Deodorants targeted at adolescent males
The Advertising: The scent of this deodorant/cologne renders you irresistible to the women-folk!
The Reality: Guys, it’s cologne in a can. A pungent bouquet of toilet spray and Greek lothario with top notes of Dollar Store. Male teenage logic dictates that the more you administer, the larger the expected onslaught of pink bits. If you walk into their bedroom you can expect a toxic cloud of olfactory rape but at least it masks the scent of a hundred jizzed-in socks under the bed.
Fast food restaurants
The Advertising: Happy young families eating without crying. Buckets of chicken to SHARE. No fatties, please!
The Reality: Stoners pointing to the McDonalds menu and trying to order Grimace. Nugget-to-sauce ratio-induced rage. Lonely manatees ordering two drinks with their drive-thru to imply their $30 order will be feeding two. An outdoor play area that doubles as a vomitorium/pedophile pen. NOT ENOUGH NAPKINS. Jizz burgers.
Online Dating sites
The Advertising: If online dating ads are to be believed, all members of these sites are looking for their soulmate, would not be classified as butt-ugly, and appear to enjoy the following hobbies: Hiking for two, standing in front of the taj mahal, kissing underwater in ugly bathing suits, general smiling, waiting 5 dates before sex, and having their spontaneous romantic moments filmed.
The Reality: Where are the socially retarded rock-apes blowing in their pants under the restaurant table and the 30-something women who treat online dating like a recruitment agency for their dwindling egg supply? Portray it for what it really is – online shopping. Add awkward first date to cart. Proceed to check out (her ass, his bank balance.) No refunds (on your dignity OR the four hours of your life listening to laughter that sounded like a donkey shitting tomatoes.)
The Advertising: We have fizzy drinks!! Hooray for LIIIIIFFFE!!! Being good looking sure makes us THIRSTY! SODDDDAAAAAAAAA!!!
The Reality: Diabetes.
The Advertising: Instead of fresh-faced, flat-stomached girls playing tennis, riding horses and wearing the shit out of their skinny jeans, the accurate ad would show what REALLY goes down when Aunt Flo comes to town. Bloated, pimply chicks in sweatpants clutching hot water bottles and fistfuls of take-out menus, crying and excavating their way through litres of Haagen-Dazs. Also not represented are the poor blue-balled boyfriends being screeched at for bringing home the wrong flavor of Doritos, and their hopeful little boners wilting at the sight of the dreaded period panties.
The Reality: Trust me, the only women enjoying their periods as much as those exuberant whores in the ads are the ones who recently dealt with a broken condom.
Kids snack foods
The Advertising: Outdoorsy children who don’t know swear words and probably know what carrots look like/are for.
The Reality: Playstation-addicted brats with attention deficit disorder who shop in the ‘husky’ section. These days, snack foods aimed at kids are essentially sugar with a side of colouring. To fool parents into plying their darling little crotch-droppings with these empty-caloried bargaining devices, they are usually named/shaped to look like they were originally inspired by something plant-based, with packaging covered in shouty promises of added goodness. (‘Now with added Ritalin!’)
The Advertising: Long-haired goddesses washing their hair under waterfalls and making O-faces.
The Reality: Not once did I have an orgasm while washing my hair. Nor have flowers and fruits floated around my face. (Except for that time I ate what I suspected was a ‘stale’ brownie, and even then I wasn’t anywhere near a waterfall, I was sitting in a friend’s backyard staring at a shiny balloon string that was tied to a tree branch. For two hours. And the fruits told me things. Bad things.)