In the advert universe, life insurance takes priority over breathing, men laugh at thin air, and kids wipe their arses properly. This is not the world we live in.
If these adverts are representative of real life in any way whatsoever, then I am doing my life wrong. My life includes none of the following exchanges. To be fair, my life mostly consists of watching QVC and trying not to eat lard straight out of the packet.
Anyway, I've rewritten these adverts and given them a touch of gritty realism, since that's so fucking trendy right now.
I don't know the man's name; for the purposes of this article, let's call him Julian Assange.
Julian Assange: (dials number, scratches his balls while waiting)
Robot: “Welcome to Smart Life Insurance. Please press 748503893842375675598948## on your keypad now.”
JA: “Wait, what was that?”
Robot: “To help direct you to the right department, please clearly state the service you are calling about.”
JA: “Life insurance.”
Robot: “Sorry, I didn't catch that. Please clearly state the service you are calling about.”
JA: “LIFE. INSURANCE.”
Robot: “Did you say 'Landlord insurance'?
Robot: “Please clearly state the service you are calling about.”
JA: (jabs at random keys on keypad)
Robot: “Please choose from one of the following six options. For existing Smart Life Insurance customers, please press 1. For new customers, please press 2. For enquiries regarding pre-existing conditions, please press 3...”
JA: (jabs at 2. Mutters under his breath.)
Robot: “Please choose from one of the following twelve options. For enquiries regarding existing accounts, please press 1. To change your account details, please press 2. For all new quotes, please press 3...”
JA: (jabs at 3 while smoking two cigarettes at once)
Robot: “To see our great range of cover options, and to get a quote, please visit our website, at www.smartlife.com. Thank you for calling.
(Phone goes dead. JA kills self without life insurance.)
Let's call the two women Beyonce and Shaniq'ua.
Beyonce: “I still can't believe Jane got shagged to death by that horse.”
Shaniq'ua: “Yeah but it was her own fault really, the dirty bitch.”
Beyonce: “She had life insurance though, so her husband fucked off to the Algarve.”
Shaniq'ua: “Wow, lucky bastard. Maybe I should get some life insurance.”
Beyonce: “Oh I can't be fucked with all that. I'm getting this plant. Are you ready to go?”
Shaniq'ua: “Yeah, Loose Women is on in a bit.”
(Beyonce and Shaniq'ua leave the garden centre to find their husbands sat on a bench)
Husband 1: “She's bought another fucking plant.”
Husband 2: “She'll expect you to start dicking about in the garden now.”
Husband 1: “I'll put weedkiller on the fucker while she's at bingo.”
(Husbands laugh hysterically)
Adult: “How clean do you feel after using Andrex toilet tissue?”
Kid 1: (sticks finger up nose) “What?”
Kid 2: (starts crying)
Kid 3: “Miss my sock's coming off!”
Adult: “Not now, first we have to talk about Andrex.”
Kid 3: (starts crying)
Adult: “Look, you know how you feel better after you've wiped your bum?”
Kid 1: “Miss! I've done a wee!”
(Kid 2 and Kid 3 hop around Kid 1, going “Errrrrrrrrr!”)
Adult: “LOOK WILL YOU JUST SAY SOMETHING ABOUT FUCKING ANDREX!”
(All kids stop crying and stare at Adult, open mouthed.)
Kid 2: “Miss, you said a bad word.”
(Adult starts crying)
Passengers: (incoherent screaming for 10 minutes)
(Taxi ploughs through a pile of empty boxes in the middle of the road)
Taxi driver: “LISTEN UP! THERE'S A BOMB IN THIS TAXI! IF WE GO UNDER 247MPH THE BOMB WILL GO OFF!”
Passengers: (incoherent screaming for 20 minutes)
(Taxi driver gets under the taxi and disarms the bomb, while still driving the taxi, and the taxi screeches to a halt)
Taxi driver: “£11.80 please.”
(The passengers do not give him a tip)
This is more realistic than the advert, which is made of piss.
Apart from the chicken nugget thing, which does have some basis in reality (LINK: http://nypost.com/2017/01/12/student-holds-gun-to-girls-head-over-chicken-nuggets/ ), this would never happen. A pair of bitches get stuck in a lift? Here's how that conversation goes:
Bitch 1: “...”
Bitch 2: “...”
Bitch 1: “...”
Bitch 2: (coughs) “...”
Bitch 1: (gives Bitch 2 an evil look) “...”
Bitch 2: “...”
Bitch 1: (farts) “...”
Bitch 2: (pretends to be deaf and have no sense of smell) “...”
The Man: “Lift's working.”
Bitch 1 & 2: “Yeah, ta.”
Bitch 1, Bitch 2, and The Man never cross paths ever again.
Reality: First of all, he doesn't fucking move in with her in the first place, because she's clearly going to murder him for his money. But let's just suppose, for arguments sake, that he has an IQ of 3, and that she gives really good head. Let's call them Donald and Hillary.
Donald: “Where do you want this box of other men's phone numbers putting, my angel?”
Hillary: “In my bedroom, you idiot.”
Donald: “Don't you mean 'our bedroom', oh light of my life?”
Hillary: “Just fuck off. And then clean my shoes again.”
(Donald starts to leave, looking dejected)
Hillary: “Oh, I almost forgot...”
(Donald turns round. There is new hope in his eyes.)
Hillary: “You need to get life insurance. Now. This second. No, I didn't say you could put that box down! You've got two arms haven't you? Curses, must I do everything myself?”
Donald: “Ok, whatever you say dear.”
(Donald makes call and insures his lifeless corpse for £250,000 with one hand, while holding Hillary's box with the other. And crying a bit.)
Hillary. “Good. Now that's all sorted, you may leave. I've run you a bath, and I've even put the toaster in it for you, because I know you like toast.”
Donald: “You're so good to me. I love you.”
(Hillary gets £250,000 without having to meet Noel Edmonds)