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Exactly. I find that man deeply disturbing, and if I was at that party, I would immediately feel the urge to shout 'Cut, David Lynch! Cut now! I do NOT want to be in one of your films, much as I may love them! Cut, in the name of all that's Kyle Mchlachlan, CUT!'
You just know that if that commercial was a film the dad would dress in a flesh suit, rape the daughter, and then wander into a left luggage locker and become a small green alien with a deeply unsettling face while a fat, moustachioed beat poet recites something freakish over a Barry Adamson track.
Sniffing your daughter, that's Blue Velvet, man. That's Dennis Hopper.
Now: Ms Cat, meet the pigeon family. MY least favourite advert of recent times is that Busta Rhymes song, 'Pass the Courvoisier'. Why? Because, deep down, I have the uncomfortable feeling that the whole thing was the idea of the Courvoisier marketing board who, having 'noticed rising sales of Hennesy and Remy Martin in the Afro-American demographic' after rappers started name-dropping them in songs, decided to pay Busta Rhymes (Busta RHYMES, f'f'ck'sake!) to record what is essentially a three-minute commercial for their product. Fuck off you bastards! D'you realise I can't listen to Extinction Level Event anymore, you motherfuckers? Do you know why? I'll tell you why: BECAUSE EVERY TIME I HEAR BUSTA RHYMES' VOICE FROM NOW ON I AM TORMENTED BY THE HIDEOUS MENTAL IMAGE OF HIM MANACLED TO A DRAINPIPE, WHILE SOME FAT, BALD, WHITE BUSINESSMAN BRUTALLY SODOMISES HIM WITH A BOTTLE OF BRANDY! FUCK YOU ALL, YOU COURVOISIER CUNTS! FUCK YOU FUCKING ALL!
And the same goes for the Samuel L Jackson/ Ed Harris Barclays/Vauxhall ads. Damn it. |
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