Smirking Ikea Ballsack

If the Peugeot 207 twatman is the single smuggest stain on our planet, then the kooky (by which I mean annoying) Ikea man is the most punchable. By far. Mile. Miles and miles. Really fucking far. Punching all the way. A relentless marching drumbeat of bone-and-tooth-splintering punches delivered with machine-like regularity to his spiky blond haired fat face and Joker-lite grin.

You must have seen the advert. He’s sat atop a pile of Ikea furniture (I think that collective noun should be ‘dump’) and reading the new catalogue. He starts in shadow and disappointingly the light fail to stay off opting instead to illuminate the dump of flat-pack tat and his own cretinous face. He starts to waffle on about how good this large pile of MFD and glue would look in your one bedroom flat thereby immediately getting my back up on two levels – 1) I don’t have a one-bedroom flat, I have a semi-detached house with three bedrooms; and 2) What is he trying to imply about people who have one-bedroom flats? Are they to be pitied as the parish poor or held as exemplars of some concept he knows but won’t tell anyone? What about the shoppers who make their way (1) to IKEA stores? Can they only buy things if they have a one-bedroom flat? Are people with a bedroom and a boxroom turned away whilst people like me are run off the property by burly loggers throwing inedible Swedish sweets at our cars? What would they do if the Queen turned up? Behead off live on the Ikea website and ask you to guess its weight?

So, with my teeth well and truly set on edge, I grip the settee arm and prepare for a full blown rage-fest to pour out of my mouth. He and the advert do not disappoint. The porky pixie hops down (avoiding tripping, rolling down the dump and writhing in loud agony at the bottom with three compound fractures, a burst lung and an impalement – it’s fucking Health and Safety gone mad I tell you) and with a smirk that could start a fight in a Methodist temperance meeting asks us to guess how much the mound of veneer and leatherette behind him costs.

Who cares? Who the fuck cares? Really? Do you? Does anyone you know? I think the idea is that someone could win it. Yes, get the right amount and some ‘lucky’ (2) sod can win the lot. Quite what someone with a one-bedroom flat would do with a container lorry load of second-hand mis-matched furniture and other assorted shite is never explained by the blond cock. I assume they’d have to pile it up like he did and sit on the top until they sold enough of it off on ebay to see their own carpet again.

So well done Ikea, you yet again fill our homes not only with your flat-packed meh-ness, but also with another shit advert in what is a shameful litany of shit adverts. You absolute clits.

Should you wish to see the grinning scrotum sat atop his throne of dubious wonders, you can find it on here somewhere.

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(1) Dawn of the Dead springs to mind.

(2) Lucky as in saved from being dragged into a car only to discover the ‘rescuers’ are a bunch of hungry cannibals. With hard-ons.