enough problem for the general population that Charmin would devote a decade-long ad campaign promoting their toilet paper as THE toilet paper with which people can wipe without fear of leaving their butt looking like a freshly crop-dusted field?*
2. Do these bears age? Are the baby bears the same baby bears that were starring in these commercials in like the Stone Age? Maybe learning to properly wipe is a skill learned with age for bears, like how to catch salmon and the ability to advocate the prevention of forest fires. Maybe the bears DO age, and the older bears in the commercials are just thrown into reminiscing about how difficult wiping was for them when they were cubs when they see their kids running around with a contrail of toilet paper residue behind them. That makes them run out and purchase some Charmin.
2 ½. You’d think by this point in the generational timeline, however, that they would’ve realized that starting the cubs out with paper that ISN’T Charmin is completely ineffective and would just stock the stuff in the bathrooms (woods?) automatically.
3. Unless you too are a naked anthropomorphic bear, I still don’t really see the issue with this. If you’ve got TP all up on your butt, it’s really your own issue, not the rest of the world’s. Odds are, your parents/significant other/random other people/ aren’t going to point out the debris on your bottom. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to be grounded from spaceflight due to having paper crumbs in your crack:
And hell, if you’ve gone through the rigorous training necessary for intergalactic space travel, if you’ve got pieces of TP on your butt before a mission, your alien coworkers better just let you have pieces of TP on your butt before a mission. The focus should be on the effects of time dilation on you and your fellow astronauts, not on whether or not your butt is pristine.
*I have no idea if anyone else knows of this technique, but around Moscow once a crop-duster has dusted a field they drop a string of TP on it to mark it as done.