Ron was the print production man at Scali Toronto. The joists in his house strained under groaning shelves filled with books and the stacks of magazines and catalogues that covered every available bit of floor space. He simply couldn’t bring himself to part with anything that was printed and bound. Which is a sound trait [...]
So this weasel faced bloke comes into the office and says: “ Look, I done it but I got a bang up alibi and a moody moniker.” To which some lawyers might have responded: “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that Mr. Weasel. Now let’s start again.” On receiving the disappointing news that we could either [...]
For a time my welfare was entirely in the hands of Lt. Col. A.H.G. Morle, MBE, TD, BA. Tall and reed thin, balding, with a trim gingery moustache, he might have walked off a set at Ealing Studios or sprung from the pages of an early Le Carré novel. He was the master ‘I/C’ the [...]
Until now I had thought Blood Meridian, Cormac McCarthy’s atavistic novel of men gone feral, could never be surpassed for its sheer nauseating violence. That was until I began reading Robert Fagles’ utterly engrossing translation of Homer’s The Iliad. The blind bard evokes the shattering violence of Bronze Age warfare in a way that goes [...]
Professor Eric Clemons has an article on TechCrunch. Its central premise is that the Internet is “shattering advertising”. Doctor C. is Professor of Operations and Information Management at Wharton, which frankly bodes ill for the value of his insights into advertising. Perhaps he spent 20 years at the feet of Bill Bernbach or Leo Burnett [...]
I was quaffing a few ales at Grumpy Park with a chap who runs manufacturing operations in Canada for a pharma company. He’s been interviewing “facilities management” companies. Apparently, these companies take over everything involved in simply running the buildings: mowing the lawns, buying the bog roll, hiring the overweight security guards, sourcing the sausage [...]
03 Aug
Posted by simon as Uncategorized
Shit Piss Fuck Cunt Cocksucker Motherfucker Tits This of course from George Carlin’s legendary routine Seven Words You Can Never Say on TV, a live performance of which got him arrested in Milwaukee back in the dark ages. Note the meticulous scansion, Carlin was a pro. And nearly forty years on uttering those words on [...]
“…to establish a defence on the ground of insanity, it must be clearly proved that, at the time of the committing of the act, the party accused was labouring under such a defect of reason, from disease of the mind, as not to know the nature and quality of the act he was doing; or, [...]
Here at Grumpy Park, I’ve been trying to write about the Enlightenment for a few days now – those heavy drinkers immortalised in Eric Idle’s Philosophers’ Song: “Emmanuel Kant was a real pissant…” etc. I’ve discovered that philosophy is actually quite fucking difficult – particularly when pissed – it makes brain surgery seem like, well, [...]
The only thing worse than social media cant is brand cant. Not every client is seduced by the siren call of the social media harpies, but every client has a brand. Brand cant is insidious. This bloke took a few too many hits of acid back in the day and the flashbacks just keep on [...]