How I read a Monday morning brief

What's the objective of this brief?

To ruin my Monday, and the rest of the week subsequently.

What facts support the benefit?

Calling us in at 9. To the client's office. On a Monday. After a working weekend. With an impossible deadline.

Who are we talking to?

No one in the room I guess, from the vacant expressions.

Who are we competing with?

A huge massive hangover.

                                                                        

What should the tone be?

Soft, not over 20 decibels.

Key fact

I need coffee, and I need carbs!

Are there any mandatories?

Yes, cancel all plans for the weekend.

Booze for gay men, cottage cheese for lesbians

Recently, Michael Stevenson posted on targeting the LGBT consumer through mobiles:

http://michaelstevenson.wordpress.com/2013/08/15/targeting-the-lgbt-consumer-try-mobile/

And here's a hilarious excerpt from the post:

Well, I knew that lesbians were into pussy. But cat food? Cottage cheese?

And sour cream????

Reminded me of a joke I heard once:

I went into the gym today and asked the butch-est woman there, "How do I get bigger triceps?"
She replied, "Try a few dips mate."
So the next day I walked in with sour cream and mustard.

Amul gives Lincoln a good fingering

Oh the unintentional hilarity! Am I the only one that saw the double entendre in this ad? I'm sure it wasn't intentional. It's not like Amul to be so risque. Nevertheless I got a good laugh out of it. Bad, bad Amul Girl.

Wake up and smell the client's ass

It's hairy, smelly and ridden with dingleberries. But you'll rim it with gay abandon and you'll like it!

It's 2013, but it still feels like the 60s in the ad world. And particularly like the backstage of a Rolling Stones concert. Or a back street in Pattaya for that matter. Clothes, and morals are off.  Everyone's putting out. We're pimping underage ideas. And nobody seems to be using protection. The client wants to make it bigger, and we're stripping ourselves of everything to help him get it up.

Tell people that fair is beautiful. Done.

Could I see two more  alternatives? Sure.

By end of day? Of course.

Name your first born after the brand? Done.  

Sell me your Grandma? Why not!



Apparently, the only position that gets  the client off is Client-on-top.

What you drink and what they think.

So, a man walked into a bar. And here's what they thought.
  

Long Island Ice Tea

You are: Down-to-earth. Usually face-down.

You have: Been on the floor more times than your mop.

You ride: The taxi home (we hope).

You wear: Whatever was in fashion 10 years ago.

You know: The bartender better than anyone else at the bar.

You talk: Incoherently.

You need: Help getting the breathalyzer in the right hole.

You own: An unopened pack of condoms from 1984.

You think: Long islands are your cup of tea.

What people really think you are: the guy who got on the table and danced wildly to Summer of 69.

Margarita

You are: Comfortable with who you are, but you’re the only one.

You  have: a karaoke mic and aren't afraid to use it.

You ride: A car that's run into too many lampposts

You wear: Whatever it takes to look like a walking tropical garden.

You know: A few expletives in Spanish apparently. After a few drinks.

You talk: Too loud and too unnecessarily.

You need: To leave the party before the party leaves you.

You own: One too many Hawaiian shirts

You think: "Last call!" sounds just like "Please don’t leave! We love you and your charming wit!"

What people really think you are: The guy who takes 'pub crawls' literally.

Cosmopolitan

You are: Too colourful for colour TV

You ride: A yellow Lambretta

You wear: This season, dahling.

You know: The dialogues of 'Sex and the City' by heart.

You talk: Like the love child of Elton John and Liberace

You need: to put your pinky back with the rest of your fingers when you're drinking.

You own: All the back issues of Vogue (not India Vogue silly. US!)

You think: You are Fabulous honey!

What people really think you are: G.A.Y.

Beer

You are: The guy who can single-handedly wear-out a fresh urinal cake.

You ride: A bike that was handed down by your elder brother.

You wear: Whatever your mama sets out.

You know: How to order a beer in 37 languages, but can't pronounce 'Perrier.'

You talk: More 'dude' per minute than anyone else in the room.

You need: To try something other than the missionary position.

You own: Nothing.

You think: Beer is reason enough to wake up every afternoon.

What people really think you are: The dud in dude

Martini

You are: A wannabe. In denial.

You ride: An Aston Martin. Not.

You wear: Whatever's appropriate for a funeral.

You know: You aspire to a life of quiet dignity, but will settle for a life of quiet desperation.

You talk: In nods. And a nod means, 'another martini please.' And you've nodded nine times this evening.

You need: a new liver.

You own: A branded ball point pen. But no, it doesn't also function as a bug or a gun or a parachute.  

You think you are: not drunk, just 'gravity-challenged.'

What people really think you are: A well dressed drunk.

Scotch on the rocks

You are: Half scotch, but your ancestors aren't from Scotland.

You ride: A damn expensive set of wheels to go with that damn expensive watch to go with that damn expensive drink.

You wear: What most people's grandpa's wear.

You know: Anything sounds interesting with a bottle of scotch in your hand.

You talk: Not. But just sit there and look profoundly at your glass like you're supposed to. 

You need: To stop fighting your rescuers off when you fall into the vat at the scotch factory.

You own: A snorkelling kit for those scotch factory visits.

You think: You are someone who enjoys the finer things in life.

What people really think you are: A rich asshole.

Rum and coke

You have: a sense of deja-vu every time you walk into a bar.

You are: A breathalyser's best friend - it can recognize you a mile away.

You ride: Into trees and lamp posts and hydrants.

You wear: That leather jacket from your college days. Or you're probably still in college.

You know: How to handle your liquor - with both hands.

You talk: In (hic) coher (hic) ently.

You need: An AA meeting.

You own: A shag carpet because it’s easier to hang on to.

You think: You're as cool as Hemingway who used to drink rum too.

What people really think you are: The person Hemingway tried to make interesting with a drink.

Wine

 You are: Someone who'll drink vinegar if it comes in a long necked bottle with a French name.

You ride: A French car brand, n'est-ce pas?

You wear: A lot of white shirts.

You know: How to pronounce Merlot and Sauvignon Blanc.  But who cares.

You talk: Un peu Français.

You need: To stop talking like you have a cork up your ass.

You own:  Several wine bottles that would require a degree in French to decipher.

You think: Your DNA is shaped like a cock-screw (and you might be right).

What people really think you are:  A load of merde.