VFoC’s Scratch -n- Sniff eBook

The release of our first online eBook has actually happened and we’re pleased to share it with the world today. Van Full of Candy has partnered with technological powerhouse 3M to create the first ever virtual scratch -n- sniff eBook. After years of scientific study we have been able to harness the only ‘LCD touch and smell technology’ that works on all LCD monitors including laptops. What you are about to experience is a scientific breakthrough that we proudly share with the world.

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DIRECTIONS:

Center the image on your screen

With the tip of your finger (not your fingernail) gently rub the image for approximately 3 seconds

Put your face as close to the image as possible and take a good sniff*

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*If at first you don’t smell anything, repeat the process. (Being that this is the first time you have done this, there is an LCD “break-in period”. Once you get your first image to produce a scent, all other images will work without issue)

Please give us any feedback in the comments section if your smells did not match the images in the eBook. Thank you all for your loyal dedication to our site and for your help in making the scratch -n- sniff eBook the best it can be.

Enjoy!

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CAKES

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Strawberry cake is oh so yummy, put a whole bunch in  your tummy

Newborn baby is so cute sleepin’, try not to wake him when you eat him

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ROSES

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Lovely red roses smell devine, on Valentine’s Day they mean “will you be mine?”

Sometimes roses smell like a dirty old man, don’t get too close or you’ll end up in his van

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GINGERBREAD

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Warm and sweet straight from the oven, gingerbread gingerbread, we’re all lovin’

We really liked this funny ginger … WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO HIM?!?

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FRENCH PERFUME

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Mommy likes to wear beautiful perfume, we love how the frangrance fills the room

French whores don’t smell quite as pretty, but for $20 extra you can fondle her titties

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LEMONADE

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Sweet and sour and icy cold, our favorite summer drink will never get old

Warm and yellow it’s nasty old piss, sometimes it smells like asparagus

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CUCUMBER

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Garden fresh and crisp and clean, we love them when there very green

Mommy likes cucumbers too, she also has one that’s red and one that’s blue

The “Justify Your Existence” Tours – Britney and Charlie, on the Road.

The live concert. It’s where you make your connection with the artist, where you, for one brief shining moment, share the same space with your heroes and become a part of one another’s world. Then, afterwards, you drunkenly limp around Lot F all night looking for your car which six hours and nine, $15 beers ago you parked in Lot B, while Ricky Rockstar is back in his bus being blown by the twelve least repulsive of your town’s well worn groupie brigade with a gravity feed coke dispenser gently filling each precious, million dollar nostril. Basically what I’m saying is that tours are fun for everybody.

Some "musician" musicing. Yawn!

Sure, there are hundreds, you know what, I like you so I’ll give you thousands, of acts on the road right now, as we speak. “Popular”, “successful”, “relevant” performers busting ass night in and night out entertaining people who have come out to be entertained by entertainers who can entertain. But who wants to see that? Because while those suckers are out there relying on their “talent” to “put on a good, worthwhile show, memorable for the quality of the performance and the soul enriching feeling of seeing someone gifted with talents beyond reason sharing them with an appreciative world” there are two others hitting the road soon that are easily the most anticipated upcoming tours of the year. And they’re not letting any of that “having nothing to contribute to anything” keep them from selling tickets and renting expensive equipments and what not.

Britney Spears and Charlie Sheen. They’re coming to your town, they’ll help you party down. They’re an American train wreck.

Now naturally, critics are already trying to convince us, the unwashed masses who prefer their entertainment tragic, that we shouldn’t see these shows. They say that Britney’s show lacks what one might call a “live performance element”. Her moves are half-hearted and dead eyed, her vocals are canned. To that I say, “uh-huh”.

And as for Mr. Sheen, they point out that his record sell out shows are in fact not sold out, or records, or shows. They openly question what his performance will entail, since Charlie hasn’t really made it clear himself what he’ll be doing live in front of thousands of screaming on lookers. I expect he’ll do what he does best. Porn stars.

But it’s clear to me that the people deriding these shows don’t fully understand exactly why we would want to see these two “performers” live in concert in the first damned place. If we wanted to see people singing and dancing with feeling and love for the arts, we would go to some bullshit ballet or opera or what ever other cultural nonsense exhibition is going on at the local community center. If we wanted to see someone tell us something coherent and well thought out, with a “point” or “vague understanding of the string of words desperately escaping their face”, we’d go watch a street corner apocalypse crier. 

The pageantry.

NASCAR is the most popular spectator sport in the world. And while some people do honestly come out to the tracks week in and week out to witness the majesty of counter-clockwise vroom vrooms, there’s a certain percentage of motor sports fans (that percentage being as near to 100ish as is statistically allowable) who watch these events hoping beyond hope, that they’ll finally get to see their favorite brightly colored star’s vehicle explode while simultaneously, praying they’re not inadvertently murdered by the spectacular showers of debris. But that’s the chance you take when you’re rooting for something horrible to happen during something you supposedly love not specifically for the potential horrible that could occur.

What was I saying?

Oh, yeah, people want to see Charlie Sheen explode in a fiery ball of green flame. Not literally of course, but wouldn’t that be fucking awesome!? You go to work the next day and people are talking about Charlie Sheen’s spectacular immolation, asking you if you saw it and you can just point to the festering wound on your arm and tell them, “See it!? I’ve been infected with a Sheen shard which is slowly dissolving my mind!” then you would fall over and scream in agony as the self replicating nano-Sheen slowly ate away at your being, replacing your very cells with his extra dimensional laser Samurai essence.

You see, people aren’t snapping up tickets to these events to see an unparallelled talent deliver the performance of a lifetime, they’re going in the hopes that something fucking crazy will happen at the one show that they get to be at. And it’s a crap shoot. You’re buying a ticket hoping that you get to be at the show that turns out to be the unscheduled last of the tour, so you want to be to one of the earlier performances. If your town is on the latter half of the itinerary, you might as well not bother. I’m laying 3 1/2 to 2 that neither of these tours ends when scheduled. Lay your money down if you’re tired of it cluttering up your pocket.

And keep your judgements of the over all worth of these shows to yourself, those of us hoping to be splattered with Brit juice don’t give a damn.

If It Walks Like A Duck And Talks Like A Duck [VIDEO]

Five Things You Didn’t Know About the Egyptian Cobra That Escaped From The Bronx Zoo

No visitors? There's a goddamn cobra on the loose

(1) Amon, the Egyptian Cobra was once a security guard at a shoe store. He got the part time job guarding really expensive sandals in an elite shoe store after he was laid off during the dot com bust in 2002. “I wasn’t sure what to do after I lost my job as a graphic designer, but a friend told me about how I could bite people who tried to steal shoes, so I said ‘what the heck’.”

$120,000 sandals? Do you have these in my size?

(2) He was mistakenly captured while taking a jog through Central Park in New York after another jogger reported him as a felon they saw on America’s Most Wanted. “One minute I was taking an early morning jog, and the next minute I’m in some burlap sack in the back of a truck on my way to the zoo.”

(3) Amon was forced to delete his Match.com profile after being accused of spitting on one of the other members when out on a date. “I don’t know what this crazy bitch is talking about! I didn’t even go out with her, but I do have a cousin who’s a Red Spitting Cobra that she may have gone out with. People always say ‘they all look alike’, I say you’re all racist!”

I like jogging, Broadway shows, and good conversation

(4) He was the model for the 2010 Ford Cobra. “I sent Ford my zed-card and I surprisingly got a call from them about a week later. They loved my look and booked me for the job three days later. I was really honored because there were probably eight other guys there who I thought were much better looking than me. Oh well, who’s the badass cobra now?”

(5) Amon has a real passion for MMA and is working his way up for a chance to fight in the UFC. He has an impressive 8-1 record as an amateur with all his wins coming by submission. He has

That belt is MINE!

also been chosen for the next season of The Ultimate Fighter. “I love love love Jiu-Jitsu and have a real gift with submissions. I just wanna get in the octagon and be the next middleweight champ by beating Anderson ‘The Spider’ Silva. I want a really cool nickname too, like ‘The Killer’ or ‘Punishment’.” We think “The Cobra” would be cool, but who are we to say anything?

At Least 72% of Fox News Poll Responders to Burn in Hell

I’m not a religious man. I’ve been known to call God a “fucking dick“, a “thin skinned deity who throws a bitch fit every time something doesn’t go his way” and a “bearded sky douche” among many other unkind things. We don’t exchange Christmas cards, or as he insists on correcting me every fucking time, Birthday cards. But that doesn’t change the fact that many people are.

"Ha-HA! Back again! You bettah rekkanize!"

Of course all religions believe that theirs is the one true God. They read His book, buy His merchandise and hang out at His house every week, telling Him how great He is, hoping that if they suck up hard enough they’ll get on His guest list. And I guess that’s a fine system for billions of people around the world, so who am I to knock it. One of the problems with that system though, is that it is mostly based in fear. Now they say that theirs is a God of love and peace and sandwiches and reach arounds, but if you really flip through the manuscript, you’ll find that there’s usually a pretty hard line in there about how much you’re supposed to say how awesome He is or you will fucking melt until forever comes! That seems harsh. You would think that someone telling them that that might not be the case would be welcomed with open, as yet unmelted arms. But no, people are perfectly content with the idea that if they slip for even a moment they risk bobbing up and down in a boiling lake of molten pus and filth and don’t you tell them any different.

See, a couple weeks ago a book was released in which the writer called bullshit on Hell. I don’t know the specifics, I can’t read. But the basics are that this young book writing pastor shares his doubts on a literal Hell, where all of those not worthy of entrance into Heaven will spend eternity writhing in torment, sent there by their cry baby all mighty who didn’t feel like you really meant it. And the reaction to thinking that his loving God wouldn’t do that to billions upon billions of souls created in his own image, has been largely negative. People have been told for thousands of years to be good or spend an infinite infinities cooking but never ready to carve and they are good with that. But I can understand, it’s like life on the mortal plane. Because, I know that I would rob and murder and covet my sweet, tangy balls off if I didn’t have the ever present spector of continuous pay cable style butt hole intrusion hanging over me in the prison best befitting the punishment of my crimes. It is only the God of the judicial system and Punk Fucka, God of the tooth punched out forced fellatio that keep me from doing what my heart truly calls for me to do.

Which all brings me back to a Fox News Poll that I stumbled upon this afternoon. In this poll, Fox News online readers are asked “Do You Fear Hell?” A simple and straight forward enough question, but the answers are somewhat surprising…

Old school damnation.

First, straight away, 17% of responders answered “Yes. I am afraid my soul could be condemned there for eternity.” So right there we’ve got 1 in 6 people just throwing up their hands and giving up. They know what they’ve done and they’re pretty sure that God is going to be pissed. I suppose you have to respect those who know where they stand and seem to have accepted it. It’s freeing really, now they can suck and shoot to their heart’s delight knowing that there’s not a whole hell of a lot they could have done about it anyway.

Next, 11% say “No. I believe God’s love and forgiveness extends to everyone.” Those people are of course, going to Hell. Because that’s not what God says, or, at least not what his ghost writers say. So their beliefs are heresy and therefore they will share swim trunks with all of the pedophiles and telemarketers that their kind deserve to suffer next to.

Then we have the 39% who defiantly answered “I don’t believe in hell.” Naturally, they too will be joining those who believe in their God’s love and forgiveness for all creatures great and small. God didn’t create a Hell, in which you will to sit out your punishment and think about how it was that you so wronged Him as to deserve demons gnawing on your flesh and your most horrible secrets being laid bare before you, relived over and over again to eyes that will not close and head that will not turn away, for you to not believe that it’s for serious and as real as a flesh gnawing demon!

Another 5% clearly didn’t recognize the gravity of their answer, responding “Not sure. I guess I’ll find out when I get there.” and damning themselves to an unyielding torment as the ultimate answer to their flippant indifference. Yeah, I guess we will find out if your insides will boil, melting through your stinking, unworthy, forfeit flesh, and pooling around your feet. When you get there.

The final group is an uncertain lot, which is why I said that at least 72 percent will burn as 28% responded with “I’m certain I’ll be in heaven when I die.” The problem that I have with this statement is the question of avarice. Pride being a sin and all, is this VERY prideful answer enough to damn the remaining 28 percent to the shared fate of unending divine punishment? It’s one of the big seven after all, so it seems like it matters. On one hand, these people seem to be pretty sure that they’ve done everything required of them to be granted access to the big white party in the clouds. But by saying with such certainty that they WILL be in heaven, they kind of shoot themselves in the foot, an ironic punishment that will be revisited upon them for until beyond the end of everything. So really it’s at least 72% and up to a potential 100% of everyone in creation that will rot in the prison of their own making.

Paradise is a tough ticket to be sure, and really, when you think about the boring fucks that might make the grade, you’re better off gnashing your teeth with your idols in the main room, than sitting quietly, hoping you don’t kick over some bearded shy douche’s favorite cloud pile and make him change his mind.

VFoC’s 2011 Van Haiku Contest

You know, we at Van Full of Candy have been doing a lot of talking AT you. You come by and you listen to our nonsensical views on trivial things and then you go away. Sure, it’s a good system, but we want more, and we know that deep down in a place that you might not even know exists, you NEED more too. We need to reach out, to touch one another with hands that, though strangers, instinctively know exactly where to go and what to do, like the rest of our lives has just been preparation for this one, invigorating moment… And write Haikus about Vans…

So that’s what we’re going to do. We’re rolling open that big, loud side door, and letting you in to Van Full of Candy’s 2011 Van Haiku Contest! You know how the ancient Japanese art of lazy poetry goes, right? Three lines, five syllables in the first, seven in the second and five again for the third. As per example:

Van, you are my world
Rolling one room apartment
Filled with tasty, Yum

Genius, I know, but don’t be discouraged, give it a try! Here’s all the details, right below here, after this line, right under it, well, right under the line that’s under this line now. You know what, why don’t I just get to it…

Van Full of Candy’s 2011 Van Haiku Contest Guidelines
Inspiration: Van
Medium: Haiku

Haiku submission deadline: 11:59 pm, April 10th.
There is no limit to the number of entries you may submit.

Monday April 11th, we will select our favorite 5 finalists and you, the Van loving public will vote on the winner. Voting will close at 11:59 pm, April 17th.

Prize: The winner’s brilliant Haiku will adorn our facebook page, under “About” and on our WordPress tagline. The winner will also receive, should they trust us with their mailing address, a Van styled box filled with various, random candies, sent to their door through the United States Postal Service! Shit yeah that’s what I said!

To Enter: Just Click Here to go to our Facebook page (and while you’re there, why not go ahead and “Like” us if you haven’t already) go to our discussions and submit your Haikus to the “2011 Van Haiku Contest” thread.

Tell your friends, tell your family, come one come all. We’ve been writing our asses off for months for your enjoyment, now it’s your turn! We’ve showed you ours, now it’s time for you to show us yours.

And if you wanna, click HERE to donate to the Tsunami Releif fund. Since we’re using their poem style, I suppose it’s the least we could do…

Happy Birthday Twitter, You Bedwetter

 

We didn’t get you a present

Hey everyone, want to hear something that nobody cares about? Twitter just turned 5 years old. Big F’ing deal, so did my dog and he still scrapes his ass on the floor. Five! You can’t even really color within the lines yet Twitter, or eat without spillin’ shit all over your shirt, or even wipe your ass by yourself yet. Whoopeee!! Twitter is 5!! Let’s all have a big social media party with a creepy ass clown so Twitter will run to mommy and cry.

Five! You go around acting all badass making other people feel important when they have a shitload of followers, big whippity doo! YOU’RE ONLY 5! You don’t even know what all that means yet. This is kind of like your really poorly done refrigerator art, and your parents are telling you how amazing it is patting you on your sweaty little Twitter head and magnet’ing it where everybody HAS to look at it! Five! You still wear Pull-Ups to bed and have a nightlight, but we’re all supposed to bow down to your uberness, your power, your Charlie Sheen record setting whatever that media handjob thing was; and what is it you really do? ANSWER THAT TWITTER! WHAT DO YOU DO? You sit there and you make people “popular” and feel special. Well you know what? The people who were already popular, are just more popular and those of us who were never popular, still aren’t. Thanks for that! And how the hell am I supposed to use you? And how did you like my overuse of the word “popular”? Oh you wouldn’t understand that because you’re FIVE!

Hey, let me “tweet” something. Yay! Well that was fun! Where in the hell did THAT go? Who got it? WTF?? And this hashtag bullshit? It’s like tic-tac-toe before a word and all of a sudden it’s that much more important? And if freakin’ Sheen puts one in front of anything it becomes the God damn word of … well … God. And now I’ve mentioned his name twice in this damn article even though he deliberately cut me from his internship. I’m not bitter, I already talked to him about it here. Five! You can’t even sit in the front seat yet, but you’re telling us who we need to follow and how amazing they are and even set up a NEW website that pimps out the chosen people even more, well fuck, why don’t you make a shitty website and pimp us nobody’s out? Huh? No! I guess we’ll just have to work our asses off and do all of that shit ourselves. GREAT! When do WE get to be cool? Never! That’s when! You just sit back there in your car-seat with your sippy-cup and act like a Prima Donna. FIVE! You still take naps, and suck your thumb and let all these people praise you, well not us! No sir! We will never promote you AT ALL! EVER! We won’t hyperlink anything back to you to show how much everybody needs you. FIVE! And you know what? Just for being the little runny nose prick that you are, I’m not gonna pick you up from daycare today!

FIVE THAT TWITTER!!

Please don't follow us @VanFullOfCandy, we hate Twitter

Science: Making the Impossible still more Impossibler

"Our chins are leaking science! Run away from us!"

I’m a scientist. And you know what? So are you.

You see, the heavy lifting of being a scientist isn’t in proving something as fact, most science isn’t fact. Or in discovering something new, you know how hard that shit is? Most of the stuff around you’s probably been discovered by somebody already. No, what apparently makes a scientist scientisty, is the ability to come up with things that could never exist, using elements that they have not yet discovered, to say how neat it would be if everything they were making up could actually happen. SCIENCE!

Last week, scientists working on the Large Hadron Collider (not to be confused with all of those other Hadron Colliders out there, being worked on by what those of us in the scientific community like to call “fucking retards”), apparently bored with smashing sub atomic particles together in an attempt to tear the very fabric of reality apart (in theory) got to thinking. In sciencing, you get a lot of time to think. Mostly because the majority of the time you spend doing science is just in proving the stupid ass thing you thought of last time was stupid and pointless. Science is failure, subsidized.

So the people trying to make black holes in Switzerland theorized that they could potentially use the Hadron Collider to send a particle, a Higgs singlet, back in time. It is believed that the Higgs singlet may have the ability to “jump” out of our mundane, limited, four dimensional existence and into a “hidden” dimension that some advanced physics models believes to “exist” and that by traveling through this “hidden” “dimension” they could then “jump” back into our own at a point “forward” or “backward” in what we “perceive” as “time”. ” “

Isn’t that fantasmical? Isn’t that astoundishing? Isn’t that completely made up and entirely dependent upon a particle that doesn’t even exist? Yes… SCIENCE!

There is no Higgs boson, and as such, no Higgs singlet. Discovering this Higgs boson was apparently one of the main reasons they built the Hadron Collider in the first place. So scientaints are already moving on to the next cool thing that they’ll be able to do with the thing that their big crazy machine was built to discover before their big crazy machine has even discovered it. Which basically equates to me saying that I am going to use all of those ghost vaginas that my ghost vagina factory discovers to travel to the year eight billion where the ghost vagina will probably be the most valuable commodity in all of what’s left of Earth III, the planet of the cyber undead… as soon as my ghost vagina factory discovers that ghost vaginas do in fact exist like I’ve been saying all along.

“Our theory is a long shot, but it doesn’t violate any laws of physics…” one of the scientinals said, which I suppose is technically true. Making up things that don’t exist to fit into a theory that depends entirely on something that doesn’t exist does not violate any laws of physics that I know of. It does however violate most known laws of logic and sense.

“One of the attractive things about this approach to time travel is that it avoids all the big paradoxes,” he continued, oblivious to the fact that he was still talking about his Star Trek fan fiction to people that weren’t inside his head. “Because time travel is limited to these special particles, it is not possible for a man to travel back in time and murder one of his parents before he himself is born, for example. However, if scientists could control the production of Higgs singlets, they might be able to send messages to the past or future.”

Of course this narrow minded fool never takes into account the very real (hypothetical) possibility that one of these particles, driven mad by its travel across very real (entirely made up) extradimensional planes could then arrive at its past destination, its important future missive long forgotten in that blink of an eye that seemed like seven eternities, and replaced instead by a single command, “Murder Lance Armstrong”. Impossible? Nothing is impossible with the power of imagination, and untethered insanity!

Unfortunately, the one miniscule sticking point that the entire plan hangs up on is that they haven’t yet discovered the thing that they think they might possibly be able to send back in time. A minor thing I know. But these brave men and other men are not deterred by the fact that their big metal circle has yet to discover even one tiny time travel capable ghost vagina. I’m sure, in fact, that they believe because they haven’t found it yet, that means beyond a doubt that it exists. That’s how these people think.

I myself am currently hard at work on a paper that suggests that a pride of miniature dinosaurs made of velcro, spinning at the center of the universe since before time had a name, are the entire reason that the AFL succeeded where the USFL failed, despite the USFL not having debuted until thirteen years after the AFL/NFL merger. You see, my theory, which I will heretofore refer to simply as “Fact Prime”, is that the USFL’s failure reverberated back through time, bouncing off of the soft side of the galactic center Stegasaurus’ back plates and into the head of New York Jets Quarterback and pantyhose model Joe Willie Namath, thus propelling his football club to victories in Super Bowls III, IV and VII. Pieces of this errant history were later corrected by Terry Bradshaw and his Time Stealers. Terry and trusted lieutenants Bo Jackson, Richard Dent and Ray Nitschke restored as much of the original balance of the timeline as they could before Chrono Emperor John Elway could detect their meddlings…

And until someone can prove that all of that DIDN’T happen exactly as I have described, I am right.

Murder Lance Armstrong!

Charlie Sheen – No Longer #Winning

You haven't heard the last of us Sheen!

Well, today will be a very sad day for the Charlie Sheen TigerBlood compound. What they didn’t realize is that they have just lost the best candidate for their internship. Didn’t you read our post from a while back? Do you not understand that our partnership would have propelled us to unheard of heights of social media godliness? DAMNIT CHARLIE!

But it’s ok Chuck, I think I understand where you’re coming from. It would have been too easy. In fact, it may have even been slightly dangerous when we colaborated; it most certainly would have caused a total meltdown of the gravitational vortex in the universe. I’m coming to terms with that, and the fact that you need a “normal” person to intern for you so things stay somewhat “safe”. We get it, it’s ok.

It was cute, however, how you “let us” get through Round 2, to give the other applicants a bit of a scare, and then drop us so that they could take a huge collective sigh knowing that the #1 contender has been eliminated. So, thank you, and … hope #2 works out for ya. *wink*

Dear readers: If you applied for this internship, please let us know, and if you advanced further than us, let us know that too. We’ll let you rub it in, but just know, we weren’t chosen for your, no, make that, the universe’s protection, so don’t get too cocky!

Welcome To The Cetacea Order [COMIC]