The ad: This skull buster for the Honda Civic.
The verdict: Forget four on the floor. We've got fore-HEAD on the floor.
The ad is actually rather simple: just an eighth of a page of white with some minimal copy. You're mistakenly including the rest of the page from the special Marilyn Manson issue of Key Chain Fancy magazine.
Johnny, when the Marist Brothers find out you have the Manson issue of Key Chain Fancy -- don't you love the way he keeps his change in a sow's ear? -- you're gonna need a subscription to Flagellant Illustrated.
When you buy a Honda Civic you are automatically initiated into the Civic Cult. First they shave your head, then they pierce your ear with your car key. Finally, you commit mass suicide with all the other Civic Cult members so you can ride a spaceship into your next, more simplified, life.
Well, that explains why the Civic is available only in purple and there's this weird apple sauce cup holder attached to the glove compartment.
Coupe? Poop! That's no key to a Honda, that's the last remaining Heaven's Gater and he's got the key to that comet-trailing starship. After chowing down on Wow! chips, he was in the downstairs potty genuflecting to the goddess Olestra.
Krista, do you really think you start a starship with a key? Is there like a giant Club on the ion drive? And, by the way, if he GENUFLECTED to the goddess Olestra, he crapped on the floor.
That guy could simplify even more by getting rid of the key ring and simply carrying the key in his butt, as one would a hamster or a bottle of Chivas.
Wise guy, huh? You thought you'd get away with this by using "hamster" instead of the g-word. Don't you EVER say "hamster" around here again! Vole is OK, though, as long as you don't rhyme it with anything.
Honda is going for the nudist market. The message is, "With earlobes, who needs pockets?" And it's a closeup, since nobody wants to see where the guy keeps his wallet.
Is this why so many nudists get their driver's licenses laminated?
Looks like Mr. Clean got tapped to be this evening's designated driver.
We hope they made him wait in the car, M. You don't want to be standing next to this freak at the bar when he orders an ammonia on the rocks, it's embarrassing.
Waking from a killer hangover to the fresh morning sun, Bob (everybody who drives a Honda is named Bob) probes the recesses of his frontal lobe and his distended left lobe to recall his won't-forget-where-I-put-my-car-key spot.
Hey, Mr. Clean drives a Honda! So his first name is Bob! Bob Clean! Thanks, Christy, we always wondered about that.
In today's economy, you must shave your head and sell your hair along with your jewelry to afford the down payment on a vehicle.
You're telling us! We had to sell our mother-in-law's kidneys to a Yemeni organ trafficker, but goddammit it if we don't own a Catera.
This new fashion craze cuts down on time spent searching for Mr. Right! Now, instead of having to feign interest during the time it takes to discover his occupation and income level, one glance across a crowded bar and you'll know instantly what kind of car he drives. Just be sure to check out the other ear -- if it's padlocked he's already spoken for!
Becky, meet us at O'Malley's on 48th at 6 sharp. We'll be in the corner with the Lamborghini Diablo key hanging from our left ear. And don't be concerned about the right ear, that's just a Denver boot.
Scrunch under steering wheel in fetal position. With right ear on stick shift and nose in ashtray, insert key into ignition. Start vehicle. Drive.
And you'll do just as well as all the 90-year-old, 4-foot-6 people tooling around Florida.
His dad told him he better never get an earring or buy a foreign car, and he has to keep his hair short. So now he looks like a loser who got kicked out of basic training . . .
Loser, huh? He owns a Honda Civic, Drew. That's OWN, not lease. Plus, he's got a really nicely shaped head. You should be such a loser.
The Civic Zen Monk Brigade roams the earth, clad simply in Civic key earrings, Civic ashtray codpieces and Civic tire sandals.
Hey, Todd, what do you hold up a Civic codpiece with? Accord. Seriously, maybe Johnny can join this group now that they threw him out of Marist.
My other ear's a Porsche. Now where's my sucker?
Did you ask for a raise like this too, Shaun? And don't show your other ear to Becky, she's taken.
This is Honda's politically correct car for those without limbs or torso. In fact, the Civic is so small, this poor fellow had to shave his head to fit inside.
Yeah, and you know who just bought a new Kia? The nose from Sleeper.
It's Honda's new severed head keychain!
Who loves ya, Darren! You sound like the kind of guy who uses a human lung for a wine sack. We were going to give your lollipop to a homeless child, but he didn't know a Kojak from a Lo-Jack and we couldn't bear to see the signature sucked off. So we're keeping it. Sue us.
This Month's Contest
Win a free weekend at Nike's summer obedience camp with Gabrielle Reece!
This Midol ad gave us an Excedrin headache. "Tina was a bit peeved when Brad served up Tylenol for her menstrual pain." Brad, buried in sand: "Was it something I said?" Dog, reclining on chaise longue: "Shoulda said Midol. Duh." Tag: "Because your period's more than a pain." The copy alleges that Midol "has something extra to help bloating and fatigue" -- yeah, what? And who's Brad and why did he have to "serve up" something for Tina's pain? And why is the dog so smart? Make it that time of the month at [email protected] Contest