This will hurt me...

I have no idea what this car is trying to say. I assume that it is some allusion to police corruption of some kind, but I don't really get it. I imagine that it is very very funny if you understand it, but I don't understand it. Another thing I don't understand is why the header on this blog is playing up. Rest assured that I am on the case and hope to have it sorted ASAP.

Crikey, check out that... [ahem] microwave . A fabulous... [ahem] idea here, microwave and conventional oven together. [Adjusts seating position.] [Ahem] The thing that I admire most about this advertisement is its use of an enormous pair of breasts subtlety .

A combination of shiny shoes and synthetic pants will always ensure that feisty woman that you have your eye on will soon have her will ground down until she obliges your every whim. Complete and utter subservience. It's what makes marriage great!

I would advise all of my dear readers to take the take, click on today's advertisment, and have a good hard think about what it says. All of this time I had thought that it was the average fighting Joes who won the Second World War. Hardcore Marines storming beaches, heroic air crews dropping bombs surrounded by flak, the oft-overlooked merchant seaman chugging away on ships dodging treacherous seas (and even deadlier) submarines the whole time simply to get life’s pure essentials (which, apparently, did not include bananas but plenty of bombs) from point A to point A . Naively – damn fool that I am – I thought that it was the fearless Soviet troops thrusting towards Berlin, the countless riveting Rosies pumping away day and night in factories, the old dears knitting socks for the care packages for the valiant lads wasting away in Colditz, and the kids who dreamed of nothing more than bayoneting some heartless Fritz or Jap until his last twitch ceased. Hell, I thought that it mi...

A week ago know I wrote of wartime propaganda and its role in recruitment drives. Now, I was bold enough then to suggest that the old “ irate guy with a bullet in his head ” approach may not be the wisest or most successful tactic. Here we can see a far more effective approach: question their manhood . The logic here is clear: if they could, girls (dirty, stinkin’ broads!) would get out there and slaughter krauts and japs all day long. Unfortunately, steadfast patriarchal structures limit the opportunities for our feminine friends to get blood on their hands. That leaves it to men . Big, tough, hairy-chested MEN to do the job. What’s that? You don’t wanna kill japs and krauts? What are ya? Some kinda fairy...?

Inspired by my post yesterday by what we should and shouldn't laugh about – or at least what we should feel guilty about laughing about – I made a comment on another site that prompted some more thought on the topic. Now I have to preface this with a statement about my sense of humour. I broadly accept the whole, "a joke is just a joke, don't get too precious about stuff" line. Indeed, I've told many an unsavoury joke and used it in defence of myself plenty of times. Also, I can't stand ultra sensitive types. These people generally bore me and appear to float about looking for something, anything , to get offended by, and thus giving themselves the opportunity to sermonise about their own moral superiority. Yet I couldn't help myself making such a comment at another website yesterday, when reading yet another angry little rant on how dreadful Hillary Clinton would be as President, and spotting an ad for a t-shirt in the side bar that the site itself appe...