Oh hey, look, it's Rihanna! Or, rather, it's not Rihanna. It's a man with shoulders so wide he needs wing mirrors. Rihanna turns up later, though, and it's mighty sexy.
Back to this man, though – he's huge. He's Gears of War huge. He looks like a fridge decided to dress smart for the evening and happened to fall into a job as a chauffeur. Here he is, anyway, looking expectantly into a car.
There's another man in the car! Drama. The man has a bag. The man also has remarkably greasy hair, but let's not focus on that right now. The man gives the walking fridge his bag, and the fridge somehow perambulates on its coasters over to another car. Someone is within, honking insistently. They want the bag!
Rihanna: fed up with this nonsense
In the car is a lady – and it's Rihanna, obvo. What's in the bag? Drugs? Money? Drugs made out of money? No. It's jeans. Rihanna doesn't go to the shops (presumably because everyone's like "Hey Rihanna can you sign my album please you're soooo good at music") and instead has her jeans clandestinely delivered to her in the manner of a narcotics hand-off. What happens if they don't fit? Does she send Vinnie Jones round to mash their face in?
Anyway. She takes off her dress (sexy!) and puts on the jeans (also sexy!) and a leather jacket that's so cool you could safely keep raw chicken in the pocket, and saunters off to a lift. And who's in the lift? That guy who gave her the jeans!
It was all a game. A fun, sexy, expensive game that's likely to get one or more parties arrested. The lift doors shut. Rihanna laughs girlishly. The remarkably greasy man remains largely stoic. Advert ends. What's the moral of the story? PURCHASE JEANS.