Bizarre Bus Adverts We Have Seen

But what does it mean? Will you having a smear somehow save the life of this be-goatied Adonis? Perhaps the message is that transgender women should be aware! You too can get cervical cancer even if you have cut off your boobs and developed a taste for green woolly jumpers! Maybe they think young liberated women will only look at an advert if it has a fit man slapped all over it...

Or are they just implying that fit men from Southern Europe are Chalmydia Marys who will ply you with ouzo and let you run your fingers through their gleaming locks before having their wicked way, leaving you alone the next day with a hangover, V05 under your nails and a minor-yet-bad-if-left-untreated STI ?

It is most perplexing, but I take comfort in the thought that a 'Joey from Friends' storyline has become a reality.

The Yoof of Today

Call me naive and not 'down with the kids', but I thought eight year olds daydreamed about Bratz, the Jonas Brothers and gummy hairbands, not obese hippos sensually wallowing in chocolate to the dulcet tones of Terrence Trent D'Arby.

I'm surprised the Daily Mail hasn't got hold of this one yet...

Gordon Brown is starring in a film made by lefty euro foreigners!!1! As a terrorist!!!!!1!1! A GERMAN terrorist!!!11!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111!!1!!!!!1

Even tho it aint him it lookz liek him n dat is sik enuff. I fink e shud resine now.


*..or maybe they have, lord knows I don't want to sully my internet search history and check.

As the De Menezes Inquiry rumbles on, now with added 'Fuck You'!

I really hope this is real and not a photoshop, because if it is, it's just about the best thing* ever.

UPDATE

I thought this pic was so brilliant I sent it to the equally brilliant Copyranter blog. It was posted on Animal NY along with this additional pic I took, to prove the caption was true:

Someone put this comment:

Why didn't they use the same poster image when they chopped those pictures?

Not only do they make themselves look stupid, they've made you look like a bit of an idiot too for falling for it.

Very bad taste. :(

Posted by John October 2, 2008 4:26 AM

Naturally, being the massive pedant that I am, this massively pissed me off. Yes okay, I should have corrected Copyranter when he accreditted the first pic to me (I never said I took it) and I should have noticed that the poster at Finsbury Park is in a different format but STILL.

So I took action.

Firstly, I wasted an entire lunchtime travelling down to Stockwell to look for the poster. Typically, it is no longer there, but I did speak to a man putting up new posters who confirmed that the poster had been up, but then got all afraid and aggressive when I asked him if I could film him saying so. (Shocking, I know... thank god I'm blonde and act like a moron. If I was Muslim I would be f**ked)

Anyway, so being me I wrote a pedantically moronic comment in response, whilst still realising I did not quite have enough ammo for a full FUCK YOU. Until this morning, when sadly gazing out the window of the tube in a small gap framed by some guy's armpit and a goth's wet hair, I saw something that made me audibly go 'yesssssssss' into the sodden dyed black locks.

So this evening, whilst being very aware that I was once again acting in a vaguely suspiscious manner - but trying to allay my fears by reasoning that no one would mistake someone carrying a cartoon themed umbrella and listening to Britney Spears as a terrorist - I got off a stop early, fannied around and managed to take these beauties:

And, to show the angle on the origional pic is possible:

John? FUCK YOU.

Incidentally, you might see that someone has drawn a speech bubble coming out of Pacino's mouth. It says 'These guys are so old'. Jokes!

Yours,
A. Pedant


*'best' in it's awestriking bumclenching awfulness

Dragon's Den = Social Suicide

A couple of anecdotes for you:

A few months ago, in Subway on Berwick Street.
Man in queue in front of me attempting to pay for a £1.99 sub with a credit card gestures to poster on the wall with his gold American Express.
'Oh look, the Reggae Reggae sauce sub!'

Bangladeshi cashier who clearly speaks as much English as his co-worker who is currently drenching my sub in Mayonnaise despite my request and hand gestures to the contrary
'.' (dull eyed stare)

'You know? Reggae Reggae sauce? The guy was on Dragon's Den!'

'.'
*background noise of me swearing under my breath at the prospect of a 3,000 calorie sub but being too polite to actually complain*

'Dragons Den! On BBC1! The guy sang a little song and they gave him money? Dragon's Den? Yes? Oh.'

He glances around: first to the still blank faced cashier who is now proferring a receipt, then to the equally blank faced condiment-mad co-worker. His eyes finally settle on the glowering girl holding a dripping bundle of greasy bread behind him, before he stalks out, head down.


A few weeks ago, a hairdressers in Crouch End.
An awkward fifteen year old girl whose job consists of pushing hair around the floor, making hair tea and answering the phone with a superfast esturary mutter is nonchalently swinging on the reception chair.

Jabbing at the mouse of the computer and staring intently at the monitor screen - 'thatallbe*outrageous sum of money* plez'

'Oh cool.'
I hand over my card.

*awkward silence punctuated only by more mouse jabs*

'Oh look, those are those hairbrushes they had on Dragons Den!'
I gesture to a pyramid of spikey brushes balancing procariously close to her flinching mouse arm.

'Huh?'
she looks up at me with half shut eyes and a half open gob displaying her half chewed gum.

'You know? It's like a magic brush that gets rid of tangles? They didn't invest but it looks like he has done quite well for himself.'

'AahdunnerrIdahntwatchit. Canyerputyerpennumberrinyeah?'

'What really? You don't watch Dragon's Den? Not ever'

'Nah.'

'You know what it is, right?'

'Yeh.'

'Oh.'
Another awkward pause until I take back my card and slink off into the day with my poofy blowdryed mushroom hair.

Is this just a terrible co-incidence? Why not try slotting 'that awful band called ham or spam or something' or 'that cap to stop you putting diesel into a unleaded car' into polite conversation with a service level stranger and find out!

Abercrombie and Fuck You

When I heard that Abercrombie and Fitch had opened a store in London, I put it in the same 'huh' news catagory as 'the A1 past Hanger Lane is a bit sluggish today' and Jessica's status is '...' according to Facebook.

I vaguely knew A&F to be a Gap-ish like clothes shop in America that people seem to love, even though as far as I could work out it sold either bland as fuck clothes or highly branded bland as fuck clothes.

Yesterday however, I happened to be in the area, so decided to visit the London A&F store. Within two seconds of entering it shot up from being a thing I had sort-of-heard-of-kind-of to being my official Worst Shop in London and Possibly Ever. - a title snatched away from Halfords in Friern Barnet Retail Park with considerable aplomb.

Where to start? Oh, well as you enter, you can queue to have your photo taken with a shirtless male hunk and keep the polaroid to show all your friends back home. Why? So you can tell them you shagged him? So they can be impressed that you stood next to someone with a six pack? Because some of his fitness might rub off on you and make you look less like a fat tourist in a straining pair of chinos and sweat drenched 'I heart London t-shirt'? *shudder*

This isn't apparently just a random act of whoring: A&F is known for it's good looking staff and presumerbly being pimped out to hormonal girls is part of the job description. I did wonder about this alleged hiring policy, as it appeared to be very much in action in the London shop and surely smacks of discrimination if true. Is anyone who reads this really fat/hairy/muslim/tattooed/all of the above? Please apply and let me know how you get on.

Anyway, inside. You know what I hate more than bland as fuck branded clothing in a million different pastel colours? I hate being lost in dark crowded nightclubs while shit trance music thumps so loud I can't hear my own angry thoughts.
Random? No, no, no, THIS is Abercrombie and Fitch, London. Confusing, as A&F is what one is supposed to wear to a chase a labrador across a beach in the Hamptons with your wholesome looking boyfriend, so the Ministry of Sound get up is beyond infuriating.
They even have two of their Stepford employees dancing on a balcony as if to say 'Hey, this is really fun! I always like to rave it up in the middle of the day wearing stonewashed bootleg jeans and a cornflower blue vest top!'.

It's a wonder the staff get time to actually fold jeans in between being groped and pretending to be 'aving it large', but I gather it's actually an honour to work in A&F as it means you are 'fit'. Fit and presumerbly also as thick as two short planks to allow yourself to be exploited in such a manner for £6.50 an hour.

Shops like A&F with concieted good looking staff (Urban Outfitters is another prime example) also irk me, as until a few years ago, I would be seriously intimidated about going in them, actually being worried about what the staff would think of me. Fortunately, now I am not just confident enough in myself to know I am as 'fit' as them, I also don't fold t shirts for living and could buy that whole pile of muthafuckin' folded Micky Mouse stencilled abomonations if I wanted to.

edit: Ooh I just found THIS article by someone at the Daily Mail *hock, spit* who went undercover at A&F. He said what I said but in a more boring way.

edit: while looking for a suitable image for this entry, I came across their website description - 'The highest quality, All-American lifestyle clothing for aspirational men and women'.
I think I just vommed in my mouth and waged war on the West.

Thoughts on Kate Moss's New Perfume Ad

The bottle looks a bit like a giant butt plug, which is unfortunate, given it's location and Kate's posture.

Kate Moss has been interrupted midway through farting a plume of smoke and isn't pleased about it.

Isn't there some phrase about 'shooting smoke up your arse'?

Is this what 'embracing the night' looks like? I would say this is what 'embracing the staircase after drunkenly tripping over your own feet in Mo*vida' looks like

Velvet Hour sounds like a cheap range of chocolates from the 1980's.

Or some niche evening show at the Four Floors of Whores.

Who the hell would buy this perfume anyway? Even impressionable young women who worship la Moss would know that she wouldn't wear something you could buy in Superdrug next to Charli, Angel and Stunning by Katie Price.

I like her hair.

'OMG look at her SHOES!!!11!1!!!!'

Who would have thought that Kristin Davis would be the best thing about any film, let alone the SATC? Her comic mugging was about the only redeeming feature in this predictable cheesefest of an extended advert.

I did like SATC on tv, I went to the cinema with my brain firmly switched to standby and my cynicism (oooh! I'm SUCH a Miranda) tucked away safely in my back pocket, but even then it would take a very simple woman indeed to be moved by this souless schtick.

SATC had genuinely moving episodes, you felt for the characters, they seemed real. On the big screen it is not just their fabulous wardrobes which are larger than life...they have all become such parodies of themselves, we feel nothing for them. At one point when Carrie is emotionally devistated (no, not saying why) and slowly takes off her sunglasses for the first time to see her sorrowful reflection in the mirror, a member of the audience with cynical volume muttered 'wow.' There was a pause and the whole cinema errupted into laughter.

Oh god and don't get me started on Jennifer Hudson, a woman apparently only cast for her ability to bring some good ole token sass to proceedings. I mean, she can act most of the others off the screen, but given that her dialogue mainly consists of 'uuuh huh girlfriend', and hideously twee one liners, they might as well have saved themselves the money and brought in some bit character from Keenan and Kel. I mean honestly, who says 'I came to New York to find love'? Emotional men. Lesbians. Not smart women in a town where they outnumber men 2:1.

But yeah, the clothes are fabulous, the shoes are fabulous, the locations are fabulous... but then they always were. But the series had more, it had (a rather ditzy, materialistic, bittersweet) soul.

In summary: The SATC Movie.. it's like meeting up with your old best friend from school and finding out you have absolutely nothing in common. But that they do have nice shoes.

Edit: The best review of the film I have read, on Jezebel.com, a site any woman with a semblance of a brain should waste some of her daily time on.

Now With Added Bullshit

I like to think I am a relatively intellegent female - I have a degree, a good job, I regularly read novels that don't come free with magazines and watch BBC 4; yet for some reason, all this vanishes the minute I stumble through the doors at Boots.
Take this facewash I bought yesterday:

Biche in Boots - Ooh! Clean Detox Detoxifying Exfoliation Wash. That sounds incredibly impressive and effective. Two of the words are very long and scientific sounding.

Biche at home - Two of the words are basically the same! And clean is not a million miles away from detox as it is, when we are talking about face scrub opposed to crystal meth... so what we have here is Clean Clean Clean Scrub Wash. So it's basically liquid soap with rough bits in it.

Biche in Boots - Detox Detoxifying? Huzzah! This super product is going to do oh so much more than simply get all the gunk off my face and stop me looking like a crack addled panda after a night out, it will rid my face of all the evil poisons!

Biche at home - What evil poisons? I've never felt the need to detox my face before, how will this product with over 30 ingredients inlcuding 'methyl gluceth-20' and 'ammonium polyacryloyldimethyl' help me detox my visage?

Biche at Boots - Ooh it has 'exfoliating particles to purify pores'! Good good, I do have skanky blackheads.

Biche at home - I want to get rid of my blackheads, not absolve them of all their sins. What does purify actually mean? Is it just a clever way to say 'yeah it won't get RID of the blackheads but you wouldn't buy it if we said that'?

Biche at Boots - The blurb says 'a daily facial cleanser which eliminates impurities (pollution, makeup) from the surface of the skin'.
Well I do work in central London where the sky is low and yellow, and yup, I do wear a bit of foundation and mascara unless I'm really hungover.

Biche at home - If these terrible impurities are simply dirt and makeup, a bloody bar of soap could remove them! And if we are just talking about the surface of the skin, then I could theoretically scrape my face with a toothbrush and eliminate the mingy surface of my skin.

Biche at Boots - It says 'gently apply a hazelnut sized portion of Clean Detox Detoxifying Exfoliation Wash' This coupled with the picture of the plant on the front makes me think I am buying something lovely and natural.

Biche at home - I have no idea how big a hazelnut is. I only ever see them when I bite into my bar of Fruit and Nut.

In conclusion: It doesn't matter how much Doris Lessing or postcolonial discourse I read, when confronted by cheap things to make me beautifuller I turn into a weak willed silly bit of skirt.

Thoughts on Adverts

Yes, yes I know it's been a while (although not as long as I feared it had been) since I have written on this thing... I've been busy at work and so have probably lost all my loyal following (hello you two!) but oh well, I'll keep wittering into the void and pretend that there are people all over the world hanging on my every word.

I think last time I started blogging again it was inspired by some impotent rage I was taking out on the poor tv, and this time is not much different... recently several adverts have Got My Goat, so I have returned victorious to smash them down to size.

Case 1: BASF Group.
A man climbs up a glacier. He falls! But wait! His rope saves him. An invisible rope. This rope is BASF who rather self importantly call themselves THE chemical company, and thanks to their 'invisible contribution' there is a visible result.

Biche says: Wait, why are they THE chemical company? Aren't Glaxo Smith Cline a chemical company? Call me naive, but in this capitalist opportunistic climate, I somehow doubt that there is only one chemical company. This means they must really mean 'da' like 'you da man' and frankly that's just embarrassing. The more pressing issue however is the very point of the advert - invisible contribution? Then why the hell are you shouting about it three times an hour? That's like me repeatedly announcing that I direct debit monthly money to Amnesty International while in the pub and expecting praise and adulation every single time and not the 'shut up smugface, what are you trying to prove? Get a round in' that I would receive.


Case 2 - Frontline
Oh noes! The dog has the flees! Worrawegonnado?? Why, get Frontline flea repellent of course, 'The Gesture of Love you can Trust'

Biche says: This advert was obviously written by someone so jaded by 'dinner at a place with forks = putting out' that she now lives alone with hundreds of flea free cats.




Oh okay I had more, but now I've been distracted by Bear Grylls twatting around a Saharan salt plain with a urine soaked t shirt on his head, so I will leave you all for now safe in the knowledge that soon I will be back with some...funny...stuff....yeah?

Tattoos 4 Toddlers

I am once again merrily submerged in the world of Miami Ink (much to the annoyance of the Flatmate who does not see the interest or irony in such things) and it reminded me of this ludicrous website.

I think I initially dismissed it as a hoax, but apparently this is not so; I only wish I hadn't been so cynical as there used to be an amazing gallery of this guy's work, which is now scaled back to a few select pics.

Yes ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about Tattoos 4 Toddlers, a company which specialises in PERMANENT (well, ten years) tattoos for ummm... redneck hicks. Well, the kids of redneck hicks.

It's Sunday night, I'm tired, and I trust anyone who reads this site will be clever enough to draw their own conclusions about why tattooing a two year old might not be the best idea in the world, so I will spare you all an 'stating the bleeding obvious' rant on the matter. Instead just conjour up (if you can be bothered...there is quite good telly on now) an image of the Biche frowning at her laptop and going 'Gah! Gnnnnr! Duh!' in an exasperated fashion, and consider the below quote from some 'happy customers':

"My daughter Emily always enjoyed looking at my tattoos. Once my wife Julie and I found out about Tattoos 4 Toddlers we were excited about getting Emily her first tattoo. We felt it was no different than getting her ear's pierced and with only a few more tears."

Yeah, that's Emily in the photo btw... she's had the ear piercings and the tattoo, now all she needs is a kiddie bra and thong for her third birthday and she can go join Mommy at the Pussy Lounge Gentlemen's Club. ("She's so excited about earning back all the dollar Julie lost when her figure went after she gave birth!")

Poor brat, I think her face says it all..

Ha, and completely unrelated fact from le tele.. JFK refused to wear a hat as his hair was his trademark, and he was so influential that he caused a massive drop in hat sales in the USA. So whenever he came to campaign in a town there would always be some poor milliner desperately trying to force a hat upon him to perk up flagging sales!

R.I.P Lucozade Clock

Ever one with my finger on the pulse, I only realised this weekend that the Lucozade Clock, that wonderful glittering sign that you were entering London, is no more.

It used to stand near where the M4 motorway became the A4 (I think) and for me it indicated not only the time, but the fact that my doubtlessly boring as hell journey was almost over as we had officially entered London (although residents of Brentford may disagree)

It made Lucozade look almost like a glamourous sexy drink to be enjoyed with your friends...in the Odeon Bar*, not the neon orange sticky liquid in the plastic bottle enjoyed by fat people and MEN who like to define themselves by their fizzy pop, that it actually is.

Well yes, as of 2004 it was no more.. I personally think it is a conspiracy, as even though it was 50 odd years old it completely overshadowed all the big posh skyscrapers that surrounded it with it's tinkling bulbs and time/date function. But then I think everything is a conspiracy, from when the London Lite seller doesn't offer me a paper to when I graze my finger opening a tub of houmous with one of those tricky plastic breakable tabs on the lid.

*and if you get THAT little reference then give yourself a kudos

Ode to Chicken Spot

I suppose there is a sort of logic that an ode to a chicken shop and it's £1.50 'junior spesh' should be a grime song.. while a song about a sweetshop could only be a bubblegum pop song sung by women dressed as children, chicken shops can only be GRIME and sung about by overexcitable young men who like to hang around in gangs and apparently ask for extra mayo

That said, there aint nothing wrong with a lickle bit of chicken every so often I don't think... I mean, it gives you bad skin for a week and you keep remembering that urban legend about the guy who bit into his drummer and this yellow stuff came out and it wasn't mayo but pus from a boil on the chicken's leg, but it is kinda tasty.

Never have the onion rings though. They will end up half digested in your bathroom sink. TRUST.

Photo of the Day - Mao Please!

- Darling, what shall we name our new restaurant?

- I know! Why don't we name it after the man generally credited with causing the largest famine in human history?

*pause*

- Will there be an exclaimation mark for comic effect?

Happy 2008 ,You Bastard..

I recently received a desk calendar from a law firm who shall remain nameless. Most big companies shunt out branded crap around this time of the year, and desk calendars are popular as ideally it means you will plonk it on your desk and therefore be reminded of aforementioned big company for the next 52 weeks of the year.

Usually there is an inane theme like 'drawings by kids of the board members' or 'stock photos of seasonally relevent landscapes'.

This firm, either as a reflection of itself, or how it percieves it clientele, appears to have chosen the theme 'Cunty cliche work quotes for the office bastard in your life'Why not spend April 2008 shoving this in the face of anyone who asks you if you could possibly not answer the phone going 'What?' swiftly followed by 'Dunno. Dunno. Well fuck you too Tonto'


June 2008 - the sun will be shining, Glastonbury Festival will be kicking off, you will be in a perpetual sarky sulk because every time you glance at this calendar it both reaffirms your belief that you are a misunderstood by every single one of the 700 plebs you have to work with, and makes you chuckle, you absolute cunt.


July 2008 will be spent pushing around pencils, sighing in a loud irritating fashion and checking your eye wrinkles in the back of a CD (if over 30) and pushing around pencils, sighing in a loud irritating fashion and looking up 1980's cartoons on Wikipedia (if under 30)


2008 will be rounded off by using this quote every time your boss asks you why you have spent all day mooching around the office trying to nick as many different departments' homemade mince pies as possible. They will then prompty fire you and you will spend the Christmas break trying to work out what made you act like such a massive bastard this year.

Boots' Tips for Getting Gorgeous..

This is my flatmate. As you can see she is a an average 22 year old who studies art, smokes rollies, drinks warm beer and gets her hair cut into crazy shapes by Vidal Sassoon trainees.

Yesterday she received this bit of direct marketing in the post from Boots. This in itself is not odd as she is the proud possessor of a Boots Advantage card, although one does have to wonder why someone would want to treat themselves to a gorgeous Christmas in the middle of October...

So what are Boots proposing the dear flatmate should use to get herself ready for an aforementioned gorgeous Christmas?

Boys Had Better Beware...

So should girls who liked indie music circa 1996...before you know it you will be dusting off a CD collection that died at the advent of broadband internet, digging out Dig! (arf!) and working out the love compatability between you and Courtney Taylor Taylor.

ahem.

kudos to Owain for the vid...Okay, so I didn't say the obvious things, but eeeh, there is too much bile on this site lately. I need to get some Rennies.

The Biche Sells Out But Reveals the Cause of Her Baked Bean Phobia

When I was young my Dad had this album and I realise now it was the sight of Roger Daltrey sitting in cold beans with glutenous bean juice and slimy bean fragments all over his chin that did (and still does) make me shudder like a willowtree in a breeze and even want to vom a little.

Goddamn you Who! If it wasn't for you my daily vegtable intake would be far greater on average, and I would probably be super fit and healthy and running the London Marathon and entering Britain's Next Top Model (ssssh! don't ruin the dream) but nooooo! I'm decidedly average in most ways apart from my exceptional ability to go to the gym daily and still get fatter and fatter! (so continuing on an earlier theme, if I tell you you look thin, please hit me around the chubby face with a celery stick or something)

Oh yeah, in other news I am skint-ish, so am thinking of putting adverts on this page and then if you lovely fantastic sexy people click them I get money! (not sure how much or anything really, but the recent spate of birthdays, couple breakdowns and leaving drinks is hitting hard)

I dunno, tis worth a try. If they hideously compromise the Speeches of Biches Ideal, such as if they advertise - par example - guns, cakes, tories, christians, coke zero, I will take them off again, and integrity shall be gloriously regained!

Edit: Yeah I suppose you could say 'integrity has been gloriously regained'. It was more a case of me being retarded and not sure how to collect the meager pence I would have gained from having one small ad for weight loss pills on my site, so figured it wasn't worth the hassle.

The Pasta of Nightmares

*shudder* and to think I quite like kewpie dolls, to the point where I almost considered collecting them, only they are dead expensive.
I just know I am going to dream about being chased down an ever narrowing corridor by a load of dead eyed pasta dolls.
Join me!
The following videos are less scary btw


Well, that is still faintly menacing..


This last one makes me actually want to join the cult of cod roe ramen named after a make of doll popular in pre war America! (Tarako, in case that wasn't sledgehammer-in -the-face blindingly clear)

Then again, I don't want to look like this douche. Seriously, exactly how hard is the song?

Bits of Adverts that Piss Me Off.

Most recently, the one for contact lenses with two women sitting in an orchestra, that goes a little like this:
Woman One "Ooh my contact lenses really hurt."

Woman Two "Mine don't, and I've had them in all day!"

Woman One "Fuck off you tedious oboe playing cunt!"

(well, I did say a little like this..)

There is a certain advert for debt consolidation services where they have some outraged middle aged woman talking about her friend who "had more money going out than coming in every month. The bills stacked up but she thought she could cope blah blah blah".
I'm not sure if I'm missing the point and this woman is talking in the third person because she is so ashamed to be poor, but as I see it this is an odeous busy-body, most often found with eye pressed against a hole in the fence, spying on what brand of underwear her neighbours hang up to dry, speaking on behalf of her 'friend'. Urg, I can see her fat busybody arse wobbling as she bends procariously down to peer through the the waist high hole whilst her husband tuts from the doorway.

Critisizing Loan companies is a bit like shooting cheap-suited fish in a barrell, so I will resist the urge to sprout pages of obvious jokes about Cunt with a videocamera who hopes "they don't cancel the football" and Carol Cunting Voderman and her pastel coloured money balloons and the Cunts who both listen to the phone, nod in unison and then lovingly embrace as they decide to re-mortgage their home and put their child's future at risk. Oh, and the cunting birds that have somehow found themselves in debt even though they are fucking AVARIANS and have no concept of money. If this is the case, what chance do us poor humans have?

Finally, who are all these men in cheap suits proffering money? It doesn't feel like help, it feels like being a prostitute trying to retain her dignity as she untangles her flimsy underwear from the springs in the broken old mattress she is sprawlled on.

AND they will then come back in six months and demand their money back with interest, which they will then fan out like the first cheap suited man above, smack you in the face with it and then leave after gobbing on your hair.

Grrrr.