Friday, 23 March 2012

DK dishes the truth on digital advertising



My friends, there has been a lot of talk lately about this thing called 'the internet'.

Now, I'm a fucking marketing goliath with a cock the size of a baboon's arm, so not much gets past me. And I've noticed that advertising on the internet has taken off quite a bit.

I mean, obviously it'll never replace press advertising or anything! That would be fucking disastrous! But it's really becoming quite prominent all across the globally digitised interconnected world we all live in today, the future, now, tomorrow.

So, for those less plugged into the very fudgepipe of the zeitgeist, here's the DK breakdown of what digital advertising is all about.

Web advertising


On many websites, space on every page has been devoted to advertising. You might have noticed it, if you've got eyes in your head. This takes the form of spaces that are just too small to contain anything of value, impact or interest. Often, each space on the page is taken by a different advertiser, and will flash, burp, spin and thrash independently of all the rest, so that the page ends up looking like someone with epilepsy was given a pen and asked, 'Could you draw your very, very worst nightmare?'

The overall point of web advertising is to stop you looking at the web page you originally visited, because you'd only learn something or gain whatever it is you wanted to gain before you went there. The click-through rates currently run at around 0.000000000000000000000001%.

It's a great investment.

Facebook advertising


If you use Facebook (and if you do, you're a 12-year old girl, which means if you aren't a 12-year old girl, you're basically a paedophile) you will have noticed areas of it devoted to little advertisements for things that you may have mentioned in status updates or exchanges with friends. It's a very, very clever algorithm that almost reads your mind.

For instance, if you update your status with 'Just went to McDonald's', and ad for McDonald's will pop up. And if you write, 'Can't believe my wife has been fucking my brother', an ad for McDonald's will pop up. And if you write 'I would dearly love someone to contact me about the latest deals on rubberware, gimp masks and cock-plugs', an ad for McDonald's will pop up.

It's fucking spooky.


Pre-roll advertising


You know you can watch a load of telly on the internet now, don't you? Oh, fucking yes. BBC, ITV, Channel 4 - they all have loads of programmes you can watch WHEN YOU WANT! Even better, it's totally free! Apart from your broadband costs, and the license fee, and needing a computer, and all that shit.

Anyway, on commercial channels, they put ads into the on-demand videos! It's brilliant! It's JUST LIKE WATCHING ON THE TELLY! It's especially clever because you can't change channel, like you do on the telly, unless your own ad is on, obviously, because that's the only reason anyone in advertising watches ITV. So you have to sit there and take it, even though the ads are mostly as enjoyable as taking your penis, grinding it with a ball of wire wool, then smashing it into a jam-like paste with a hammer, then frying it in hot oil before smearing it directly onto your own eyeballs - all while listening to Simon Cowell read Shakespeare translated into Klingon as he gargles the contents of Louis Walsh's colostomy bag.

It's brilliant.

Mobile advertising


This is when people made of the devil's penile discharge, thousand-year old corpses, lizard sick and Hitler's piss put ads on your phone without asking you.

It's the future.




I hope that helps you all put what can be a confusing media marketplace into focus. There's no need to thank me. Actually, there fucking is.

Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!




Tuesday, 6 March 2012

Sorrell announces amazing client-fucking results



News in that Martin Sorrell's WPP group has posted some really tremendous results across his entire client-fucking corporation.

Pre-tax client-humping profits are up 18.5%, in what Sorrell called an 'outstanding' year for sucking clients dry better than a 10 grand hooker.

Across the global client-fisting group, revenue rose to £44.79billion, showing it's possible to rinse clients for work that hits new lows year on year, even when the rest of the world is clenching its arsehole tight and praying that there's enough in the kitty at the end of the month to give the kids a hot meal.

The improvement in results was a global trend. The USA knuckle-fucked its clients to the tune of £3.39billion, despite a strong dollar, while the account-bangers of Western Europe managed to reach up their clients' beleagured fudgepipes and yank out £2.51billion - 7.7% up on 2010, when clients' ringholes were already more tattered than a paper bag in a McDonald's car park.

Overall, the results bode well for other client-reaming organisations, perhaps signaling an era of rising profits across the whole client-screwing, client-shafting, client-felching and client-doinking sectors.

More client-balling news as I have it.

Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT GETTING BALLED!

Friday, 2 March 2012

The ins and outs of banging your boss's wife



As I mentioned in a recent post, I have become embroiled in a personal situation which, being as frank as possible, involves me doinking the tits off of my boss's wife.

Yes. BOSS. That King Of The Cunts, Rupert Abbott, has been promoted to Executive Marketing Director, whatever the fuck that means. (The reason for his promotion, I was told, was 'in recognition of his immediate and dramatic impact on sales figures and the bottom line, as well as visible uplift in the quality of marketing'. Whatever the fuck that means.)

Anyway, I would normally have taken this news in a less-than-relaxed manner. I'd probably have gone to the Dog & Hog and drank it.

As it is, I can handle it because every time I see his smug shitpickle of a face drift through the office, I can shout, 'OI! ABBOTT, YOU FUCKING FRENCH FANCY! LAST NIGHT, I BANGED YOUR MISSUS SO HARD, SHE DISLOCATED HER TITS! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, YOU FUCKING EUNUCH?'

I mean, I don't shout that.

But I project it, with my Knockles Mind Force, so even if he's totally unaware of it, he's totally aware of it.

So, what are the benefits of bending one through the spouse of your line manager on virtually a nightly basis so that you regularly come into work with one of her pubes stuck in your teeth?

PROS


Well, the unlimited supply of doinking is a bonus under any circumstances. It's comforting for a chap to know that, on at least five occasions every week, he's going to be able to fire up the Bentley, point it down Foof Street and...like...have sex and that. (I don't think I fully committed to that metaphor. Never mind. There'll be another one along in a minute.) Given that a chap could easily devote 95% of his waking life devoted to the pursuit of doinking, a regular supply really does free up time to get things done. My house, for example, now has two clean rooms. This have never happened before.

But above, beyond and from behind that boon, the vengeful nature of the doinking adds an extra bit of spice to things. For instance, the other week, I had Abbott's wife spread over my executive leather sofa. As I expertly hammered away, I remembered every belittling comment Abbott had made that day and it contributed at least an extra 15% to my delivery. I thought, 'Have that, Abbott, you stupid sack of pig dicks!' It felt wonderful.

(Important note: never say that kind of thing. Only ever think it. I've learned that lesson.)

Finally, there's the tremendous thrill of doing something that could make you unemployed, beaten up, sued and shunned by society at any moment. As I tenderly hang out the back of Abbott's wife and bang her like a pissed-up sailor on shore leave, or fondly fist her until she punches me across the face and neck in a mixture of rapture and agony - all those intimate acts between two people in love are given an extra dimension. They're made, I don't know, a bit naughty. Which is amazing when you consider how tender and loving the acts themselves are. Burp.

Anyway, that's what it's like to slam your gaffer's wife. Frankly, I don't think I can stop.

Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!