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jihadvertising?

i keep seeing this ad for tictac candies:



am i the only one who finds the suicide bomber clown at the end a little unnerving? all the nice natural things like the bunny and the [extinct] woolly mammoth and the fruit get devoured by a trying-to-appear-nonthreatening-but-obviously-psychotic clown who then blows himself up. congratulations, tictac, i think this ad has landed you on about a dozen watch lists.

oh and by the way, showing me that your product will somehow cause my stomach to explode in a rainbow of wtf makes me believe that doing consuming tictacs would be a worse dietary decision than the time i ate two raw eggs and a half a bottle of hot sauce on a dare.

armchair centre back :: finding your best boss

everything i know about bosses, i've learned from watching the premier league this year. 

it's been a long time since i posted about my love of football [soccer], possibly because i was traumatised by seeing my darlings swansea city getting mauled week after week, all the while looking like they were playing for the right to choose between being executed by guillotine or firing squad. it's been a very long season. well, half a season. suddenly, however, it doesn't seem so bad. the reason for that is very clear: carlos carvalhal. swansea's new portuguese manager is a breath of fresh air, and a complete switch from the focused and pragmatic paul clement. now, i liked paul clement, and i think that his internship at some of the best clubs in the world made him a real catch. it's just that sometimes you need to find someone who connects with your team, your people, which carlos definitely seems to have done. as the days lengthen and the weather shows some signs of…

making faces :: a winter tale

so this is it. we've reached the final season in our colour year. so far we've looked at spring, with its heart of citrus yellow, summer and its symphony of cool blues and autumn with its spicy bronzes and golds. and i'm still not sure i've found a good place to rest my face. i've chosen seasonal winners in each category, but are they really me?

it's a bit of a rhetorical question, of course, because i already had an inkling that my precocious childhood self might have been onto something when she declared herself a "winter". not that she knew what she was talking about, of course, but sometimes even fools say the right thing without meaning to. even a stopped clock tells the right time twice a day. [unless you're in europe and use a twenty-four hour clock, which actually makes a lot more sense.]

as with all the other seasons, winter is divided into three parts, the true winter at the centre, flanked by neighbours who carry a hint of the adjacent …