Aaah, the disclaimer. It's the professional equivalent of crossing your fingers behind your back, and I'm all bloody for them.
With a disclaimer, you can pretty much sell Gummi Napalm as long as, somewhere on the packaging, you print "Consumption of this product may cause spontaneous bleeding from the spleen and a slight metallic aftertaste". It's like a get-out-of-litigation-free card. Its sa-weet.
I want disclaimers to keep getting more and more ubiquitous and all-encompassing. I want to see them utilised more often in everyday life.
And I want every disclaimer to be read aloud to me by the guy who speaks really fast at the end of election campaign advertisements.
It may be just the mood I'm in, but for some reason all the examples of disclaimers I'd like to see that I can think of right now could quite effectively be printed on underwear:
· On mine: Objects In This Bra Are Smaller Than They May Appear.
· On those of some of the men who frequent my local: Caution. Contents May Not Be Hot.
· On undies in general: Views Expressed By This Organ Are Independent, And Not Necessarily Condoned By Management.
· On bottle-blondes: Actual Product Colour May Differ To That Represented On Box.
· And of course: May Contain Traces Of Nuts.
Phnar.
Disclaimer: Implication that the author is a brazen, underwear-obsessed harlot is implied only, and not based in fact.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
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2 comments:
Nice cogitating. How about:
These underpants have never actually belonged to Reg Grundy
I think that message would have to appear on my bra as well.
Would have thought that the bottle blondes should have been, "Box may differ from colour represented". Ha.
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