Wife Beater
I saw this earlier (the copy reads: “Buy a special pack and we’ll grow a hedge in the British countryside) and muttered to myself:
“If you really want to grow a hedge in the countryside, why don’t you just go and do that, rather than making people pay for your poisonous and habit-forming liquor and then spending money trying to make them feel good about you by doing something entirely unconnected so that they’ll buy more.”
I get quite nauseously self-righteous around the middle of Sunday – it’s best to keep clear.
In the time it took to mutter (perhaps it was more of a grumble), I found myself in front of this little scene where someone had released their stomach contents, possibly as a consequence of ingesting too much of the above-mentioned liquor:
which made me think:
“No, Stella, actually, just forget the hedge shit, what I’d really like you to do is to go round personally on Saturday and Sunday mornings and clean up the puke that your product contributes to and then think a bit harder about whether printing the URL to DrinkAware on your posters is quite enough.”
I mean, really.
Right on the money.
But it’s not the puke I’m worried about – it’s all the irreparable damage and chaos in families – and even just in individuals.
Drink Aware my arse. War on drugs my arse. Generally: my arse.
More Sunday rants please.
May I suggest that they begin in Edinburgh, where puke in street corners is positively ubiquitous?