Location, location, location

Glenmore keeps sending me great jokes, and this is the latest - in the best possible taste, naturally.

I need all the jokes I can get today, , as I'm pretending to be serious: our EADIM students are doing their 6 hour certificate exam and I am supposed to be keeping an eye on them.

It's an interesting experience. The last exam I attended was at University. I walked out, bored. Silly boy.

Anyhow, here's the joke

A woman takes a lover home during the day while her husband is at work.

Her 9-year old son comes home unexpectedly, sees them and hides in the bedroom closet to watch.

The woman's husband also comes home.
She puts her lover in the closet, not realizing that the little boy is in there already.

The little boy says, 'Dark in here.'
The man says, 'Yes, it is.'
Boy: 'I have a baseball.'
Man: 'That's nice'
Boy: 'Want to buy it?'
Man: 'No, thanks.'
Boy: 'My Dad's outside.'
Man: 'OK, how much?'
Boy: '$250'

In the next few weeks, it happens again that the boy and the lover are in the closet together.

Boy: 'Dark in here.'
Man: 'Yes, it is.'
Boy: 'I have a baseball glove.'
The lover, remembering the last time,
Asks the boy, How much?'
Boy: '$750'
Man: 'Sold.'

A few days later, the Dad says to the boy, 'Grab your glove, let's go outside and have a game of catch.'

The boy says, 'I can't, I sold my baseball and my glove.'

The Dad asks, 'How much did you sell them for?'

Boy: '$1,000'

The Dad says, 'That's terrible to over charge your friends like that...that is way more than those two things cost. I'm taking you to church, to confession.'

They go to the church and the Dad makes the little boy sit in the confessional booth and closes the door.

The boy says, 'Dark in here.'

The priest says, 'Don't start that shit again;
You're in my closet now...

Guess what - advertising is going back 150 years – and am I happy!

Oh frabjous day, calloo, callay!

He chortled in his joy – Lewis Carroll

I got two VERY interesting messages in the past 48 hours..

One was about a pay by results marketing system that lets clients see clearly what they’re getting for their money – rather than whether the agency won an award.

The other was from a client who sent two ads that ran in a Sunday paper but didn't work. Could we improve them?

The answer was, “In my sleep” – but more tio the point, both messages were about measurable results. All of a sudden they are getting interesting to people who didn’t give a hoot until recently.

Contrary to rumour I am not old enough to remember the 1850’s, but in those days the clients were usually the business owners, thrilled with the power of mass advertising. They didn’t think they were in the entertainment business. They wanted ads that worked.

So if the media didn’t deliver, they were in trouble - as were the men who sold space on 15% commission, no salary. The obvious answer was to create ads for clients that did work. Thus the advertising agency business was born. Then cushy times came. People forgot. But The Prudent Toad's recession combined with the chaos in the media industry is forcing a return to reality.

This all reminds me of my dictum that it takes bad times to produce good habits - and since down in our little basement we get it right about 98% of the time, a little celebration is in order.

First, though, we must prepare the exam for last year’s www.EADIM.com students. So we're in the office this weekend instead of lollygagging down the Kings Road.

"By pains men rise to greater pains" - Francis Bacon

Tesco Medicine - another gem from the buffoon's treasury

In June and July I aged ten years and my poor editor Stephanie’s hair went white as I wrote a 40,000 word report on direct marketing for the legal profession.

One of my oldest, best friends is an eminent lawyer. He warned me.

"1. Solicitors do not understand marketing.
2. They believe they understand.
3. It is difficult to convince them of anything to the contrary."

Naturally, they HATE the idea of direct marketing - all those nasty, cheap letters, m'lud. They don’t realise the internet is direct marketing.

Relax everyone ... I'm not trying to sell you the report … but I learnt that hardly any of them measure what they get for their money. This is no surprise as it's mostly still done the old-fashioned way by judicious pressings of the flesh.

I tried to explain the folly of not measuring with an analogy.

A client comes to see you on an important matter

After listening and taking notes you say:

“You are right to have consulted us. It is not too much to say that your future depends on whether you win or lose..

I’m afraid a lot of work will be involved. We are not cheap, so will you please give me a cheque for £10,000 before we start.

By the way, there is one small problem. When the case ends we will have no idea whether we have won or lost.”

How would that client feel? Yet that is the basis on which nearly all legal marketing (and most advertising) operates.

Lawyers should start getting smarter, fast, because of what is dubbed Tesco Law - today almost anyone can get into the game. All this came to mind when Paul Truscott sent me the following.

One day, leaning on the bar, Jack says to Mike "My elbow hurts like hell. I'd better see a Doctor."

"Listen, don't waste your time," Mike replies. "There's a new diagnostic computer at Tesco. Just give it a urine sample and the computer will tell you what's wrong, and what to do about it. It takes ten seconds and only costs five quid - a lot quicker and better than a doctor and you get Tesco Club card points as well".

So Jack collects a urine sample in a small jar and takes it to Tesco.

He deposits five pounds and the computer lights up and asks for the urine sample. He pours the sample into the slot and waits. Ten seconds later, the computer ejects a printout: "You have tennis elbow. Soak your arm in warm water and avoid heavy activity. It will improve in two weeks".

That evening while thinking how amazing this new technology was, Jack began to
wonder if the computer could be fooled. He mixed some tap water, a stool sample from his dog, urine samples from his wife and daughter and the cat, and masturbated into the mixture for good measure.

Then off he hurried to Tesco, eager to see what would happen.

He stuck in his fiver, poured in his concoction, and awaited the results.

The computer printed the following:

i) Your tap water is too hard. Get a water softener.
ii) Your cat's having kittens. Get a vet
iii) Your dog has ringworm. Bathe him with anti-fungal shampoo.
iv) Your daughter has a cocaine habit. Get her into rehab.
v) Your wife is pregnant. Twins. They aren't yours. Get a lawyer.
vi) And if you don't stop playing with yourself, your elbow will never improve

Thank you for shopping at Tesco.

A few more jokes

I bet that fooled you.

You thought I was going to talk about the Demented Toad's idea of filling workhouses with teenage mothers -- but no, not yet.

I got this old faithful which still makes me laugh from my old pal Glenmore:

A firefighter was working on the fire engine outside the Fire Station.

Suddenly he noticed a little girl nearby in a little red wagon with little ladders hung off the sides, and a garden hose, tightly coiled in the middle.

The girl was wearing a firefighter's helmet. The wagon was being pulled along by her dog and her cat.

The firefighter walked over to take a closer look.

''That sure is a nice red fire truck you got there,'' the firefighter said with admiration.

''Why, thank you,'' the little girl replied.

The firefighter looked a little closer.

The girl had tied the wagon to her dog's collar and to the cat's testicles.

''Little partner,'' the firefighter said, "I don't want to tell you how to run your rig, but if you were to tie that rope around the cat's collar, I think you could go faster.''

The little girl nodded happily, ''You're probably right Mister; but then I wouldn't have a siren.''

Now that I've got you in the mood, here's something else Glenmore sent me to look at:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/google/6161567/The-20-funniest-suggestions-from-Google-Suggest.html

Hilarious!

Going back to the workhouses, do you notice a few familiar themes?

Why did the girls get pregnant?

First, because Gordon's tax and benefits system rewards illegitimacy; second, because Gordon's broken education system doesn't train them to get decent jobs; third because Gordon's magnificent economic management means there are no bloody jobs ...

That is, except for the social workers who will "supervise" all these girls. And who will pay for them you may wonder? Look in the mirror, fellow tax payer.

What's all this "we" shit about, SuperToad?

I have two good jokes for you today, gentle readers.

It is now 12 years since the Bliar promised to be tough on crime and tough on the causes of crime. Today, like a dog returning to its vomit Gordon Brown will say in his “speech” – not a real speech as he’ll be reading it - at the "New"** Labour party memorial service:

“Whenever and wherever there is anti-social behaviour we will be there to fight it.”

I assume "we" means you, Gordon, because it certainly doesn't mean me; I pay the highest taxes in Western Europe for, among other things, the police. Unfortunately, as the recent case of the poor lady who, despairing of getting help, killed herself and her daughter showed, the police say anti-social behaviour is nothing to do with them and fail to act accordingly.

Come to think of it, it's becoming less and less clear what is their business - another terrorised lady was told the police wouldn’t come because it would “escalate the problem.” For whom? But then again, there's only so much time you can spare from seeking out politically incorrect crimes and filling in forms.

So glad. then, that you're taking time off from saving the world, Gordon, to sort out this small problem. Should be a piece of piss for you.

Anyhow, now we’re in the legal front, a slice of life from my pal Malcolm Auld in Sydney.

A lawyer arrived home late, after a very tough day trying to get a stay of execution for a client facing the death sentence. His last minute plea for clemency had failed and he was feeling worn out and depressed.

As soon as he walked through the door his wife started on him, 'What time of night is this to be getting back? Where have you been? Dinner is cold and I'm not reheating it'. And on and on and on.

Too shattered to play his usual role in this familiar ritual, he poured himself a shot of whiskey and headed off for a long, hot soak in the bath, pursued by the usual sarcastic remarks as he dragged himself up the stairs.

While he was in the bath, the phone rang. The wife answered and was told that her husband's client, James Wright, had been granted a stay of execution after all. Wright would not be hanged tonight.

Finally realizing what a terrible day he must have had, she decided to go up stairs and give him the good news. As she opened the bathroom door, she was greeted by the sight of her husband, bent over naked, drying his legs and feet.

'They're not hanging Wright tonight,' she said.

He whirled around and screamed, 'For the love of God, woman, don't you ever stop?'

** "New" as in the "old" Labour Party but without principles.