Balls to Christmas

As this is the season of good will to all men, Dave Balls would like to wish everyone a Merry Xmas*.

*Except the following people: Account handlers – you’re all wankers, Planners – hope Rudolph shits in your Xmas sock, Media lovies – how’s ‘do some fucking work’ sound as a New Year’s resolution, PR – Santa only does one day’s work a year; sound familiar?
Students – Christmas is a time of giving, start giving a shit and do some work rather than pissing about, Graphic Designers – ho-ho-hope you get an STD for Crimbo.

Make it stop.

I was in a meeting with an account handler today. As you may have noticed from my earlier posts Dave Balls hates them all with a passion and wishes a pox on them and their families.

The meeting started with shit-for-brains stating:

"I just wanted to give you a heads-up.'

FUCK-OFF. TALK FUCKING ENGLISH YOU INBRED PUSS-SEEPING PIMPLE ON THE ARSE OF HUMANITY.

You are talking to me face to face, not typing to some bloody so-called-mate on Facebook who you are only keeping in touch with so you can feel popular.

It's only monday. When I sober up from a weekend of liver abuse I am sure it will get worse.

Cock

Daddy, daddy what did you do today at work? Well dear, I thought of famous films and replaced one word of each with the word 'cock'. And here they are:

Saving Private Cock

The Cock Father

Indian Jones and the Temple of Cock

Edward Cockhands

When Harry met Cock

A Fistful of Cock

The Surecock Redemption

Shindeler’s cock

12 Angry Cocks

To Cock a Mockingbird

Internal sunshine of the spotless cock (Ok so I changed that one a bit more)

Seven Cocks for Seven Brothers

Raging cock

A Cock too Far

Cock it like Beckham

The Little Cock of Horrors

Full Metal Cock

Some like it Cock

Butch Cock and the Sundance Kid

It’s a Wonderful Cock

Cockhand Luke

Harry Potter and the Cock of the Phoenix

Harry Potter and the Cock of Fire

Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Cocks

Who Cocked Roger Rabbit?

Spongebob Cockpants the Movie

Cockalypto

The Da Vinci Cock

Tim Burton’s, The Cock Before Christmas

Close Encounters of the Cock Kind

Fantastic Four: The Rise of the Silver Cock

Wallace and Gromit: The Cock of the Were-Rabbit

The Silence of the Cocks

Honey I Shrunk the Cock

Uncle Cock

Bravecock

Cockwork Orange

Cock Bandits

Cockablanka

Citizen Cock

Dr Strange Cock

Cock of Arabia

2001 a Cock Odyssey



And the winner is:

Das Cock


You see it was this or write a fucking leaflet for paving tiles. Lord give me strength. If only enough to twat an account handler.

Put it in your diary

Dear account handlers, when you write a letter to Santa this year, please, please, please put a diary at the top of the list you worthless pieces of fetid shit spawn.

How hard is it plan something in? It’s only a leaflet a client wants, not the Nazis marching through Europe. How much fucking organising does it take?

Here’s an idea. When a client asks for a piece of work, rather than just file it under ‘B’ for ‘bollocks-up’ and forget about it until about 5-minutes before it is wanted, instead just type out a brief, then give it to Creative straight away. I know it’s a mind-numbingly simple thought, which is why you’re having trouble with it. But what this means is that I don’t have to work late while you swan off to do Pilates or whatever other brainless shit you’re doing because it is ‘in’ that week. I hope sticking your puss ridden cock into glass becomes the next big thing. I am sure you'll jump on the bandwagon. I know I will give you a leg up.

And account handlers wonder why I am such a miserable twat. Wankers.

Pitch Bitch

I was in a pitch the other day. What a waste of my fucking precious time that was. I might as well have spent my time wanking against the window. It would have been more productive.

There I was presenting billboards concepts to the clients. OK, they weren’t going to win any D&AD’s – Dave Balls is honest if fuck all else – but they were good solid ideas and the client seemed to like them. So far, so good.

Then, the media bitch stands up. Someone who has got to their position in life through force of character and big tits. And very little else. Unfortunately she is now no longer 21, although she still dresses like she is, and all that remains is her force of character and breastickle saddle-bags around her ankles. So, this loud argumentative ad-slag-whore-a-way-media-lovey stands and gives us her media schedule.

In your mind you’re expecting billboard schedule recommnedations I bet. I know I was. But oh no, that would be far too bastarding simple. Christ on a bike, she recommends the back of car park tickets.

I stared at the pile of work on the table spread around the table. I stared at the thick bitch pointing at the overhead display which was lighting up the room with our incompetence. I stared at the client to see if he had noticed we were fuckwits. Then, I stared out of the window and wished I was wanking against it.

Well, did we get the business? No, obviousy. Because when you’re a client and you’re told your name is going on the back of car park tickets, you smile politely, walk out slowly, then run as fast as your little feet will carry you to the agency who is going to put you on the TV. Now that may be at 3am on the No Fucker’s Watching Channel, but you’re still on TV and not lying in the footwell of someone’s shitting car.

Meet our new account handler

Long time, no see. And all that shit.

I hate fucking account handlers. I hate them so much, I amost like having them around, so I can hate them.

I know they serve a purpose, but then so does Toilet Duck. And I don't want to spend the day with it.

I spent an hour in a client meeting the other week trying to get out of them what they wanted to say. What made them different from the competition - if anything - as what they were saying previously was the same as everyone else.

Eventually we got somewhere. It wasn't hard. You just have to ask the right basted questions to get the right bastard answers.

So, fast forward to yesterday. Our sweet innocent account handler comes over to brief me holding her lovely new brief.

Now Dave Balls was impressed she'd actually managed to count how many people we're going to be in the briefing (3) and had the right ammount of copies of the brief (3). So far so good. Then we sit down and she goes through it.

Sweet Jesus. All she had to do was write the proposition we'd agreed the week earlier. That was all. The rest of the brief was the same. The target audience, the support, the media, everything thing.

Instead, she had decided to simply copy and paste (as far as I could tell) the same old proposition we'd been using the year before.

I mentioned this to her in my usual calm style. And pointed out she'd got the proposition wrong and told her what it should be. She commented on what a good memory I had for remembering. As she hadn't put it in her notes she'd made during the meeting.

I pointed out that it wasn't fucking difficult to fucking forget becasue it was all the fucking fucking fucking fucking meeting was fucking about for a fucking hour.

I remeber a quote from the movie 'Team America", when dictator Kim Jong says "Why is everyone so fucking stupid?"

Could it be because they are all account handlers?

And finally on a lighter note:

How many account handlers does it take to change a light bulb?

Don't let them, they'll fuck it up.

Why did the account handler cross the road?

Who cares as long as he gets run over.

What's the difference between a lorry load of sand and a lorry load of account handlers?

You can't empty a lorry load of sand with a pitchfork.

How many account handlers can you get in a Mini.

As many as you can then drive it off a fucking cliff.

Have a nice bank holiday.

(unless you're an account handler).

DAVE

BALLS

SUCKS

LOGOS

Dave Balls has let his blog slip. I've been off on a shoot. But now I'm back.

'Did it go well Dave?" I hear you ask. 'Have you created an award-winning ad?'

Did I fuck.

I am a prostitute to my art. A fat, sweaty, over made up tart. Giving the client what he wants then taking the money.

'Over 'ere darling, looking for a good concept? Course you are luvva. I know how you like it. Cor look at the size of your logo. That's a big one. Do you want me to put it somewhere nice. How about smack bang in the middle of your fucking ad? And make it as big as a house?'

I cry myself to sleep, cradling an empty bottle of rioja.

Welcome back.

Dave Balls Advertising Agony Uncle

As you may have guessed from my previous posts, Dave Balls is a creative guru, knowledgeable about all things advertising. Like Trevor Beattie, only with a decent haircut. And without the silly fucking accent.

So, ask me a bastard question or petty problem and through the power of the Internet, your query will be answered - probably.

Whether you gets an answer depends on a number of things:

1. Dave Balls knows the answer.
Although let's face it, when has that ever stopped someone in a client meeting spouting on for what seems like hours without saying anything of any god-damn relevance?

2. It is a decent bloody question.
I'm not answering any old bollocks.

3. Dave Balls gives a shit.
Dave Balls is busy doing ads not sat around waiting for you and your pointless fucking questions.

Little known fact: Planners are like jellyfish. They serve no purpose and they are bastards.

Weekend Balls

So, what does Dave Balls do at the weekend when he is not doing advertising? Well, he spends his time looking at other people's ads.

And I found the above creative jiz. I have no idea who did it. I have no idea where it ran. I have no idea why I bother when I see shit like this.

The fucking fact that 'Drink' and 'Drive' both start with 'Dri' and making me aware of the fact is enought to drive me to drink.

I've got news for you whever did this ad - Fuckwit, Fucker, Fuckhead, Fuckstick, Fuck-up and Fuck-you-in-the-ear all begin with Fuc.

How on God's green Earth does the above make me stop drink driving ? Dave Balls ticks both boxes. Your ad ticks none. Unless there's a Twaticus box. Whatever the fuck that is. Makes as much sense as that piece of shit ad.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Fuck-Up

Ever wondered if advertising works? Well, wonder no more, cos Dave Balls has proof. It has the power to lose you your job. As demonstrated by two Creatives at Saatchi’s in China.

Jesus-H-Christ these guys were thick. It is stories like this that brighten up my day. Now this did happen a few months ago. But I am not a fucking newspaper here.

First some background. There’s a website called adsoftheworld.com (if you’ve not been to it then do. It gets the Dave Balls stamp of approval). The site lets creative show-off to the world with their work. It’s a bit like Archive, only not as up its own arse and best of all you can slag off the work – now you see why I like it.

So anyway, these two Joeys decide to put this on:

For the short sighted ones - and if my mum was right, that is most of us, becasue we're ad wankers and it sends you blind - the line is 'Rebuild it, Lego'.

A nano-second later, the rest of the world is ready to lynch them - especially the Americans who think using the deaths of thousands of people to sell a kids building block is a tad off brief. Now, it seems these two creative fuckheads expected the world to applaud them for being advertising gods. And in order to receive their full credit these brain-donor numpties gave their names and said the work was produced on behalf of their agency - Saatchi’s China. But rather than advertisng gods, they are to become adverting son's of God, as they about to be fucking crucified.

Now, Saatchi’s finds out. I assume 2 nano-seconds later and make them pen a grovelling letter apologising for being so fucking stupid:

How many people apologise to the whole world, then end it 'Warm Regards'? They just keep getting stupider by the nano-second.

But it doesn’t end there. It gets better, stay with me. Saatchi’s then release this:

SAATCHI & SAATCHI
Statement from Saatchi & Saatchi China:
I would like to call to your attention to clarify that the previous LEGO ads posted here did not come from Saatchi & Saatchi China. Lego is not our China client. The creation of these fake ads was purely personal behavior. Saatchi & Saatchi China ( the company, senior executives, and our creative directors) have never seen nor approved to run these ads. After indepth investigation, two staff have been dismissed today as their irresponsible personal behavior have severely affected our company's professional image. Their illegally using Saatchi & Saatchi's name, and the senior director's name behind those ads without our company's consent is an intolerable act. We, Saatchi & Saatchi, reserve the right to take legal action against these individuals.

Head of HI and Admin,
Ms. Cherry Yang
Saatchi & Saatchi Guangzhou, China

I love stories with a moral. And the moral of this one is - no matter how hard you try to be creative, chances are you're a knob-rash.

What I have to put up with

Anyone who goes out for lunch and comes back with Sushi because they think it's cool to eat at their desk is a complete and utter shit puss bucket of vomit-induced, bile-coated, syphilis-crusted waste of space. It's raw fish you just paid a fiver for. In Dave Ball's book that makes you a twat. Bon Apetite. I hope you get poisoned. Fucking suits.

Golden Balls

It’s that testical-tingling time of the year when all the sweat, tears and hard work you’ve put in as you’ve slogged your way through another shitty year is casually slapped back in your designer glasses wearing face by the immortal words “There are no awards in this category”.

Yes, it’s Awards’ season.

Well, I’m going to be at a few. And like the rest of you, I’ll be slagging off the competition (don’t even pretend you don’t). And getting more depressed as the evening drags on towards its inevitable outcome as I sit in the residents bar, looking like a pissed-up tramp who's just pulled an old DJ out of a bin and hasn't let the fact it's too tight put him off wearing it.

So, this said, why the fuck do we bother? We're fucking martyrs. let's face it, as long as there are people out there waiting to rip off advertisers by playing on the fact that they have egos the size of whale wangers, they are always going to be around.

But a few choice chants can liven up the night, get you into a fight and if you’re really lucky, ensure you never get a job in the one agency that is actually doing good enough work to win awards. Now if all this sounds like a really bad idea, just drink shit loads of beer on the night. Suddenly, it’s a fucking brilliant one.

Here are chants to remember which get the Dave Balls nod:

“It never ran.”
You know which ones they are. If you’ve really got Dave Balls, shout it as you pick up your own award. You cheating shit.

‘That’s not a real fucking client.”
Again, it don’t take rocket science. McCanns Manchester does not have a Shooting Range as a paying client or a local Decorator and if it does, then I don't want to use a fucking local decorator who can afford to use one of the largest ad agencies in the UK - how much does this bastard charge to do a room?

“Raise the bar.”
Appropriate for those pieces of work you’d be embarrassed to throw in your waste paper bin. Yet some trumpet blowing sperm-sack thinks he’s such a big-dick he’s entered it into the awards and, fuck me, gets something. Shout this one and if I hear it at an awards ceremony I'll send your table a bottle of something cheap.

“Twats”
Twating simple. Twating direct and says so twating much. Can be attached to any other chant for added emphasis.

“Eye Rape”
Dave Ball’s personal favourite.


Finally
In Dave Balls humble, yet always right opinion, the only awards worth entering are the Chip Shop Awards. They came as a result of everyone cheating and doing chip shop ads. So, pat yourself on the back for being so sodding clever. Also, D&AD tried to sue them for having awards in the shape of pencil shaped chips. Once again – a pat on the back for upsetting the Daddy of all advertising awards who should be applauding someone for being creative. Miserable bastards.

Finally, finally
Good luck in the award. Unless you're an eye raper.

Dave Balls does a crit

Today, I am criting a few advertising magazines. Why? I don’t know. And more to the point, I really don’t care.

Archive
Ads aren’t poncy arty-shite. They sell stuff. Get over it. You’re not Leonado Da Fuckin’ Vinci, you’re an Art Director selling paint or sofas or bastard bird feed. Just because it’s in Archive, it don’t mean it’s art. Archive the world’s most expensive magazine. Filled with ads. What a fucking brilliant idea. Let’s make a magazine fill it with ads then sell it back to the people who make the fuckin’ ads in the first place. Lurcher or whatever his name is, is a genius. And you’re a twat for getting excited cos you’re in it.

So, Archive get’s Dave Balls rating of 6 out of 10 for fukin’ over advertisers.

Creative Review
Design wank. Backslapping, poncy, Diesel-wearing, toss. If it was a person, it’d be Andy Warhol. Overhyped Twat. Dave Balls was impressed - it does happen- by Mother hi-jacking it and basically pissing off the entire design community by saying ‘you sell stuff.’
I wish I’d thought of that you clever gits.

Gets an ‘up-its-own-arse’ Dave Balls rating of 4. Sometimes has nice ads. But normally full of logos and designers called Quentin. (NB. The Mother edition get a Dave Balls rating of 9.)

Campaign
If you’re in London, you can read your name in it. If you’re not you can’t. Unless you’ve just killed a London Creative. Like you could be arsed. Makes you think you look cool reading it on the underground. When in fact it lets everyone know you are a knobjockey.

Dave Balls rating of 4. Southern biased bastards.

The Drum
This will mean nothing to anyone in London. It is the Sad inbred northern Ying to Campaign’s well-groomed, porche-driving Yang (think Rainman). Regional ad mag so everyone outside the capital can read their name in the press cos they know they’ll never be in Campaign.

Little known fact, if you are in the regions you will eventually be in it. And you don’t have to kill anyone. But don’t let that stop you.

Gets a Dave Balls rating of 4. It would have got more, but it is based in Scotland. And they didn’t support England in the World Cup.