Poetry in adverts


GiffGaff and Nationwide, I’m looking at you, you cunts.

The latest Nationwide one doesn’t even have the fucking decency to rhyme properly! Some gurning old dorris, sitting smugly in her conservatory, regaling us with a tale of how her mother gets “so excited [by football] she can’t watch it on TV any more”.

You’re not John Cooper Clarke, love. Put a sock in it and fuck off.

Apparently, the use of poetry is to “differentiate” themselves from other ads. This must be some new meaning of the word “differentiate” that I wasn’t previously aware of because, as far as I can see, they’re all fucking at it.

These adverts don’t make me want to buy into the product, they just stir in me an overwhelming desire to eviscerate both the hipster cunt who came up with the idea and the pointless waste of DNA who’s performing it. Nationwide even took their cuntitude to new heights and set poetry to music (although I use both words in their loosest possible senses) with the egregious Flo & Joan.

Maybe I’m an old cunt but I think adverts have gone downhill since the pinnacle of “Are you open Yeti?”

– https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRo2X9jrFi8

nominated by, Thirkleby Spunktrumpet


93 thoughts on “Poetry in adverts

  1. I was delighted when I heard those annoying Cunts from the Nationwide adverts were receiving death threats, it made me realise I’m not the only sane person in the world.

    Only yesterday did I have the misfortune to see this utter pile of cunt.


    Anyway I’ve decided I’m going to find out who fucking signed the cheque for this utter cunt and see if I can interest them in buying some magic beans.

    I’ve got fucking loads of them.

    Oh and Audi and Money Supermarket can get fucked too.

    Wankers using TV theme tunes from the 70’s in an attempt to appeal to people in the 40’s / 50’s.

    Actually fuck ‘em all

    • Co compare and paddy power adverts are also a pile of wank. The Nationwide ‘singing sisters’ also make my skin crawl. Mo Farah ads are also a cunt. If that skinny streak of piss came crashing through my wall he’d be getting a bloody good pasting.

  2. My Poem. by Freddie class 7c

    Sir Vincent Cable

    You ain’t able

    To hide your Euros under the table

    You masturbator

    You fucking traitor

    Fuck off, cunt !

    I thank you

    • Brilliant stuff Freddie, Wordsworth, Elliot, Larkin et al who needs then when we’ve got Freddie.

    • Freddie ….

      I have a tear in my eye, a lump in my throat and a warm feeling in my chest…

      … but that might just be the cholesterol.

      Either way, bra-fuckin-vo dude. …

      • I have to cunt some annoying singing bint who advertises some payment method…

        “I’m nit much of a celebtidee, but I’m the girl that does the x that fucks the y that buggers the thingummyjig”
        Or gross moral cuntitude to that effect.
        It sounds like it could be that unfunny, twee, self-righteous Julie Walters singing it.

        Verily, the sound doth make my eardrums defecate.

        But a plus point on the box tonight – 2 hours of Midsomer Murders, with Caroline Langrishe AND Maggie O’Neill. In the same episode. Double-fappy.
        Two beauties who can still scorch…

      • A love triangle between them and Rosemarie “what’s on the board miss” Ford …
        Except none of them get killed.
        They just settle their differences by wrestling naked in jelly….
        Or curry sauce …

    • Excellent ionic pentamator Sir..

      On a minor note you forgot to include the fact that “Sir” Vince smells of Shit….

  3. That fucking advert boils my piss like ,and not just the poetry crap
    What gets me is that cabal of corrupt criminal bastards are actually trying to come across as a family business and your feelings matter pish……. all while rigging libor rate and selling debts that would never be repaid.

    the greatest scandal in the last 10 years worldwide was the con trick played by governments who convinced us that private debt of the banks should become public debt to keep the system going.Tthat was private fucking debt dumped onto the public purse , then banks like RBOS take a massive taxpayer loan to keep the doors open then charge you interest on your mortgage or loan to pay back your fucking taxpayer money in the first place

    Utter cunts

    Remoaning bastards have no problem blaming us for a slight blip in GDP in 2016 but didnt care when the banks slid us off a cliff in 2008 ? strange….

  4. These fucking ads
    are utter shite
    they have no class they have no bite
    they fucking grate
    and make you bored
    the answer is to only watch what you record
    No fucking ads
    x 32
    the cunts fly past
    without a view
    evidently better for you

    with apologies to Mr Cooper-Clark

  5. There was a young Gay called daley
    Who preferred getting it anally
    He likes ring-bashing
    I think he needs thrashing
    Now he’s going to be a father
    When I’d much rather…..
    He was charged with outraging public decency,moral turpitude,spreading disease,questionable intentions,defying nature,flouncing in public,bumfoolery,public gayification and general silliness.

    Seem to have lost the scan slightly on the last line.

    • Nothing wrong with that artful piece Dick. Much better than most of the crap I had to endure when I was attempting the poetical art.
      But when a poem about wanking in the woods became the new bench mark I realised that I was not of the mindset to appreciate poetry about wanking and upset all those who rather liked the climax of poem so to speak. My attempts ended there and then one good thing came of this bollocks my transformation into an anti social bastard accelerated.

      • Aaaah…the “bench mark.”
        I wondered what the white stains were, didn’t look like pigeon guano…

    • It’s OK Dick, it happens to all great artists. Personally, I can’t wait for your “angry young man ” period.
      Good afternoon.

    • Fucking state of that cunt Reg Dwight at yesterdays multi cultural festival of cunts. Must be either a scientific breakthrough that saw fat lad give birth via his anal canal or some cunt had it in for him but those 2 poor fucking kids of his will be shielded from reality for the rest of their unnatural lives. Having a Daddy and Daddy not only sounds wrong it sounds vomit inducing.
      Channel 4 news got in on it with the multicultural thing interviewing 2 blambos who saw no reason to celebrate that a lot of spear chuckers and ungrateful mud coloured cunts were able to celebrate Harry’s nuptials. A blambo choir, blambos on the “invited” guest list and blambos in the crowd celebrating not the wedding – oh fucking no – just celebrating the fact that blambos and people of colour appreciated a half chat marrying a prince and polluting our blood line with another generation of mud coloured cunts. Fucking glad I am nearer the exit door than the entry door. Count Kalergi and Soros would approve that their plan for an easily manageable continent of mud coloured subservient easily manipulated hotch potch of cunts is well underway.

      • I think the the look on Her Majs face for most of the show summed it up really.

        I suspect that she advised the ginger spawn of Hewitt to take out a pre-nup, cos sure as eggs is eggs that gold dinging, agenda setting ‘actress’ will have her mind on a big celeb style divorce in a year or three.

      • By the way, I meant the Elizabeth HRH, not the other fat tub o lard mincing queen you refer to Cunto!

      • Ha, I was on point Leonardo and you are spot on. Our Liz looked as happy as a kid being baby sat by Jimmy Savile and Gary Glitter 😉

  6. The only poetry in an advert I ever liked was that Reebok advert where the giant belly was chasing the jogger. It’s the closest an advert has ever come to deservedly and blatantly cunting the lazy fat arse public.

  7. The ad for nationwide with the reject Greenham Common lezzer looking old tabby gets right up my snotter, i hate that working class warrior bollocks she spouts , very leftie right on crap Jo Bell i think her name is, bell end is more appropriate.

  8. Off topic I know, but I need urgent help with the sick cunts licking shit from the newly wed fucks, i simply couldn’t give a fuck her dress her ring her hair etc etc cunts the lot , I’m not enriched by another half bat in the country I’m paying for the cunt and now junior Hewit is retiring in his 30s we will pay that useless cunt as well . Can we not just get back to regular news which we enjoy the zoo in London that’s killing each other the fucking cunts

    • I think she has a massively high opinion of herself, being a b-list half-bake, reaching across the divide and bringing the Royal Family into the 21st century as the cunting media love to dress it up as.

      There will be a honeymoon period,no not ginger pubes getting his end away somewhere exotic at our expense but with the public. Except for fawning limp dicked cretins the public will get sick and tired pretty quick with continuous crusades on wimminz rights, mental heath bollocks or skinny ebola ridden Africunts on their latest humanitarian fuck up.

      • They didn’t get tired of fucking Lady Died, did they?

        Not that I took any notice, except for the irritating fact she always seemed to be on the news and front pages of every cunt newspaper and magazine whenever I went into Sainsbury’s for a nice piece of broccoli or summat.

        When she snuffed it my dad said “good riddance” which I thought at the time was a bit harsh, but having grown older and wiser realise he was spot on.

        Now we’re about to get Lady Died on steroids!

      • When Lady Died died there was, I remember, wall-to-wall coverage of the heartbroken numpty population depositing acres of flowers and tributes and candles across London.

        But not across Oban, Argyll, nearest town to where her mother lived, and where she was well-known. Nothing, zilch, diddly-squat. Not a wet eye in the place. No-one gave a flying fuck. And Oban wasn’t hugely nationalist/republican. I was there. This is a FACT.

        Go figure.

    • Let’s get back on topic…

      Roses are red
      and diamonds do sparkle.
      That ginger cunt Harry
      wed that half breed Markle

      The end.

    • I watched the ceremony, that was enough for me. Now we have endure Sly news going on and on about every fucking detail. ENOUGH NOW YOU TEDIOUS CUNTS !!!!

  9. At least they’re not as bad as those god awful GoCompare adverts. Shame they discontinued the advertising campaign showing the singing cunt getting a ball kicked at his stomach by Stuart Pearce. Come to think of it, Nationwide seemed to scrap those fucking shit adverts with the two sisters fairly quickly…

  10. The cunt of all adverts is way fair . I mean really a stupid Scot who lets be fair would blow a immigrant live on TV for cash Lorraine Kelly u can’t dance I think you need a good wash with a yard broom and a hose pipe you ugly fat cunt

  11. My New Poem. By Freddie class7c

    Frank Maloney

    You fucking phoney

    You look like Cherie, the wife of Tony

    Your legs are hairy

    You fucking fairy

    Fuck off, cunt

    I got sent home from school for this one. Hate speech they said. Wankers.

  12. el-Beeb’s been plugging it for years. Well, it’s been plugging stream-of – consciousness, rhyme-free, scan-free, bollocks written by persons with tin ears and the belief that being interesting is not a priority. By townies who have spent a day in the cuntry and think that qualifies them to enthuse about it interminably. By persons who have mislaid a sock and are experiencing tragic angst. By cunts who borrow words from science without having a clue what they mean, and jemmy them into some limp generalisation on the human condition.

    And then feel obliged to explain it at length (eg) –


    Anyone managing a scanned, rhymed line or two is well ahead of contemporary poet cunts. Although advertisers are generally cunts in their own right.

  13. Talking about poetry, that Benjamin zepphaniah, or whatever his silly name is, is a racist Jew hating race baiting uber cunt.

  14. also that Zoe Ball show on ITV today had a beached whale, (Martinne Mcucheon) and some dyed hair limp wristed shirt lifting poof. Fucking terrible. Nearly called the Samaritans……

  15. Just been hearing about some cunts called Survivors Against Terror. These are survivors and relatives of the victims of the Manchester bombing. What do they want?
    They want us all to stop hating because “hatred causes terrorism”. Fucking virtue signalling simplistic wankers. Guess who is leading the way?
    Publicity hungry, well known charidee worker and sex pest, St. Brendan of Cox.
    I feel fucking sick.

    • That’s nearly as vacuous as the sermon of platitudes performed by cunt Michael Curry at the ‘wedding of the millennium’ yesterday, like a John Lennon ‘Imagine’ 12″ megamix on acid…

      • Should hasten the end of the CofE, anyway. Heard a fragment on the news; the man appeared to be raving. Shouts from the audience of ‘Wooo! Halleluja! Yeah! Lordy!’ etc were thankfully absent, though – small mercies. A disgraceful exhibition, and I am sorry that the ‘piskies have not only sunk to this grandstanding, self-indulgent, religiosity, but seem hell (sic)-bent on inflicting it on the parent church.

        And I’m not even a believer.

  16. Poetry and I are not happy bedfellows.

    Limericks were great as wee’an cos they made me laugh. We didn’t do much in junior school.

    Enter high school. Jesus!

    Enter Wilfred Owen, Rupert Brooke, Spike Milligan (some cheery tome about abortion), and some cunt Alan Brownjohn waffling on about rabbits.

    Nah, not for me.

    At that time I was heavily steeped in logic and I liked stuff to make sense – common sense (a thread throughout my life) – and this shit made no fucking sense.

    So basically Owen and Brooke disapproved of war. So fucking say you disapprove of war!

    You disapprove of abortion, just say it, cunt!

    And rabbits for fuck’s sake! If you think the planet is doomed through resource stripping and deforestation, etc., THEN FUCKING SAY IT YOU CUNT!

    Poetry is an excuse to use a few hundred words where 5 would do. Japanese Haiku is about as close as it gets.

    An utterly pointless medium of nothingness and the cunt English teacher who taught it used to lace into me with terms like “idiot”, “dullard”, “philistine” – terms that wouldn’t be allowed in flake-central schools these days – in which I basked in them because the following week it would be a nice shiny ‘A’ when we did grammar, i.e., the important part of English, which is now a dirty word (probably waycist to the likes of Lammy and Abbott too) in the land of text-speak and TwitterMongs!

    Fuck them. Fuck my cunt English teacher, and fuck poetry! Just say what you mean in plain English and save the rest of humanity decades, if not centuries of debating and trying to work out what the fuck you were trying to say!

    You vague poet CUNTS!

      • Who gives a fuck!

        Art is for twats who can’t do math or science!

      • That would be me then.

        I wrote a poem once, called “My Love”

        MY LOVE by Ruff Tuff Creampuff (aged 19)

        Wider than the widest
        Smoother than pus on roller skates
        More better than what you got
        Institutionally black and treacle drops.

        Yes, she was my one true love. She had eyelids that would flap if you blew in her face. She had elastic gums with blue spots on them. One jaw longer than the other sometimes, and flaps for tits. I would lie with her in my arms, her neck entwined around the piano and sing:

        Oh Lucy my love
        Lucy my dear
        I think you’re so special
        And you drink all my beer.

        I’ll love you tomorrow
        And evermore too,
        But as for today
        Bye bye, toddle-oo.

        As I sang she turned into a tin of green gloss paint without a lid and crawled into a cinema, and I haven’t seen her since Christmas.

      • Surreal. Have you been out in the sun today by any chance Ruff Tuff?

      • @Dick Fiddler

        I think so. It was, after all, written over 45 years ago, so should be ok by now. Thank you for your kind concern.

        @Willie Stroker

        How did you know? As a matter of fact I’ve been lugging heavy logs all day from one end of my neighbour’s garden to the other. My reward? One glass of water.

        “No good deed goes unpunished”.

      • Art is frequently a four-letter word, the initial “F” being silent.

        There now follows a limerick about a famous advertising footballer…

        Gary Lineker is a fucking arsehole cunt
        Gary Lineker is a total waste of space cunt
        Gary Lineker, the lad who does the crisp ads bollocks
        Oh Christ, isn’t he a stupid mong ? bollocks
        Fuck off and do one Lineker, you arsehole cunt.

        For any snoflakes studying Eng. Lit GCSE, nb. how the line-endings rhyme as required

      • Hey Garry linicunt,
        You used to play up front.
        You hung around the goal, like a goal poaching runt.
        You’ve always been shit and Gazza too coz you’re both cunts and so are the refugees that you love so much you jug-eared cunt ….

        Sorry I trailed off there …
        Guess it doesn’t need to rhyme … that’s trendy these days though.

    • Philistine!…you’ll change your tune when you suddenly hear me reciting “The Charge of The Light Brigade” through a megaphone while hiding in your wardrobe at 3 o’clock in the morning.
      You’ll truly discover just how moving the spoken word can be when delivered with gusto and enthusiasm by a committed orator.

      • I could care less TBH.

        In this cuntry we are allegedly crying out for doctors and scientists which is why we need all of the Calais jungle cunts and EuroTrash over here cos they’re all doctors and scientists aren’t they!

        In this cuntry you have cunts lorded over for slicing a Tiger Shark into pieces and putting it into a formaldehyde filled glass case.

        Woooooo! Way to go on curing pancreatic cancer!

        Then you have these lickspittle poet twats spouting bilge (and nowadays mostly about how bad Brexit is, how bad men are and how bad white people are).

        Woooooo! No doubt the dementia patients are lapping it all up!

        Here’s the reality: we need more UK born and bred doctors, nurses and scientists to work in UK medical and scientific establishments rather than having to depend on all and Sundry from around the world (depriving those countries of THEIR own) and I could solve that issue in one fell swoop. O’course it would be laughed out of parliament because it makes too much common fucking sense!

        “Art” has been the get out of jail free card for cunts who couldn’t do proper subjects at school. “No no. Wee Johnny disnae do maths but he can blow tha’ fuck oot o’ a kazoo!”

        Don’t get me wrong, I love music. Music is art and one of the most creative mediums of it but if it’s listening to Beethoven or Mozart Vs a liver transplant then – I’m afraid – both deaf-ears and VD boy are going to have to take a back seat.

        Fuck art. And double-fuck poetry. Pointless shite!

      • Cunts like that pound shop skank Tracy Emin have made a good living from their ‘art’ with her soiled bed selling four years ago for £2.5m. To the cunts who buy and indulge these deluded pricks, Dale Farm pikey camp with its mountains of old fridges, rusting cars and old mattresses must have seemed like discovering some ancient old world wonder.

      • Thinking about Emin, I should have made a display of my last three weeks’ collection of wads of bog paper and haemorrhoid cream that I had shoved up my crevice.

        Would have looked “inneresting” down at City Hall…

      • Half a league. Half a league onwards
        Cannons to the left of them volleyed and thundered
        Fuck them

        As delivered by Dick

      • The cat sat on the mat.
        It was my mat.
        It was Pat’s cat.
        I kicked the cat,
        And swore blind that I never did.
        Nobody takes liberties with me.

      • The cat shat on the mat
        It got turned into Gregg’s pasties
        and a pair of driving gloves.
        I wasn’t really a bastard
        as I up-cycled it back to
        its owners.

        That’s all my poetry for this evening, folks.
        Have to deal with Jemima Puddleduck, who is pissing absolutely everywhere…

      • Mr. Fiddler,
        In case you are discovered, do you carry an overcooked haggis about your person as self-defence ?

        That is also a presentation that would work well for Laudebleurgh’s “Les Fleurs du Mal”, I feel….

    • To be fair RWAC, I probably hate poetry nearly as much as you do.

      Btw – I would be more than happy to take up your kind offer of appointing me Minister Of Culture in your soon to be announced ISAC Shadow Cabinet.

  17. Can I cunt the elephant in the room which is the obvious take over by the establishment of the once wonderfully libertarian ‘Order order’. It is now a heavily moderated pile of shite.

  18. Utter load of cunt…
    Poetry is just rap for posh people with the downside that they’re not stabbing each other to death on a regular basis.
    Maybe someone needs to tell the rappers that the poets are “dissin” em or sumin …
    Then sit back and watch the fun…

  19. deploythesausage, you have an exceptionally brilliant idea their, my fine man. It should be prime time Saturday night TV. Get fucking rid of all that Cunt and Dick shite on ITV, all the reality crap on C4/C5, all the ‘talent’ shows on various channels, and make this the future of television. A couple of working title’s are ‘Death in the hood, ‘bro’, watcha call my bitch, and my favourite, your head or mine. GENIUS! ‘innit.

  20. His dad was some guy named Hewitt
    Some wondered if he really would do it
    Would he marry the cunt?
    Or was it a stunt?
    And how would the Queen ever get through it?


    There once was a Prince named Harry
    A half breed he wanted to marry
    Prince Phil was aghast
    It surely won’t last
    Another Princess we’ll now have to bury


    He probably won’t ever be King
    And the mongrel he loves got his ring
    But will there be malice
    As she enters the palace
    Her black ass all covered in bling


    There was a dumb cunt from the states,
    The Royal couple it is said that he hates
    So he posted his rants
    But soon shit his pants
    When they rowed him through the old Tower Gates

    😬. 💂

    • He won’t be king General… baring an Ali Snackbar incident…’The Firm’ have already taken care to breed a line of pure blue eyed Aryan snowflake lizards to fulfil that role.

      • @General

        Didn’t want you to get carried away thinking there was any possibility of a fellow virtue signalling cuntrywoman taking up residence in Buckingham Palace any time this century… unless it happened to be a peaceful, of course.

      • @Ruff

        I’m so glad. I had visions of Prince Dodi Barack Dianadre Tyrone Cromwell Hewitt-Windsor ascending to the throne.


      • @Komodo

        Perish the thought my reptilian comrade in Cuntery! The pendatic remark was directed at he of the formidable pastry.

        🍰. 🐊

    • A+ for that, General.

      With a fifth (and a touch of the sun)
      You’ve showed IsACunt how it’s done.
      Your approach is direct;
      Your rhyme-scheme correct –
      My poetic respect * you have won.

      * tricky, eh?

      • Thank you Komodo. High marks and a poem dedication and the week has just begun.


      • Thank you HBH

        No relationship to the illustrious Miss Parker. But I would be honored to have a seat at her Round Table!


  21. Random ramblings –
    If it has to be explained, it’s not art.
    If it doesn’t sound better when read aloud than prose, it’s not poetry.
    Attaching a clever title to a pile of rubbish does not make the pile of rubbish into art.
    Good art involves hard work, collector’s art doesn’t.
    100 years must elapse from the death of the artist before any meaningful assessment of his quality may be made.

  22. The boy stood on the burning deck
    His arsehole to the mast
    And didn’t move a fucking inch
    ‘Til Oscar Wilde was past
    But Oscar was a wily cunt and threw the lad a fritter
    And when he stooped to pick it up,
    He rammed it up his shitter.

    Further verses involving lighters, Samantha Janus, parcels and plectrums are available for a small charge (C4 springs to mind).

    Poets, a bunch of cunts

  23. The boy stood on the burning deck his pocket full of crackers,
    One went up his trouser leg, & paralysed his knackers.

  24. Aunty Nelly showed her belly
    To the congregation
    The end-effect was nobs erect
    And rampant masturbation

    © Blubby & Binny 1999 (The only poetry worth reading)

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