I particularly hate the beer adverts that make out that once you've had a Fosters you become some sort of uber-cool man who can pull any woman he wants, tell the funniest jokes, dance the best, wear the best clothes, win the pub quiz, never sleep, understand and equate Pythagorus' theorum, understand Dr Steven Hawkins, beat Usain Bolt over 100 yards giving the slowcoach a head start, beat Michael Phelps over 50 metres doing the butterfly whilst Bella Emberg holds your legs and go in for a 50/50 challenge with Steven Gerrard and break his legs!!
No!! The real advert should be something along the lines of....
A Peter Beardsley lookalike goes out for a couple of beers dressed like a cross between John Daly and Helena Bonham Carter. He's on his fourth beer - he's already sweated profusely due to his rotund stature and now smells like Chris Ryan's undercrackers after his walk out of Iraq. But, due to the effect of this God given nectar, in his own mind, he looks and feels like George Clooney. He heads off to the Pink Slipper nightclub, his demeanour is that of a man on a promise....
He arrives and hears his favourite song blearing from the sound system. It's MN8 with 'I've got a little something for ya'. That's HIS song. He takes the to dancefloor with gusto. He then proceeds to dance like Anne Widdecombe on speed fused with Stephen Fry on crack coupled with Bjork on PCP!! It's not pretty.
He returns from the dancefloor - master of all he surveys. He nailed it. People saw. They know.
His mate 'Bomber' makes the call that every true man hates - 'SHOTS'. Now he's in trouble.
10 Sambucas later and he's having an outer body experience. He can see his legs. He knows that they belong to him but, God, why can't he control them?? His stomach as well - why is it turning so??
And then....
BOSH!!
Like a North Korean test missile - it exits his mouth faster than a Top Gear test drive - all over Miss Piggy that he 'danced' with....
