Never mind the quality... count the ads

For a small island we sure do seem to have a lot of freebie, firelighter glossy magazines. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about it. Commerce makes the world go round. But what really gets up my nose is the fact that these shiny shreds of reconstituted ticker tape are proffered as actually having substance.

As anyone who has flipped through one of them will testify; they have none, xejn, zilch! Ten words into the first paragraph of, what appears to be, an editorial piece on facial blemishes it is understood to be a load of blatant advertorial flimflam, which is actually pushing some proprietary skin cream or other.

And so it goes on: An apparently 'independent' appraisal and road test of a new model Japanese SUV, turns out to be nothing but a thinly disguised blagging exercise for the off-roader. An in-depth piece (written by an 'expert') on the subject of how to reduce high blood cholesterol levels morphs into a none too subtle push for yet another disgusting-tasting butter substitute.

So I, Sylvanus, have decided to go for broke and next week I am launching my very own brand new, mindless, advertorial glossy.

But here's the twist; there will be absolutely no advertorial or editorial copy whatsoever between the covers. Ads In Yer Face... for that verily will be its name, will contain 72 fun-packed pages of... just ads.

Ad after ad after ad, all the way through. No infantile attempts to deceive the reader into believing they are being impartially informed, educated or entertained. No desperate hyperbole-filled puffs, with all the substance and subtlety of a football chant. My team of assessors have been out feeling the market's vibes and they report that... what the advertisers want is more and more coverage. Hit the punter with nothing but ads and he'll buy out of sheer exhaustion. Neat idea, huh?

And we're not going to have any of those ghastly naff so-called social pages. You know, a line-up of nonentities getting photographed holding glasses and trying (and failing) not to look like a row of total plonkers, at the Hamalli Brothers bathroom showroom in Benghisa, in honour of their seventh anniversary photo op... I mean recepxin. None of that rubbish, thank you very much.

We'll attract only top-of-the-range companies and products... We'll refuse to advertise any residential property that doesn't come with a seven-figure price tag. We'll only give space to fantastically unaffordable cars; the Caddies, Lamborginis and Ferraris of the motor industry. Luxury item companies like Prada, Bulgari, Gucci, Versace and Tal- Lira. Oh yes... only the very best for me.

Naturally, we wouldn't charge people for the privilege of thumbing through this cornucopia of commercials. Ads In Yer Face will be delivered free with every copy of The Times or Sunday Times, to ensure maximum coverage.

On one hand, I shall be getting my 72-page adfest into a great many homes and... that way I will be able to tell the advertisers and ad agents that a huge number of people will read the magazine (even if they do all chuck it straight into the garbage can) thus enabling my highly motivated sales force to convince the advertisers to keep advertising, and guaranteeing at least a couple of years' worth of contracts to push their merchandise in my magazine.

I think this might well be one of the most brilliant money-making ideas I have ever had. Just think of it... no pretend articles, no self-serving editorials... no badly written, unreadable and unread advertorial pieces.

This - I maintain - could be the new face of commercial journalism. Forget the internet, this is tomorrow!

OK, you can just form an orderly queue to ensure your ad gets a premium slot in the inaugural issue, which will come out on... oh some time soon.