Why I Hate Facebook Ads

Maybe I get irked too easily.

You know those ads that you see when you’re using Facebook? They always seem to be so tailored; it often feels like Mr Facebook himself is looking over your shoulder.

I’m especially bothered by the ads that start delving into your personal life and exploiting your insecurities.

Why am I being offered penis-extension services? I’ve now developed a complex. Did Facebook examine my beach holiday photos and decided that my bulge just didn’t make the cut?

Two days ago Facebook displayed an ad saying “Jeffro, are you tired of having so few friends?”. Thanks guys.

Yesterday I was greeted with a Facebook ad that said “Finally, it’s time to lose that beer gut”.

Today the first Facebook ad I saw said “Find out if you were adopted – the easy way”.

What’s next, ads that say: “You ugly, lonely, fat excuse of a man. Buy the Ab-Man 4000 for rock hard abs today. We know you can afford it because you listed your job title and company.”

I think the creator of Facebook was bullied at school… I guess this is his way of hitting back and cyber-bullying every person in the western world.

Advertising 101 teaches building trust and rapport with your target demographic.

Facebook’s advertising policy is simple: Abuse the hell out of your subscribers, shatter their self esteem and hope they buy your advertisers products before they have a bath and plug the hair-dryer in.

And it’s not just Facebook; even my emails  intelligently invade my personal space somehow.

I sent an email to a good mate of mine, complaining about my over-bearing mother. Gmail (the cheeky-buggers) kindly displayed an ad next to my sent email entitled “Professional hit-man for hire. Great rates, 100% effective.”

Add comment August 22, 2009

5 Things I Miss About London

OK, so I’m getting sentimental here, but I really do miss living in London.

The Brits have it good, although though they do love a good moan about the weather, the tube, their cricket team, the price of mince meat, newspapers with ink that rubs off in your hands, the fact that a weird-looking Australian tried to encourage fellow passengers on the 214 bus to get involved in a GreenDay sing-a-long at 7pm on a Friday evening on the way home from Sainsburys.

In fact, I frequently tell all my Brit mates that the UK is so great, that I consider it the second-best country in the world. For some reason, they’ve never appreciated this compliment. Ungrateful bastards.

So, in no particular order, here’s my list of the 5 things I miss the most about London.

1. Dunnyman. A uniquely British creation, Dunnyman (or the female equivalent – Dunnymole) is the lovable ‘attendent’ that dispenses handroll, after-shave, condoms, women-advice and philosphical mantras in the pub toilet. He is well dressed, welcomes everyone with the stock-standard  ‘Freshen up boss!’ greeting, and is almost always from a war-torn or famine-afflicted nation. Despite working in barely-tolerable, unhygienic conditions and copping daily abuse from drunk arrogant punters, Dunnyman is always smiling. I thought Sydney taxi-drivers copped a handful taking my mates home on a Saturday night….I’ve finally found someone with a thicker skin – Dunnyman.

2. Fried Chicken Joints. On every street corner in London, there is a fried chicken joint selling £1 fried chicken pieces, deep-fried in month-old vegetable oil. They’re a cornerstone of the British diet, and have been around for centuries. During the Victorian era, London town-planners laid out the city in such a way that every pub would be no more than a 50m stagger from a FCJ. However, the typical modern-British male is ashamed to frequent a FCJ, often waiting until his friends are on their way home in a cab before checking over his shoulder. In fact they’re sometimes so discreet, a casual observer would believe he’s entering an adult shop.

3. The Church. Every Sunday afternoon between 12-4pm, a “nightclub” in Kentish Town holds a massive piss-up called The Church. Completely dominated by Aussies and Kiwis, it’s a perfect excuse to end the weekend much the same way it started – drinking beer, being loud and obnoxious, eating 5 chicken pieces and a kilo of fries from a FCJ, then passing out in a cab.

4. English Accents. Don’t get me started here, I love English accents. OK, let me distinguish for a minute – I’m not talking about the chav accents from South Ruislip that sound rather like down-syndrome strawberry farmers. “O’ight geezer, giv’us one of ya fags love… innit”. Instead, I’m referring to the educated public-school London accents that you hear everywhere. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit (and please don’t tell my mum) – posh female English accents give me the horn. Often I’d re-check my voice-messages just to hear the lovely Buckinghamshire Vodafone lady tell me that I have no new messages.

5. Apathy Towards Terrorism. While the rest of the world is cowering in fear at the thought of mass-murder on their public transport systems, the Brits simply don’t care. During my first week in London in mid-2005, bombs went off on buses and trains all around central London. The locals simply carried on their day-to-day business without even blinking. I thought what a crazy place to live, no one seems to mind!

Vehicles manufactured in Korea are often inferior in quality.

Vehicles manufactured in Korea are often of inferior quality.

Me: How was your day mate?

English Friend: Yeah was fine old chap, but the tube was delayed because a bomb went off on the Piccadilly Line…I wish the London Underground would just get their act together and stop making excuses.

Me: So you honestly don’t mind all these bombs going off. What would you do if a suicide bomber sat opposite you on the tube?

English Friend: I wouldn’t care. Well, as long as he doesn’t try and start a conversation with me.

2 comments July 23, 2009

My 3am Blog Post

It’s 3am in Sydney and I can’t sleep.

Predictable really, considering that I’ve touched more timezones than the swine-flu in the last 24 hours.

Apologies in advance, as this will probably be my dullest post ever. I’m using you (the reader) as a selfish means to get to sleep. I’m hoping the act of blogging will exhaust me to slumber, rather like the midnight quickie.

Hey, at least I’m being up-front an honest.

Although I must admit, blogging does engage the creative juices a lot more – sorry to all the romanticists out there.

And you have to use your fingers a lot more when you type.

When trying to sleep earlier tonight, I attempted all the usual. Unfortunately, all made my mind more active and alert.

1. Counting sheep – but then I thought of lamb kebabs and became hungry.

2. Counting backwards from 100 – but once I reached 0, I had a crisis. What now? Do I go back up to 100? Or do I go into the minus numbers? Or should I do it again but count backwards in roman numerals?

3. Staring up at the black ceiling until my eyes fell drowsy – but my hyper-active mind started visualising dark shapes moving around on the ceiling and I freaked out. Were they cockroaches? Or a weird alien blob life-form that breeds on the ceilings of Bondi apartments?

4. Writing down my thoughts – which is what I’m currently doing, electronically. Hence, the reason for this post.

Well, I’m going to give it another crack, after all I have to be in the office in 5 hours to read my expected 300 new emails from the past 2 weeks. I’ll make the next post more interesting, promise.

Add comment July 23, 2009

Malaysian Bidets

I’m currently in transit in Kuala Lumpa airport, on the way to London.

I just had a rather traumatic experience involving the Malaysian version of a bidet, and don’t have an outlet to express my emotions as my phone isn’t working. So, I’ll blog about it instead.

It’s actually an extendible hose that sits next to the toilet bowl. As I considered myself rather inexperienced in Malaysian-extensible-bidet-use, thought I’d give it a go. I’m always willing to give new things a try.

I’m a germ-o-phobe. As I reached for the extensible bidet black hose, my thoughts immediately imagined thousands of unwashed grotty man-hands fondling this hose.

I picked it up gingerly with two fingers, lowered it beneath me, and turned the hose on.

There should we warning signs on the back of every toilet door in Malaysia.

These bad-boy bidets should be rolled out next time there are bushfires in Victoria. It’s completely unnecessary for a bidet to be as powerful as a Super Soaker 3000 XD. Bums weren’t invented to stand that kind of abuse.

Not only will I be farting out spurts of clear water every hour for the next 13 hours to London, but I also managed to squirt water all down my trousers and jeans.

To make it worse, my jeans around my ankles had soaked up all the shitty-pissy-water that had accumulated on the toilet floor.

Not happy Jan. I can hear my boarding call now…

Add comment July 9, 2009

Nicknames

Numerous nicknames abound throughout the extended circle of people I know.

From variations of actual names: Davo, Kenno, Robbo, Rossco, Moose, Gazza…

To nicknames that appear to have no justification behind them:
Penny-Trayshun, Hands, Damage, Britney, Feltcher, Psycho Jimmi, Water-Dreams, Scrubber …

From nicknames with multiple syllables:
Wolfgang-Puck-The-19th-Best-Chef-in-the-World (seriously, that’s how he introduces himself to women)…

To monosyllabic names that could be potentially offensive: Coon…

From nicknames derived from personality traits of that person: Poof, Pommy Tom, Kiwi-Pete, Easy, Cuddles…

To nicknames derived from physical characteristics: Skin-Footies, Midget, Fatboy, Shilpa, Billy Idol, Penis, Greg Da Pedo…

Of all the above people, only Greg Da Pedo (Greg) has consistently resisted adaptation of the nickname, despite my persistence over the last 3 years.

He has never been happy about the name, which of course encouraged the name to stick. When we worked together, I was even tempted at one point to introduce him to new clients as ‘Greg Da Pedo’.

The story about how this nickname came about is as follows. A few years ago, our company had a client that held a competition to find the “grizzliest man” in Britain. Users had to submit their most macho picture of themselves and a short description as to why they are Britain’s grizzliest man. The winner received a fridge full of meat.

Greg’s entry description was this: “I should win this competition because I have both extreme intelligence and a muscular physique. “

He submitted this photo. I AM NOT KIDDING.

ACTUAL PHOTO

ACTUAL PHOTO

When I saw his submission, the immediate dialogue that followed between us went something like this. (When imagining this conversation, remember that Greg has a well educated, upper-class English accent)

Jeffro “Are you fucking serious, THAT’S the picture you’re submitting?”

Greg “Yes”

Jeffro “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”

Greg “Jeffrey, I really do not understand why you find this picture so amusing”

Jeffro “Mate…in this picture you look like… a sex offender! You resemble a cross between a Boys2Men member and a young Gary-Glitter!”

Greg “I most certainly do not”

Jeffro “You do! It’s bloody hilarious! Ooh stay away from me, I don’t want to be associated with a criminal! You look like either a rapist or a pedophile. So do you like tweens or teens?”

Greg “I find this all a bunch of nonsense. You can be rather immature sometimes”

Jeffro “HAHAHA!!!! I bet you like them immature!!”

Greg “That’s not funny”

Jeffro “Do you know how you always wanted an Australian nickname? Well your nickname can be called Greg The Pedophile!”

Greg “Do not call me that name”

Jeffro “What’s wrong with Greg The Pedophile? It’s an awesome name! You could shorten it to Greg Da Pedo, or even GDP! Yeah!! GDP is IN DA HOUSE!!”

Greg “I really do not appreciate being called a pedophile. It’s insulting and degrading”

Jeffro “Is it seriously bothering you?”

Greg “Yes, how would you like to be called Jeffro Da Pedo?”

Jeffro “I’d actually think it’d be really cool. OK if it really bothers you, I’ll give you two options. You can be called Greg Da Pedo or…..Greg Da Rapist. They both have a nice ring to them”

Greg “I honestly prefer neither of those names”

Jeffro “Too bad, it’s GDP. It even has lyrical potential: ‘They call me GDP – I’m a badass dude. I need small kiddies more than I need food.‘”

Greg “I hate that”

Jeffro “HEY EVERYBODY, COME AND CHECK OUT GREG’S COMPETITION SUBMISSION!!!”

And from that day on, the name stuck.

7 comments June 5, 2009

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