Everybody in North America knows (or SHOULD know) that Axe Body Spray is the masking odor for (pre)adolescent male sexual insecurity, immaturity and general lack of appeal. It’s the sort of stuff that you want to avoid if you’re a guy, and avoid a guy who smells of it if you’re a gal. So when I saw this bit of badvertising on Gawker, I could only guffaw at what lies in store for poor, unsuspecting Argentina:
Gawker supplies the following translation, so I won’t bother with my own:
Last September 24th it was Boyfriend’s Day.
What does Axe have to say to boyfriends?
Hey, dude. There’s nothing to celebrate.
We know you want to be with all of them, except with the one you’re with.
That’s why we set up some secret installation in the men’s room,
And gave them 5 minutes of singledom.
Welcome to the Axe Strip Toilette.
This is just a way of reminding guys that they are “castrating themselves” [Ed. note: Down here when you say a guy is “castrated,” it means he only does what his girlfriend/wife says.]
…limiting the power of the Axe effect to just one girl.”
Girl: What took you so long?
Guy: The restroom was a mess.
Girl: Oh, sorry to hear that.
A commenter adds even more elucidation:
Oh man, the best part was lost in translation…
“Girl: What took you so long?
Guy: The restroom was a mess.
Girl: Oh, sorry to hear that.”So…in Argentina “quilombo” means “whorehouse” in addition to meaning “a mess.” So when the guy at the end says to his girlfriend, “el baño era un quilombo,” he’s saying “whorehouse” and she’s hearing “a mess.”
Which of course assumes that Argentine ladies just naturally gravitate to the more prudish meaning of the slang term. Because they’re genteel, gullible ladies, and all that. The kind who’d never suspect that the bathroom is actually a bordello, where their “uncastrated” man can revel in his five minutes of glorious unattachedness, courtesy of Axe.
And, poor chicas, they will find the stink of Axe (now available in Puto, Pitiyanki Disociado, Pelotudo de Mierda, and ¡Ponte un Condón, Mojón! scents) irresistible. And the wearer likewise? So much so that even if their profession entails never giving a man the time of day unless he pays them first, they’ll still crawl all over him for nada?
Uh, yeah. Riiiiiiiiiiight.
Anyway, compañeras, I’m not sure if you have a literal term in Argentino for “douchebag”, but if in the near future you smell a guy who reeks of horrible cheap cologne and struts around thinking he’s God’s gift, you’ll surely want to share it with me here, no? After you’re done gagging and vomiting in your own mercifully not-Axe-scented bathroom, that is?