My Fifth Third Rant: Inordinate Ordinal Usage

Do you get scams in your email from an operation called Fifth Third Bank? What kind of name is that? Is that some kind of Brit thing? I’ve never seen this type of double-ordinal use before, and something about it bugs the crap out of me.

I mean, which is it, a fifth of a third or a third of a fifth? I don’t really care, but it sounds wishy-washy to have both be possible. Or perhaps it is the fifth bank called “Third,” meaning I somehow missed the first through fourth Third Banks. Whatever happened to them?

For godsake, why not make the brash move and call yourself “Fourth Bank.” You might just be the first at that (if so please, spare us the verbiage of calling yourself First Fourth Bank—the first part will be understood). Only a truly self-deprecating institution with no self-esteem whatsoever would call itself Fifth Third Bank. I mean how low on the totem pole do you want to set your brands’ horizons, anyway?

Guns & Stubble: NRA Hippy Chicks Are HoT!

Have you seen the leaked NRA graphic novel about how the only thing between us and a no-meat hippy-gang-bang Armageddon is our Saturday Night Specials? I swear, the people behind this incredibly original work are just the type who are going to put genuine satirists right out of business.

How on earth is a struggling latter-day Jonathan Swift supposed to trump the outlandish crap that gets published by people who, by definition, place themselves in the “serious” column. It almost makes me want to hang up my satirists’ hat and go running, screaming into the night. I can’t even say this rant is original.

On a side note, I have to admit, I really dig the hairy legs on the hippy from hell chick on page 11. Doesn’t the NRA know that all us Burkenstock-wearin’ bitches need is a little tweaking to turn us into happy, hot-mama gun molls?

For Today’s Irony Deficient

Okay, brilliant humor lovers, here’s a true story I recommend you check out from a Brit magazine called The Oldie.

I love this piece because the irony starts in the very first instance, in the title really. I also really enjoy that it has taken a terribly unfunny topic and actually uses our natural horror to leverage the humor even more.

I can see why The Cambridge Rapist Was My Handiman took 20 years to get written and published.

Mortgage Dance Realism

Sometimes I think if I see one more idiotic dancing cowboy on my banner ad, one more silhouetted freak boogieing down because they got some cheap mortgage rate, I think I might just have to have an attack of good old-fashion moral outrage.

Is that all anyone can think of to dance about anymore? Is that all they can think of to use this incredible network called the Internet for, to make people look like a bunch of Paleolithic snot-nosed hooligans drooling over the prospect of making out on some mortgage rate? I hate to break it to you, but the bank is the one who really ought to be dancing, cowboy.

I’d like to see a mortgage ad with a big fat bald guy in a pinstripe suit getting jiggy with it after he gets one over on the cowboy, who ends up in foreclosure. Maybe we could have the cowboy swinging from his suicide noose while the banker dances around him like he’s Prince and it’s 1999.

I’d like a little more realism in my banner ads, that’s all I’m saying.