Souvenir, souvenir, que me veux-tu ? L’automne
Faisait voler la grive à travers l’air atone,
Et le soleil dardait un rayon monotone
Sur le bois jaunissant où la bise détone.
I saw a guardian article about a republican whose wife was detained by ICE without cause, he just thinks they've got to adapt what they do, he still sees it as a good idea just getting it wrong sometimes.
It's a deeper ingrained issue than one ad.
I would love to help any ad agency or nonprofit interested in trying this marketing idea. Let me know if you have any ideas on how I can share these ideas or make them better.
Most of my friends and family have historically voted for Democrats. Most of my friends in the construction industry vocally support right wing conspiracy theories. None of them watch MSNBC. The pharmacists are just as ignorant as the laborers. Nothing is more effective to me than watching the lie.
There once was a fellow from Boston
whom the humour of things was lost on
His writing was best
when he was quite depressed
kraaaaaah kraah kraaah kraaah nevermore
There once was a badger with stripes
Who had trouble deciding his type
With a turnip before him
He took to exploring
And his ass is now giving him gripes.
I actually found a very cute little hardcover book re-printing about 50 dirty limericks, in a semi serious manner. I think I shall have to post some of them.
There once was a man from Nantucket
Who used to quote lines from the poet
He'd say "Nevermore"
And whisper "Lenore"
But never would read a whole sonnet
Comments
Faisait voler la grive à travers l’air atone,
Et le soleil dardait un rayon monotone
Sur le bois jaunissant où la bise détone.
Extract from Nevermore, by Paul Verlaine
Playing short commercials during pro sports games and March Madness would be the most efficient way to find ignorant Americans.
It's a deeper ingrained issue than one ad.
There once was a fellow from Boston
whom the humour of things was lost on
His writing was best
when he was quite depressed
kraaaaaah kraah kraaah kraaah nevermore
oops sorry, old habit
Who had trouble deciding his type
With a turnip before him
He took to exploring
And his ass is now giving him gripes.
Who mourned his lost Leno'
As he sat alone weeping
And remembered her sleeping
Quoth the raven, "Nevermo'"
Who used to quote lines from the poet
He'd say "Nevermore"
And whisper "Lenore"
But never would read a whole sonnet