Guest Expressed: “10 Funniest TV Ads Of All Time”

Everyone loves a funny commercial. Well, today’s guest, Stacey Cavanagh, has no less than 10 of them.

Enter Stacey:

TV advertisers know they’ve hit the nail on the head when people talk about their ads. One way to get people talking? Make them laugh! Here are 10 of the funniest TV ads of all time.

1. Never Say No to Panda

This collection of ‘Never Say No to Panda’ ads has had a whopping 21 million views on Youtube as of November 2012.

If was a series of ads back developed in Egypt in 2010 for Arab Dairy to advertise their Panda cheese product. The concept was simple. Every single time someone refused Panda cheese, the Panda did something mean! So funny, so dry and so memorable.

This ad was so popular that it became a hit with people globally, not just in its homeland of Egypt. It even inspired ‘Never Say No to Panda t shirts!’

2. John Smiths Ad – Peter Kay and the Monsters

Always guaranteed to make you laugh, Peter Kay was a brilliant star of John Smiths beer ads. The messaging that John Smiths wanted to convey about its brand is that it’s ‘no nonsense.’ And Peter Kay’s blunt role as a Father reassuring his daughter that she needn’t worry about wardrobe monsters (but she should worry about burglars who break in!) was very witty indeed!

3. Budweiser Frogs Ad

I’m a sucker for the old Budweiser ads and this was one of my favourite (though you’re likely to see another one in this list later). The producers of this ad must have been absolutely over the moon when people were uttering ‘bud-wei-serrr’ in frog-like voices for months and months following this being aired in the US and UK in over a decade ago.

4. Starburst Bus Station

The prize for weirdest character created for an ad definitely has to go to Starburst for this one. Very odd and incredibly witty.

5. Budweiser Whassup

Budweiser did it again when they had a host of people impersonating the ‘wassup’ of this ad. It even got imitated in ‘Scary Movie!’

6. Dollar Shave Club

Ok, admittedly, this wasn’t a TV ad. It was a Youtube ad. But I can’t possibly talk about video format advertising and not mention Dollar Shave Club. It’s absolutely genius!

7. Cadbury’s Drumming Gorilla

Completely and utterly random, but simply brilliant. As well as being a TV hit, this had has amassed millions of views on Youtube.

8. Heineken Walk in Beer Fridge

No commentary required. This TV ad by Heineken was absolutely hilarious!

9. Pot Noodle – Noodle Mine

A really clever, witty ad by Pot Noodle. This ad did receive some criticism about its stereotyping, believe it or not! But most people took it for what it was – lighthearted fun.

10. FedEx Speed Talking

Another brilliant series of commercials were the speed talking ones by FedEx. Nothing says fast delivery like speed talking, right?

This collection of chuckle-inciting TV ads was compiled by Stacey Cavanagh, a Digital Marketer and blogger from the UK. She writers on 2 of her own blogs: Blogsession and Listing Things.

Guest Expressed: “Something Phunny is Going on in Phoenix; Weird News”

“Deserts are fun!” is not a typical thought that crosses our minds. Today’s guest, Meg Jones, begs to differ.

She’ll share some curious and amusing stories about Phoenix (plus a few others). Enter Meg:

Ever read a bit of news that is just a little too hard to believe? While mainstream media is usually supposed to carry legitimate news, there are those stories that cause just about anyone to scratch his head and wonder, “Did I accidentally pick up the National Enquirer?”

Enjoy a few slightly weird bits of news collected here, and you just might agree that there is something “phunny” going on in Phoenix, and a few other places.

License: Creative Commons (image source)

Phoenix Phall Phunfest

Here’s a great and weird activity the locals enjoy participating in.

You’ve Got Earthquakes, Phoenix

1,000 to be exact. Arizona State University researchers revealed results from three years of seismographic study, showing that the state of Arizona experienced the tremors of earthquakes almost 1,000 times in just three years: 2006 to 2009. If you wonder why these earthquakes did not make the news, it is because of their micro-sized strength. Arizona was previously thought to experience only very infrequent earthquakes, but this latest information, published in August 2012, has researchers exploring the causes and possibilities of this unexpectedly large number of earthquakes.  But this is just baby stuff.  It gets stranger.

Strange Sounds in the Sky over Arizona

This has been happening all over.   Here is happens on a cloudless night.

Babies on Beer

It is amazing what parents will do these days. In July, 2012, a mother in Phoenix was arrested for giving her 2-year-old child beer in a sippy cup. Did she really think that would be good for the baby? One has to wonder if people just lack sense to know better anymore or if they simply do not care. According to the report, the 36-year-old mother was at a pizza restaurant and gave the child beer after the child kept reaching for the pitcher.

Weed in the Mail

Some people in Arizona are just a bit weird in their mailing habits. A woman in Michigan was surprised when a package turned up in her mailbox containing two pounds of marijuana (3). The return address was from Arizona. Was the package sent to the wrong address or was the designated recipient supposed to find it in the mailbox before the elderly woman went to check her mail? Regardless, whoever the intended recipient was certainly missed out as the police took possession of the weed with intention to destroy it.

Gun for a Ring

Straying a little from Arizona, because we can and think it’s phun, a strange tale is to be found in North Liberty, Iowa, where a local jeweler is offering a free rifle to men who purchase an engagement ring costing at least $1,999. And while it may sound like the jeweler is promoting domestic violence, Harold van Beek actually says it is intended to help out the guys who would rather be hunting for deer rather than diamonds.

Grown-Up Paper Airplanes

Back in Arizona you will find the tale of the world’s largest paper airplane, and how it actually took flight. The paper aircraft, measuring 45-feet long and weighing in at 800 pounds was part of a museum paper airplane contest. The original plane was designed by a 12-year-old boy who won the Pima Air & Space Museum’s contest. Engineers were set to work to build the larger craft off of the boy’s design. On March 21, 2012, the plane took flight for a few brief moments after being carried aloft by a helicopter.

A Lady in the Window

This is what happens when you’ve been in the desert sun too long.  Or are too lonely.  This mannequin has found life, love, family, and adventure.  An adoption of sorts has taken place with the lady often seen in the window, who has been involved in nearly everything a real human would.  You might consider dropping by and giving her a visit.

The Phoenix Bat Cave

Enter if you dare.  From April to November, if you are in for some freaky fun, head over to 40th Street and Camelback.  Every evening at dusk, the bats come out to play.  Mexican Freetail Bats begin to exit the dark recesses of batdome and set out for feeding on all sorts of desert delicacies.

Deserts are never boring.  You just have to know where to look for some interesting phun.

Meg Jones writes for a Mesa Locksmith in AZ, Phoenix Lock Master. She enjoys sharing about the desert areas of Arizona and the interesting things that are often missed by people unfamiliar with the region.

Guest Expressed: “4 Products That Inspired Sarcastic and Funny Reviews”

You all know how much I love making funny reviews of stupid “products” and gadgets. Well, turns out I’m far from the only one (who knew, right?).

Today’s guest, Caleb Grant, discusses a few products that have inspired people to get creative with their reviews. Enter Caleb:

When most people think about online review sites, they tend to think that they’re filled with real reviews by real people that provide valuable insight to other customers who are reading them. Some people also think that most online review sites are filled with fake reviews that aren’t written by real people.

But there’s another type of review that’s gaining popularity, and it involves sarcasm and humor. There are certain products out there that are making such an impact on users that they feel the need to respond in a witty way.

In order to elicit sarcastic responses, the products need to be strange and uninteresting to most. The following are a few products that have elicited sarcastic and funny reviews.

4. BIC Pens for Her

BIC launched a pastel pen “just for her”. This pen has a diamond encrusted barrel for a more elegant look and a thinner barrel to better fit a woman’s smaller hands. People on Amazon are having a field day with this writing utensil, providing both sarcastic and humorous reviews on the product.

3. Luke Skywalker Jacket

This Luke Skywalker jacket boasts how it includes its Medal of Yavin, but it also prides itself on being authentic to the movie Star Wars. Like the BIC pen, users on Amazon are enjoying giving their lighthearted and fun reviews of a product. Some claim it to be a “chick repellent” and that it’s great for “walking through doors” or “nodding at your friends”.

2. Cat Evacuation Kit

That’s right. Someone out there thought that it would be a great idea to create a cat evacuation kit in case a fire, flood, earthquake or any other natural disaster occurs. The kit contains cat food and water with a five-year shelf life, treats, water bowl, collar, litter and scoop, ID tag, wipes, toys and first aid kit. You should not be surprised that this elicited sarcastic responses.

1. Horse Head Mask

Unless it’s Halloween, it doesn’t seem like there would ever be a need for a real-life looking horse mask. It’s actually surprising to see that there are more animal masks out there than just the horse, but apparently the horse was the only one that excited users enough to have some fun with their reviews.

It seems as if once  a product has earned a sarcastic review, more and more people start to fall in line to try and outwit the reviewer before them. While the reviews are not real and don’t represent how your product functions, it’s still a great way to get people interested in talking about you, and these simple reviews can do a lot for your business. Though most of the people who review the product won’t actually make a purchase, there are some who may be so intrigued with its uniqueness that they do.

If you want to get people talking about your product in a fun or sarcastic way, you first need to create a strange or obscure product that can create this type of response. In the case of sarcastic reviews, the stranger, the better.

Caleb Grant works recently wrote about spotting fake reviews and how to respond to sarcastic reviewers.

Living with a psycho: a true story (Part III)

This is the third installment of an epic trilogy about love, hate, passion and drama. But mostly about one man’s mind completely coming apart. If you don’t want to get lost in the sea of madness, make sure to read Part I and Part II before you embark on this final chapter. Those who have already done that, here we go…

The first thing I’d done when inside the room was to lock the door. I wasn’t naive. I didn’t fool myself into believing that this would stop Bent if he eventually decided to act out his favourite scene from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I knew that, at best, this move was going to simply buy me a few extra seconds. If all those years in front of TV had taught me anything at all, it was that wooden doors rarely presented serious obstacles to homicidal maniacs in a state of psychotropic trance.

“Hi there! Couldn’t help but notice you were trying to avoid getting chopped into pieces. Shall I drop by later?”

Looking around my room I had come to a sad conclusion that I was grossly unprepared for “maniacal flatmate” emergencies. The only thing that came close to a weapon was a Swiss army knife. This was promptly placed by my bed, just in case I had to end up trying to scratch Bent to death. In the meantime, Bent was still outside pacing about and murmuring bits and pieces of disconnected phrases. Among them the word “fucker” was the most prominent and intelligible. This mad monologue went on for at least 30 minutes. You see, when you have a loyal following of invisible fans, presence of actual people in a conversation is purely optional.

As Bent’s rambling continued unabated, I’d realised something truly horrific. Bent was consciously working himself up into a “battle frenzy”, just like his Scandinavian ancestors used to. That meant I needed to beef up my defences. Under the assumption that Bent could be carrying a gun, I tried to find a long-range weapon. What I ended up with were a few D-sized batteries from my synthesizer…because it’s common knowledge that a well thrown battery travels faster than a bullet.

Thus, armed with a scratching tool and a few glorified stones I tried to get some sleep. Needless to say, I didn’t get much of it. But I survived, although deep in my heart I was sure that only one thing had saved my life that night: the Viking Warrior Spirit that possessed Bent simply didn’t know how to operate a 21st century door lock.

The next morning I told Bent I was moving out, upon which he admitted that he’d been “a bit harsh” the night before. That was like saying that Saddam Hussein was “a bit of a douchebag”. Bent was strangely calm. This meant that either he was temporarily exorcised, or my decision had not come as a surprise to him. He must have had the exact same conversation with each of his many prior tenants. Bent and I agreed that I would try to adapt to his crazy rules until I moved out. In return Bent wouldn’t be mailing parts of my body as Christmas gifts to randomly chosen recipients. It was a fair deal.

“Hey Timmy, do you want to open the unmarked one with bloody fingerprints all over it?”

Over the remaining weeks Bent’s moods alternated between quietly loony to feral. You know, standard schizophrenic stuff. However, I was now busy checking out new places to live and generally tried to spend as little time at home as possible. This meant I avoided further near-death incidents…almost.

One day I wanted to book the laundry room. However, I had forgotten which of the two “reservation” keys were mine (don’t forget Bent’s ownership fetish) – blue or black. Lulled into a false sense of safety by the fact that Bent hadn’t tried to stab me in the eye or rip my head off for two straight weeks, I headed to the kitchen to ask him a seemingly innocent question: “Bent, which key is it I’m supposed to use to book the laundry room?”

Bent was standing by the sink and washing dishes. He was wearing nothing but his boxers, which of course was a huge step up from just wearing nothing. As soon as I asked the question he had let the dishes drop into the sink with a loud clang. He placed both of his hands slowly onto the kitchen counter and stared at me for a good 10 seconds without saying a single word. It was just like a moment of awkward silence on a first date, with the added flavour of one party contemplating manslaughter. Finally, in what can only be referred to as “overreaction of the century”, Bent essentially yelled the following:

“Is there something wrong with your MEMORY?”

Well Bent, not as much as there’s wrong with your chromosome count, certainly. Please note that up until that point we had literally not spoken for weeks. There was no single logical reason for Bent to go crazy. Then again, when your brain is 80% toxic waste and 20% forces of darkness, logic isn’t exactly your strong suit. He continued with:

“The blue one, I told you to use the BLUE one!”

Understandably shocked by the outburst I tried to ask Bent what was wrong, to which he responded:

“I think you know EXACTLY what is wrong”.

And he was right, of course – I knew exactly what was wrong. It was called “bipolar disorder“. Bent very politely asked me to “please leave his kitchen”. Since there were at least two of Bent (that I knew of) and only one of me, I had done just that. (CONTINUE TO PAGE 2)

Living with a psycho: a true story (Part II)

If you’re just joining us on this trip down memory lane with hilarious and murderous characters, make sure you check out Part I first. The rest of you, welcome back. Let’s pick up right where we left off.

I’d moved in some days after signing the contract. Very soon I’d understood that Bent was very particular about the concept of ownership. He had a very clear BYOTP policy – “Bring Your Own Toilet Paper” that is. Yup, he had his roll of toilet paper locked up safely inside his room, and expected me to do the same with mine. This, of course, was a tragic and inevitable legacy of the infamous “Copenhagen Paper Crisis” of the 1970s, when toilet paper was a rare and precious commodity and people had sold their cars, houses, wives and internal organs to get their hands on it. Thankfully, everyone was saved when aliens had landed in Denmark in 1978 and introduced all those advanced toilet paper factories to the population.

Above: Denmark's official currency prior to 1978

It didn’t end with toilet paper rolls, however. I had been assigned my own cupboards, my own side of the kitchen and my own shoe space. I’m sure Bent would have also split the entry room space equally between us, but the logistics of that exercise had been too much for him to grasp. Indeed, most tasks must be difficult when every waking moment of your life is spent yelling at the voice of Lucifer in your head to shut up.

Surprisingly, I had managed to live under those conditions for almost two weeks without any incidents. I had my own room with a lock on it. Bent had his. I had been away most of the time at university or my part-time job. Meanwhile, Bent had probably spent his days out in the park muttering incoherent gibberish to passers by, or collecting twigs and branches for his “Things That Look Like Human Bones” collection. It wasn’t until the third week of our co-existence that events had truly begun to unravel. One evening I came home to find this note on “my” side of the kitchen counter:

Post It Notes: For when simply speaking in tongues isn't deranged enough

The note provided conclusive evidence that it’s possible to sound polite and eerily ominous at the same time. My transgression? I had washed my dishes and left the washing liquid by the sink. You know, the way us non-insane folks do. Bent of course wanted my washing liquid to be on my side of the kitchen. The sink, which lay right between our two halves of the kitchen, was effectively “no man’s land”. Those of you who know history will also know that you just don’t mess with no man’s land. Once the washing liquid had broken those boundaries, it was only a matter of time before a full-fledged conflict was ensured. And here’s how the escalation happened…

It was a weekday, it was shortly after 22:00 (that’s 10PM, my American fans) and I was in the bathroom using an electric shaver. Suddenly, I’d heard a knock at the door and Bent’s voice (crazy sporadic word emphasis below is fully his):

“I am not so pleased about you using my facilities after ten o’clock in the evening!”

Whoa, what the fucking what now?! Firstly, toilet and kitchen were shared facilities that had been included as part of the rental agreement. Secondly, in the “normal people world” private kitchens and toilets did not have closing hours. It’s the only way our modern society found to resolve all those “midnight starvation” and “morning bladder explosion” incidents that had plagued our less fortunate ancestors for centuries. Thirdly, if Bent’s House of Forgotten Sanity was a place where above standards didn’t apply, that should have been the primary topic of discussion prior to contract signing, not freaking energy-saving light bulbs!

You see how my above reaction was naïvely based on rational people’s logic? Do you know what happens when you try to apply that logic in your dialogues with crackpots? No? Well let me tell you. (CONTINUE TO PAGE 2)

Moving hosting providers: another “fun” project

You may remember that but a few short weeks ago I bitched about hosting my own website and all of the technical difficulties that entailed. Subsequent weeks have been spent wrapping my head around the ins and outs of getting a website up. Two days ago I’ve finally felt happy enough about the way my site was set up. I was ready to stop being a site administrator and to start being a blogger. Alas, it was not meant to be.

You see, I have finally bothered to read the “terms of service” of my hosting provider. And by “read” I mean spend more than 2 seconds it takes to scroll down to the end of the ToS page and blindly click the “I Agree” button. To my absolute horror, I have found this in the “PROHIBITED USES” section:

“Profanity. Profanity or profane subject matter in the site content and in the domain name are prohibited”

As any other rational and self-respecting blogger, my immediate reaction to the above was: “What kind of fucking bullshit is this?!”. I can’t decide what language to use on my own blog?! What if my fictional character is a foul-mouthed alcoholic ex-cop? What if one of my readers comments on a post and says “OMG ur so fucking funny i just literally died laffing, LOL”? Before you ask – yes, all of my fictional characters are action movie clichés and all of my blog readers are teenagers who watch Jersey Shore to improve their IQ and cognitive abilities. Bottom line: I cannot possibly be expected to monitor not only my own posts, but also any discussions on my site.

“But surely these guys won’t just shut down your site for using a few swear words here and there”, you may be thinking. That makes you both reasonable and dead wrong. They have done this numerous times and have even allegedly shut down a guy’s website just for discussing poker. Why? Because fuck him for talking about card-based fun! They also have an anti-nudity policy so strict that if you want photographs of people in your blog they better be wearing a hazmat suit or Easter Bunny overalls.

Wait a minute! This girl is clearly showing way too much…ear

Also, the “no nudity” policy effectively rules out links to all pop music videos, since the boundary between pop and porn has been crossed well before Janet Jackson had her famous “wardrobe malfunction” incident. I don’t want to speculate whether “butt” is considered profanity every time I post. If I’m reviewing Dirty Harry movies I don’t want to wonder whether I should write that Clint Eastwood cocked his gun or, ahem, roostered it.

My hosting contract had a 30-day “money back” cancellation policy, which was good. At the time I’d realised this I was on day 28, which was less good. I had two days to pick another host (and make sure they had a more liberal content policy), register another domain name (I wanted a new one), move my whole blog to it, then remove it from the previous host and cancel my contract. If it sounds overwhelming, it’s because it freaking is. Especially when you have a full-time job.

Moving site content is an easy and relatively painless process…provided you know how to create and backup MySQL databases through your cPanel, export data to and from your FTP, and correct queries in your HTML, CSS, and WTF code. And we all know that stuff is taught to us in kindergarten, right? Since I wasn’t tech-savvy enough to do all of that, but OCD enough to give a damn, I had to manually recreate my whole site from scratch on the new host. This took up exactly 127 hours of the free time I’ve had in the past two days.

But I’ve made it! I have a new and fancy “nest-expressed” domain name, a liberal host, a shiny new blog, and social media pages to market it. So now all I need is YOU, my readers! Because let’s face it, laughing at your own jokes is pretty damn sweet, but laughing at your own jokes a bit too often gets you a one-way trip to an asylum. With that said – go read my stuff, subscribe to my blog, and help spread the word. I even have fancy “share” buttons to help you do so, right below this post. So go ahead! You don’t want me to end up in an asylum, do you?

Living with a psycho: a true story (Part I)

Everyone knows flatmates can be difficult. They leave their socks all over the place, hog the TV and constantly keep nagging you about something called “rent”. But what if your flatmate is an undiagnosed schizophrenic prone to sporadic outbursts of insanity?

Meet Bent. Yes, that’s his real name, and as you will soon learn it’s somewhat fitting. “Batshit Insane Lunatic” would’ve been more fitting, but less of a name, so I’ll stick to Bent. I’ll avoid using his last name. Partially out of respect for those involved, but mainly because Bent is still out there somewhere. I’ve seen enough horror movies to have a healthy fear of psychotic ex-flatmates.

But I digress. Bent is a Danish guy in his mid-fifties, living in a quiet municipality of the larger Copenhagen area. He is a proud father of three boys, has a degree in Mechanical Engineering and occasionally teaches classes in that very subject at a local high school. Also, he’s fucking crazy. In 2005 I rented a room in Bent’s apartment in a short-lived social experiment that I now share with you.

It was the last of my student years and I was moving out of an apartment that I had shared with a friend. At the time I was still a poor student. I couldn’t afford an apartment of my own, so I had to look for rooms to rent. Aided by an excellent apartment search website I had soon found a room.

It was exactly what I was looking for: affordable, large enough, in great condition, very close to where I was living at the time so moving would be a breeze. Unfortunately, the website didn’t specify that the owner of the apartment was a full-blown nutjob, so I was left to discover that fun detail for myself.

…along with the mysterious chalk outline in the corner of my room

Red flags presented themselves already during the first ever meeting with my upcoming flatmate. Sadly, I was too keen on getting the room to pay attention to any warning signs.  I came over to check out the place. Right off the bat Bent informed me that  I was the seventh person to rent the room from him. All others had apparently been trouble and therefore “didn’t work out”. Bent also told me he was divorced and I could expect that his three kids would come to visit every now and then.

So at least seven people, including Bent’s ex-wife, had attempted to live with the guy, yet chose to abandon ship. Calculating the odds of something being wrong with each and every one of the former tenants rather than Bent himself should have been a straightforward task for a five year old. Alas, at the time most of my brain capacity was used to play the following soundtrack in my head: “I’ve found myself an awesome room, I’ve found myself an awesome room…”, so the the desperate warning screams of the sane part of my brain went unheard.

Finally, Bent said he was used to order and that if I wasn’t the orderly type I should let him know in advance. Of course, at that moment I had no way of knowing that our definitions of “order” were vastly different and that Bent’s revolved around a bizarre set of rules that made Alice In Wonderland look like a historical documentary.

“Yup, seems like a pretty accurate depiction of reality to me!”

A few more quirks popped up on the day I was signing the rental agreement, but all were too minor in and of themselves to be treated as signs of any disorders. Bent freaked out when I started writing down my social security number on the rental agreement (where it was prompted). He grabbed a white-out and splashed it all over the half-written number, telling me I should be careful in revealing such information as it can be abused by evil hackers. To be sure, this is information that one must present in almost any encounter with public institutions in Denmark and is barely “top-secret”. Besides, unless he himself was an evil hacker I should have be fine putting my information down on the contract between the two of us, no?

Secondly, he informed me that if I wanted to replace the light bulb in my room with another, I should not throw out the one already there, since it was an expensive energy-efficient one. I don’t know how many people are in the habit of carrying their own light bulbs to use in rental rooms, but my guess is the number is somewhere between zero and what the fuck?! Also, why on Earth should I feel an urge to throw out a perfectly functioning energy-saving light bulb? Am I an undercover agent for some twisted anti-Greenpeace movement?

After our agreement was signed Bent had apparently expected me to have had the full deposit and first month’s rent with me in cash. Seeing how we were living in the 21st century and every single one of my prior rental transactions had been handled by institutions called “banks”, I wasn’t used to bringing large sums of money to contract signings. This wasn’t some shady drug deal after all. The end result was Bent accompanying me to an ATM to withdraw the money. In exchange I got a paper receipt that Bent tore out of a small booklet he must’ve purchased in a store called “Prehistoric Articles Nobody Ever Freaking Uses Anymore”. Also, worst store name EVER.

This may or may not be the actual receipt

And thus I became an official tenant in Bent’s Wacky House of Hysteria & Neurosis. To find out what happened next, go to the second installment of this gut-wrenching tale…