Cheerful bleeder that I am,
I set myself the task of
writing slogans to popularise
pastimes with a poor reputation,
along the lines of ʻIncest–
itʼs a family thingʼ, for example.
I told one of the mercenary
youth this, and they exclaimed
that I must have a lot of time on
my hands, and of course I have,
and not only time; but weʼd best
not go into that, since itʼs such a
nuisance to get off again, and it
smells quite extraordinary… but
where was I?

Here, I suppose, Iʼm usually
here, God help me.
I should say here that ʻsloganʼ
is one of those blessed words
in English that derives from an
Irish root. It was what the Irish
used to call a battle cry, the ʻcry
of the hostʼ, (or, I have heard it
said, the ʻcry of the deadʼ) ʻsluagh-
ghairmʼ– also transliterated
into Scots English as the unattractive
and now disused word
ʻslughornʼ.

I have wardrobes full of imaginary
t-shirts with these unpopular
slogans on, available for a nominal
fee. Clothes with writing all
over them are virtually compulsory
after all in the modern era.

What strikes me as most peculiar
about this modern dress-code
is that individual consumers are
expected to advertise the products
they wear, walking around
like living billboards, plastered
with the logos, names and advertising
slogans of multi-national
designer brands, so that scarcely
an inch of them remains bare of
a product endorsement.

If I made real clothes I would
forbid people as ugly and stupid
as these to buy or wear, let alone
emblazon and declare their allegiance
to my product-range in
this way: spotty, glue-infested
youths with atrocious haircuts
hardly seem to me to promote
Tommy Hilfiger (who he?) in the
way he would have chosen.

But there we are. Marketing is
a mystery to me. FOR EXAMPLE:
Why is it that those brands
which are best known and sell
most are nevertheless those most
relentlessly advertised? Ford mo.
co., Coca Coma, MacDonalds,
and so forth. But then perhaps if
they didnʼt advertise so widely
people would cease to find them
necessary, and I suppose it must
be admitted that at least they can
afford it.

I have never owned a Ford
motor car, and only once have I
bought Coca Coma, which I used
to unblock the toilet. Itʼs quite
good at that, it seems to dissolve
toilet paper, and probably other
ingredients of toilet blockage as
well, and it certainly fizzes like
hell when you pour it down the
pan.

I was advised that this is what
they do in the favelas of Brazil,
so there is some use for the
vile muck, apart from adding
whisky to it. I did once think of
a slogan for Coca-Coma, which
was a variation on a longstanding
advertisement of their own:
ʻCoca-Coma– you canʼt feel the
beatingʼ. But for some reason
this has not found favour in the
world outside my skull. Speaking
of possible uses for the apparently
universally available
filth, in China I am told they boil
it down and use it as a cough
medicine.

It used to be commonplace
for girls to marry at fourteen
(and die in childbirth). Jerry Lee
Lewis married (I seem to recall)
his fourteen-year-old cousin, indicating
that such things were
fairly acceptable among rednecks
and piano-molesters as
late as the 1960ʼs.

I doubt whether the Gary
Glitter or Jonathon King backcatalogues
have sold in hugely
increased numbers recently (certainly,
my own attempts to market
Gary Glitterʼs Greatest Hits
under the title of ʻDOING IT
FOR THE KIDSʼ have met with
little in the way of favourable response),
but Jerry Lee Lewis is
still quite highly regarded.

Itʼs a matter of timing, I suppose.
What was once acceptable
becomes, in due course, outrageous,
and vice-versa. Upperclass
Victorians covered their
table legs in fear of indecency,
yet prostitution and child-labour
flourished. Quite what they imagined
their semi-naked tables
might get up to, I donʼt know,
but it was certainly indecency of
some sort.

Anyway, here I offer some suggestions
of slogans that might be
employed to improve the public
profile of other declining or unpopular
activities:

1) Madness: you know it makes
sense.

2) Smokers: a dying breed.

3) Murder: the only sure way.