Ugly / Rich x Powerful = Worth it?

If we’ve learned one thing from this morning’s Royal Wedding gala extravaganza hullabaloo, it’s that British parades are kinda sucky. If we’ve learned two things from this morning’s et al, it’s that if your pre-printed near future stationary and business cards read “Mutha fuckin’ KING y’all” you can get away with being more or less homely and borderline fugly, and still get to stick your scepter in a pretty smokin’ commoner. No one’s really out of your league when your stock pick up line is “Wanna be a fer rillz princess? And before you ask, yes, I do in fact own a courtesy hood for your completely understandable gag reflex to my visage.”

This naturally got us to thinking. just how powerful would a person have to be to out weigh the horrifically cruel joke the God of their own personal beliefs played on their face, laughing all the while from their fluffy cloud work bench. So we at Van Full of Candy would like to present our highly scientific Repulsion Negation Calculation Sensation! Or the ”Rich Enough to Make it Worth it-atron 94,000″!

Here we have our control subject. And I just  came three times in writing those last 6 words. He is truly a dream muffin wrapped in a sex cookie, slathered in kissable icing. This example of peak human male somehow managed to escape from the laboratory where secret hansom scientists were hard at work developing the world’s most perfect orgasm machine. We use this example of heretofore unknowable human hunkitude to calibrate our REtMiWi 94000, to ensure it is set at the proper levels to most accurately grade all lesser “men” that come after. And to give the REtMiWi 94000 a little thrill, it’s genitals may be robotic, but they still work.

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =- 
Primary Employment: Chief Sewage Taster
Assets: $80,000 in outstanding student loans to a central Wisconsin Clown College/Bartending School and seven bankrupcies.

Mmmmmmm, well hello there healthy man. Your dark baggy eyes, that lickable moostache, that … hair. I can just hear the ladies lining up around the building to get a taste of that turkey neck. I guess with a mug like that, you had better have the best summer sausage in town, or at least a large one to feed the multitudes.

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =-
Primary Employment: Generalissimo of an Oil Dripping Island Republic
Assets: A standing national army of black ops trained ring tailed lemurs. $9 Billion in hoarded humanitarian aid.

Ancient peoples used to raise the “fire headed child” as a special being, a gift from god, handed down directly from his box of “extra good” children. They would pamper it, giving to it all of their tribe’s finest things: the freshest of the kill, the ripest of the gathering. Each morning the fire headed child would be roused from it’s slumber by the gentle rubbings of a smoothed stone across its cheek, and would be lulled to sleep by the hummings of the entire gathered village. Then, upon the dawning of its thirteenth year, or the sprouting of the first orange pube, each of the members of the tribe would gather up the rock that they had collected the day of the special one’s birth and rain the stones down upon the sun set locks of the cursed one, sacrificing the demon to their sky monster for the promise of good harvest for the coming season… And this dude kinda looks like a scary stalker chick…

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =-
Primary Employment: Actual Wizard
Assets: The eye of a newt, wing of a bat, a private castle in a non-rainy yet constantly thunderous hillside and all of the gold he can spin from the foolish townfolks’ foolishly discarded lead.

Howdy cowboy. Lets rustle up some pretty women, store them in your beehive-fro-velcro-patch and head on out on the dusty trail of love. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me, you can hear a gnat shit at a rock concert two states away Dumbo. I guess with all the extra money you’re earning sniffing out fugitives in the backwoods for the FBI, it’s no wonder the ladies are riding that underbite into the sunset.

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =-
Primary Employment: First Astronaut on Venus
Assets: A 300 pound, solid platinum Venus rock, secreted home from his self named continent summer home on the shore of the liquid nitrogen sea where he rules all he surveys.

You think you should have any self worth what so ever? Well shut the fuck up stupid, because you’re fuckin’ wrong as usual! This fuckin’ guy will tell you just exactly what the fuck is wrong with you, and your car, and that fucking bullshit matted pile of cum speckled brittle stringy knotted straw bale shit fuck you call a god damned hair do! It’s not his fucking fault that you can’t handle the god damned truth when it’s shouting right in your stupid, fucking, idiot, dumb fuck FACE! God you piss him off so much sometimes. And by sometimes he means all the fucking time.

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =-
Primary Employment: The Inventer of Money
Assets: A teddy bear from his stolen, and constantly longed for child hood. It is around this bear that any shred of human decency is ever seen in the gentle, innocent interactions he has with it when he thinks no one is watching. And a pile of cash that pokes the moon in the fucking eye.

Nothing smells more like the back of a windowless white creepy van than this guy, holy shit. Hey! Wait a minute! Nevermind. Uncle creepy drives up with offers of puppies and candy and a safe return home to mommy and daddy but you’re only left with Rorschach tests where everything looks like duct-tape, and crying fits whenever anyone mentions a Jolly Rancher. But hey it was worth it because powerful jawlines, red circled eyes and breath of wet kitty food is muy muy SEXXXY!

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =-
Primary Employment: Time Traveler Bearing the Cures to all known disease.
Assets: A cache of future technology which every year he releases one piece of onto the home electronics market. A seven speed bionic tongue.

The Things We Do For Love

Love. It’ll make you do crazy things. Like, spell out your crush’s name in alphabet soup and text them a picture of it. Maybe hide little love notes in the Sunday classifieds. Or, if you’re really in love, cut off your beloved’s head in front of a school full of people fully not intending to be covered in neck juices today.

I read a lot of headlines when trying to come up with what I’m going to write about in a given day. Here at Van Full of Candy we do an article a day, rain or shine, every week day, without fail. That’s our promise, to you, the viewer. Sometimes the news is boring and it’s difficult to choose what to write about. I personally can only scream about my distrust of space and my legally frowned upon love of Justin Bieber so many times before I start attracting unwanted attention from swarthy, beautiful, Bieber Saucers from beyond the stars. And not again I say.

But scanning the news this afternoon I came upon this story: apparently a man in India beheaded a woman as she was leaving her classroom Wednesday.

"I am GOD here, my cud is final!"

Now, before we get into this, let me just say that I am in no way making light of the loss of life here. This is a horrible thing, without question and this lunatic should be dealt with in the most severe way that Indian courts allow. Which I assume is to feed him to a cow, if I understand my Indian culture correctly, which I almost certainly do not. Now with that out of the way, let me get back to the hahas.

The headline calls this man “lovesick”, which I can only assume is the nicest possible way the AP copy editor can phrase “batshit insane”. Apparently his main, discernible motivation, according to the police was that he so loved this woman that he had by now brutally murdered in one of the most violent and deliberate ways which one can murder another individual, but her parents would not allow them to marry. So naturally, he had to Highlander her. I don’t think you can in good conscience call a guy who bisects his love interest’s head from their body “lovesick” unless while in prison he is clinically diagnosed with a love sickness which causes the infected individual to believe that the removal of vital segments of the human body is the ultimate expression of emotional love for another not long living individual. So how about we not cutesy it up, ay Associated Press?

When flowers just won't do, say "I love you" with a Khykri.

Elsewhere in the brief article the “writer” goes on to say that the swordsman was arrested “on suspicion” of killing the victim and that he “allegedly” attacked her with a ceremonial curved weapon called a khykri. Now, I understand that in America we have to use certain words when describing the actions and perpetrator of said actions because of how our news media and justice system like to fuck with each other. But when you have a gentleman, holding a sword, next to a body with a now detached head that, in all likely hood, did not have that as a standard feature moments before, surrounded by blood soaked students, holding onto this lunatic until police could arrive, and who is now explaining to the police that he had ALSO intended to kill himself, I think it’s fairly safe to drop any sort of lingering suspicion as to whether or not he’s responsible for the untimely weight loss of the student at our feet.

But along with these questions I have of the lax hiring practices at the Associated Press, when I read something like this, I can’t help but have dozens of other, admittedly sort of morbid, but still I think valid questions, come to mind. How, for instance, this guy was just able to waltz onto this campus, what ever size it was, with a ceremonial knife and slicin’ on his mind. I realize this isn’t metal detector high school like we have here in America, but still, a guy with a special blade should draw some kind of attention. Or how this guy running around the halls with a commemorative sword was able to walk right up to this woman and just take her head for a ride BEFORE anyone thought it might be a good idea to make sure she was expecting a meeting between her throat and his simitar. OR, and this is the biggie, as the story simply says “Authorities say the blade sliced her head off and she died instantly” how the fuck the particulars of this case exactly went down. When I think beheading I think of a long drawn out process involving a sawing like motion. I don’t generally think Kill Bill style, slow motion mid air head flipping following one swift, dramatic stroke. Granted, I haven’t seen a lot of beheadings lately, so maybe I’m not the expect on how tenaciously the spine clings to the brain stem, but I expected those bones in our neck were there for more than just show.

You know what, I don’t know what to think about any of this or even why I think it. I just know that clearly, I’ve never truly loved in what I generously call my “life” because not once have I ever entertained the thought of making something six inches shorter because I was told I couldn’t have it… Maybe I just don’t know how to love hard enough.

Obama’s Birth Certificate Found In a Van Full of Candy

Here it is, now go back to being unemployed

Hey everyone, wow, we’re really sorry that this whole Obama/birth certificate thing got so way out of freakin’ control. We forgot that it was in the back of our van the whole time. Whoopsie right?? Silly us, we totally forgot that on one of our last roadtrips, Obama had it in his wallet and let us frame it. So we hung it inside the van so it would be “Officially Presidential”, like Air Force One, meaning we wouldn’t have to pay when crossing toll-bridges or when using parking garages. IT WAS AWESOME! And don’t forget that all the drive-thru food we could eat WAS FREE!! FREE G’DAMNIT!! So maybe when I say … forgot … maybe I meant … didn’t want to tell anyone. Well crap, would you? You know how much money I’ve saved over the last few months since this whole “prove you’re American” thing came out? Well I’d have to say it’s been WAY over $250. That’s a lot of Big Macs.

Here’s what I can’t quite wrap my little nugget around: When I had to renew my drivers license down at the good ol’ friendly DMV, I had to prove up and down with all kinds of documents and fingerprints and photos and fluids from places and a letter of recommendation from my 1st grade teacher and then had to recite the Cub Scout Promise while standing on a chair. Holy frakin’ shit! All of this just to renew a drivers license that I already had because I had previously aleady proved my citizenial worthiness? I can’t even IMAGINE how difficult it would be to become the Holy Ambassador to these United Lines on a Map. I mean seriously! I’m sure he had to show a birth certificate to get student loans at Harvard Law right? To get married, when his book was published, to be elected into the Senate, to say “hey I’m running for President”, and then finally to win the whole goddamn enchilada?!? So this whole time he was faking it? Well if that’s the case then holy llama shit! Slap my ass, paint me pink and call me Gertrude. Oh wait, that gives me an idea!

Van Full of Candy is officially announcing our candidacy for President of the United States in the 2012 U.S. presidential
election. And to keep things simple, we’re providing our birth certificate right now, right here for the nation to see, just so there isn’t any … confusion.

So stick THAT in your apple and smoke it

Donald Trump: The President We Deserve

I think that's Barbara Boxer on the right...

We can name more Jersey Shore cast members than our state’s Senators. We have commercials telling our kids to go outside and play. We are steaming into the twenty first century, powered by wheezing, poisonous 19th century technology. And the little pocket sized super computer that we bought six months ago, that tiny little thing that would have been considered nothing short of wizard class magic ten short years ago, we can’t wait to throw that worthless piece of shit away the split second they let us buy the new version that’s 3% slimmer and has TWO cameras in six months.

In a time when the goal is no longer to achieve anything laudable, or to contribute anything to the betterment of mankind for future generations, when to excel and be exceptional is seen as being kind of a dick move, when dignity and self respect are quaint and adorable notions of the past and the most sought after personal goal is to have one’s own reality show, who better to represent this failed generation than Donald Trump?

We all know that he’s probably not going to win. It seems like that would be a given. But just because he’s probably not, and that he never should, and to even think about it makes the brain wet its little brain pants, doesn’t mean that he couldn’t. My Governor killed invisible aliens and was Danny DeVito’s hilariously implausible twin for 90 minutes… So, don’t talk to me about won’t and shouldn’t.

This is a man who builds giant, forty story, gold plated failure penises and wallpapers them with his name. This is a man who brags about supposedly fucking over a dictator in a land deal like he’s waiting for you to high five him. This is a man who feuds with Rosie O’Donnell and has gotten backing from such great political titans as Bret Michaels and Gary Busey.

My foreign policy is: Let's Rassle!

There was a time, I assume, when we as a people wanted to be represented in the highest halls of power by those that we believed were the best of us. When we wanted people smarter than us to be in charge of important things like, making sure the French didn’t try to fondle our balls a second longer than we wanted them to, or to tell the Germans to cut it out already. The idea of choosing a leader because you think it might be cool to hang out with them and tell squirrel stompin’ storries over a couple Old’ Milwaukees, or because you think he might flip off the King of Arabistan, call Russia a fag and punch the United Nations in the taint, is all fucking insane.

If Donald Ulysses Trump were elected President of these God’s United States, sure, it would be hilarious. I’m not about to question the entertainment value of it. The country would finally complete its transformation into one giant reality show, issuing a flip camera and a web domain to every citizen within its borders. Camera crews would follow the Trump at all times, he would have a confessional room built into the oval office, and we would no doubt all be murdered by the outrageously inappropriate actions of Secretary of State Omarosa.

But… what was I saying? I’m not sure really. The more I talk about it, the more I wonder why I was even thinking of fighting this at all. I’m sure Vice President Gene Simmons couldn’t possibly be worse than Biden, and that’s a man that knows how to brand a marginal franchise into, pathetic, yet unquestionable profitability. And personal pride is over rated anymore anyway.

Let’s just face the facts that Abraham Lincoln isn’t going to show up again. And besides, we wouldn’t let him. Why would we want to? It’s not about what’s best for us anymore, it’s about what’s most ironically hilarious. This is what we get, this is what we deserve.

Trump Oh-Twelve!

It’s Raining Babies In Physics Class

Helen "Baby Catcher" Beard Gets 1st Place in the Baby Catching Contest

Helen Beard, a tourist from England, who was vacationing in the posh environment of an Econo Lodge in Orlando, Florida, is being regarded as “an angel sent from Heaven” for catching a toddler who fell from the fourth floor balcony. The two year old, Jah-Nea Myles, didn’t have a single scratch or bruise even after hitting the third floor balcony on the way down. Ok, hang on, let’s just stop this right there. This is all starting to seem a little odd to me. So, this woman, Helen, is hanging out at the hotel pool at 9pm with her two kids and husband, happens to glance over to the hotel and sees a toddler, who apparently has no one watching her inside the hotel room, hanging on the side of a balcony four stories up, gets up, waltzes over to the area where the baby will fall, gets in perfect position, with perfect timing just as the baby falls and catches the baby with nary a bruise on the toddler and not dropping it? Come on! This sounds staged. Let’s Mythbust this shit right now.

The average weight for a 2 year old female: 28.4 lbs.

Average height of the 4^th floor of the “hotel” (4^th floor to ground): 60 feet

This Also Calculates Time In Jail For Baby Neglect

Ok, so now we’ve plugged our numbers into the “Impact Force from Falling Object” calculator, that we just happen to carry in the van, to figure out how freakin’ hard and fast this kid fell and what kind of an impact would it have on this lady from England when it hit her arms. So after looking at the calculations, I have no freakin’ clue what any of that means, except the kid fell for about 2 seconds getting up to a speed of 21 mph. So that’s like three 10lb bags of potatoes duct-taped together and being hurled at you going 21mph and hitting with Newtons and Joules and other scientific’y stuff and yet there is not one scratch? Not one little tiny bruise? Hopefully somebody reading this is smart and can geek out on it and give us a scientific answer, because mine is … really fast and really hard and really f’ing scary. And if it’s true, I want her on my egg-toss team.

Michael saw Helen in the crowd and knew it was safe to dangle baby

Van Full of Easter Candy

Easter is traditionally celebrated for two things:

a) the brutal shit kicking of Jesus Horatio Christ, culminating in his being affixed to a tree and propped up in Rome’s front yard like a pink flamingo that’s been kicked in the face for an hour. You know, for you and your stupid sins.

And

2) delicious seasonal candies.

We here at Van Full of Candy, naturally, spend a good portion of our day talking about the former. But we’re not monsters, after all, “Candy” is either 1/3 or 1/4 of our name, depending upon whether or not you personally count the ”of”. So it would stand to reason that we at VFoC love candy at least as much as commemorating your personal lord and savior’s unholy beat down.

So with that in mind, Van Full of Candy will be transformed for this weekend into the Van Full of Easter Candy, and present to you a showdown of delicious and not so delicious treats that mangy Spring Rabbit might crap into your pastel hued Jesus basket!

The orange colored dye is good for your sight

Whitman’s Marshmallow Carrot

Easter just keeps falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole. As time continues on and the real reason for Easter keeps getting pushed further and further away, we’ll have more time to ignore the brutal crucifixion of Jesus, and focus on the happy happy fun time Easter bunny and all that comes along with him. Like eggs, and little pink & yellow birdies, and jellybeans, and now … carrots? Are we just completely running out of rabbit associated candied paraphernalia to avert our eyes from the grandeur of Christ’s suffering? Oh wait, they’re made out of marshmallow? Ok then never mind, these are cool.

- versus -

Chock full of essential vita-yums!

Reese’s Pieces Carrot

It’s Reese’s Pieces, already, a win. Only the orange ones of course, because if they had the yellow and brown ones it would look like Maze, and this isn’t Thanksgiving, so get back to being a conveniently forgotten national shame, “Native Americans”. And all of these orange tasties are all wrapped up in a pointy baggy with green edges. It’s a peanut butter carrot. If “real” carrots tasted like this, I would shit rabbits. But they don’t, so I’m legally blind. Fortunately I just have to follow the orange, peanut butter scented blur to my daily allotment of beta caroyum!

Don't eat too many, we're going to McDonald's for dinner

Weight Watchers Chocolate Mousse Eggs

Nothing says “sorry kids, we’re horrible parents and fed you to obesity” more than getting one of these super yummy Weight Watchers mousse eggs in your basket, and it’s ONLY 1 POINT per egg!! So eat up kids!! I’m sure it tastes just like real chocolate like all the other kids in the neighborhood got, and I’m sure there won’t be any teasing when everybody is comparing what they got in their baskets. Thanks mom!

- versus -

They also sell individual eggs in a uranium shipping container.

Marshmallow Eggs by the Carton

Okay, I get what you’re doing here. A carton of eggs. Cute. By all rights, this should be a solid treat, the idea of chocolate covered marshmallow is a sound one. It’s chocolate, it’s marshmallow, there’s nothing not delicious there. But somehow they seem to find the worst of both elements, make them unreasonably small and store them in the worst possible way, selling these miniscule chalky marshmallowesque lumps slathered in a dry, crumbly chocolateish shell in a full sized styrofoam egg carton that could easily accommodate three times as much “candy” as it’s asked to foster. And I’ll give you six to one, in a decomposition race the marshmallow egg dances on the styrofoam’s grave.

God, Chocolate, Government ... The Easter Trifecta

Bunny Money

If you can find an Easter candy that embodies religion, government, chocolate and poor taste as much as this sweet little gem from the horrible people at Whitman’s does, then I’ll actually eat a piece of any Russell Stover “chocolate” of your choosing. My mouth just did that pre-throw up watering thing. “In God We Trust” takes a whole new meaning for the kids when they find this edible currency in their Easter basket. Not only do they get to associate the importance of the almighty dollar with a tummy ache, they also get taught that Jesus’ death symbol (the rabbit) is as important as a US President and tastes like sweet chocolate death.

- versus -

Please hear my prayers, for nummy treats.

Palmer Hear My Prayer Double Crisp

Palmer is science’s answer to candy. While mostly relegated to dollar stores (I can only assume to protect the general populace from excessive delicious), a lot of Palmer candies do still make it out into the “retail” world. Their fudge cups are one of my personal year round favorites, and I love any sort of holiday shaped confections they churn out throughout the year. But you see, the thing I love most about Palmer candies is that they don’t bullshit you. They come right out and tell you that hey, we’re chocolate FLAVORED. They make no claims of being actual chocolate and I respect that. I don’t know what exactly it is that I’m eating, but it tastes like yum to me. And with these sinfully delicious crispy chocolate prayer hands the good people at Palmer sure know how to put the Christ back in Christ-Easter-mas. I’ll tell you what I’m praying for… MORE!

Happy Spring Rabbit Festival everybody, have a big ‘ol tummy ache for us.

F’Aflac

That’s French … for Aflac.

The fine people here at VFoC really pride ourselves in the ways of creativity and in our all out effort in participation, sharing, volunteerism, sharing, caring and lots and lots of hugs. So when Aflac so abruptly fired Gilbert Gottfried and started a social media blitz to find a new voice for the duck, we thought “hey, let’s do our part to help them out”. So we rolled up our sleeves, dusted off the old duck voice pipes, started  rehearsing and by God we came up with a total gem of an audition video. We cheerfully sent it in, paying careful attention to all of Aflac’s submission rules and stipulations, uploading on time and under size restrictions. Another thing we pride ourselves on here at VFoC is attention to detail, which I’m sure you’re all VERY aware of.

Yesterday we received an email from Aflac regarding the “search for a new voice”, and to our abhorrent shock, they had the gall to dismiss us. DISMISS US?!? Do you know who the fuck we are duck? Telling us that you listend to 12,500 auditions? YOU BETTER LISTEN TO OURS ONE MORE TIME BITCHDUCK! You better get your ducks in a row and figure this shit out! Hell, I bet right now everyone reading this can’t even tell us what the hell Aflac does. You’re a goddamn duck running around yelling your company name at people, but what the hell do you do? You provide something, BUT WHAT???

He should have strangled that duck while he had the chance

CHALLENGE: Right now, everybody reading this go to the comment section and tell us what Aflac actually does WITHOUT LOOKING IT UP FIRST!

See? You don’t know … neither do we … NOBODY DOES!! Here’s a copy of their email.Well shit … hmmmmm … after reading this over a second time, it doesn’t really say we WEREN’T selected. It’s just totally clear as dishwater. Let’s break it down shall we?

1. They call us Friend … nice and generic

2. They thank us … you’re welcome

3. They applaud us for not giving up on our dreams … awww

4. They’re amazed and humbled by OUR talent … well yeah

5. Listened to a shitload of applicants … most of which were probably weak

6. Narrowed the pool to 10 finalists … us included probably

7. Begging us to stay in touch … see?

So, maybe my kneejerk reaction of cussing and blowing up at the cute little white duck was undeserved. No place in that email does it say we’re cut. Maybe I’m just so conditioned to losing and being sent away that that is the only thing I hear, read and taste. Wow! They really still love us! They’re still giving us a shot! We’re still in the top 10 finalists!The email wasn’t ambiguous, it’s clear as crystal and heck, we might be the voice someday very soon.

Wow Aflac, thank you … thank you very very much. We love you and your product, whatever it is doesn’t really matter because you’re an adorable duck and you have the cutest commercials ever. Oh, and just ignore the “F apostrophe” before your name, it was cute little play on the French language, not the F word. Swear!

Call me.

Would You Like Fries With Your Self Richeousness?

If what I’ve over heard while not really listening can be trusted as complete and total fact, 97.3% of Americans are out of work. I, personally, work out of the Van making literally tens of people every day sort of almost chuckle, so as far as I’m concerned the unemployed can suck it. And apparently “insiders” agree with me. But all anyone seems to want to talk about is how bad the economy is and how no one is doing anything about it. And after seeing one company try to come out and at least look like it’s trying to do something, I can understand why nobody else gives a shit.

"Heres a McSecret: The real Happy Meal? Its in my pants!"

See, yesterday McDonalds, “the Hamburger People”™ held what it called a “National Hiring Day” where they supposedly planned to hire 50,000 new workers, effectively adding to it’s burger loving work force by 7 percent. Thousands of people showed up at McDonalds ”Family Fun Food Centers and Play-stravaganza Activity Parks” © hoping to join Mayor McCheese’s proud McFamily. Those struggling folks, among the 13 million other Americans desperate for work were naturally called by industry insiders, “suckers”.

You see, this isn’t about hiring people. If that’s what you thought, some vaguely defined “economy industry insiders” would like to tell you about this job that they have for you called punch you in the face dummy. You see, this isn’t about trying to put people to work, this is about McDonalds wanting to look like it… puts people to work…

But let’s look at the facts, stupid poor moron! Here’s what the article itself says:

Though the 50,000 jobs are new, McDonald’s usually staffs up for summer anyway, and it’s constantly gaining and losing employees. It added 50,000 new workers in April last year, so Tuesday’s blitz amounts to typical hiring, albeit compressed into a day.

So… yeah. This actual AP Business Writer is showing you morons what’s really going on here. Sure these are “new” jobs, but, they would have hired them anyway. So why do you think you’re so special McDonalds. Hiring people that you would have hired anyway and wanting people to know that you’re hiring people. So what? You want a medal? Is that what you want Ronald? You want a big pretty medal proclaiming how awesome you are for putting 50,000 people to work that you would have put to work anyway? Well okay, you probably, might, could maybe deserve a medal. But… shut up!

The article continued:

With 14,000 U.S. restaurants, Tuesday’s planned additions amount to about three or four new employees per restaurant — the amount that each store is probably usually looking for anyway, said Sara Senatore, an analyst at Sanford C. Bernstein.

Again McDonalds, why the fuck do you think you should get any attention for hiring people that you are probably usually looking for anyway? I mean, just because you probably need them, doesn’t mean that you should do a huge nation wide one day hiring bonanza to actually let it be known that you probably need someone to fill these extra jobs. What are you trying to prove? That telling people you have jobs available might help to get those jobs filled? What a filthy, underhanded, self serving piece of shit ass cunt whore twat bitch mother licking chode kind of move that is McDonalds… You should be ashamed of all of those things I just called you. Shame!

"Remember, youre just a tool in our propaganda... apparently..."

The article also goes on to talk about the stigma attached to McDonalds workspersonship. Because you should be reminded that working at McDonalds is demeaning. It’s below you. Do you really want to have to slink back to McDonalds in your desperate hour of need and work with all of those high school kids, reminding you of the failure that you are while trying to survive this hopefully temporary transition or hardship you find yourself in? Never mind the fact that the average age of a fast food worker has risen from 22 in the year 2000 to almost 30 years old today.

You know who wouldn’t take a job at McDonalds? An asshole. So yeah, fuck McDonalds. Fuck McDonalds for hiring people, fuck McDonalds for telling people it’s hiring people, and fuck McDonalds for screwing over all of it’s grateful, appreciative to be given any opportunity to try to put food on the table, workers. The federal minimum wage right now is $7.25, McDonalds’ Human Resources Vice President says that most of their franchises pay more than that and a full time manager can make anywhere from 32,000 to 50,000 a year. They also say that 30 percent of their executives and 70 percent of their managers started as little more than fry cooks and mop nudgers. But so what? Right economy snobs? You’re still an executive at McDonalds. Right? You’re still a manager at McDonalds. And those assholes make it a big deal that they’re trying to hire tens of thousands of people to work for them for more than minimum wage with a seemingly reasonable amount of upward mobility like they’re some kind of job creating burger barons! The fucking sack on this clown!

Thirteen million people are out of work. Mostly because of shit done to them by other companies, a batrillion times less honest in their motivations than this deliciously unhealthy food shilling man from McDonaldland. You’ve got a company that is trying to put people to work, people who need it, and yeah, they’re doing it in a bit of a flashy way to maybe get a little attention for it and to try to mend a reputation that has been perpetuated by assholes lucky enough to not have to work there, and still you’re going to bitch about it?

Shut up and eat your 6 piece McNuggets fried up for you by the 40 year old guy, happy as fuck to be given the opportunity to do ANYTHING to make some money and just hope like hell that you never find yourself in a position in life where you too might have to rely on the self serving gesture of a company that you despise for no good damned reason.

Two-Arm Two-Fer Tuesday

And Thou Shalt Have Two Arms ... Count Them ... Two!!

I’m noticing a very strange and scary trend happening in the world right now, and it’s making me very uncomfortable, as it should you too. As I was watching a rerun of House, the medical show with the guy who has a cane and walks around with a limp, acting all “smarter than thou” and everything he says always perfectly fills his wit quota for the hour and who rides a motorcycle which confuses me because where does one put a cane when one rides a motorcycle(?), but that’s neither here nor there, but his limb being affected strangely has to do with what I’m writing about (which it didn’t on the inception of this blog thought). So, the rerun, I’m assuming it’s a rerun because I don’t actually watch the show on a regular basis as this was MAYBE the third time I have ever seen it, so if it isn’t a rerun please feel free to correct me in the comments below, or if it was, praise me in the comments below, thanks. So I’m just gonna go with “rerun” based on the fact that it was on “rerun’y” kind of channel, and since I only have rabbit ear antennae to watch TV and not cable, I’m going to bet on the higher end that this was a rerun, and the rabbit ear thing goes pretty well with Easter and that wasn’t the intention of mentioning rabbit ears in this blog either, but now realizing that this isn’t even about Easter, go ahead and forget that I made the connection, except for the fact that Easter is only five days away, so … it still works … kinda. So, the rerun, right, sorry. The episode is about a girl who is going to have to lose her arm because of cancer, and as I’m watching it, I start to think about the movie about the guy who fell in a cavern who

Damn you Lord ... NOT JESSICA !!!!!

was played by that guy who really sucked at hosting the award show where they give people gold statues for being in movies. So as I’m watching the show, I realize how upset this girl is in having to lose her arm, and it makes me think, “Wow, I guess losing a limb, arm in particular, would be on the high end of suck. What would I do? Heck, what would Jesus do?” Then I started to realize, hey, they just made a SECOND movie about arm loss where a surfer chick who isn’t played by that one country singer girl who was on that show about people who win recording contracts because they can sing and America votes for them, and that old lady used to be on it who had bad 80’s music videos. Anyway, so this surfer girl gets her arm bitten off by one of those characters that played Jaws in that movie about … Jaws, but even after losing her arm she continues to be a surfer and it’s supposed to be really motivational. So now I’m all worked up because I feel like we’re trying to be told something, by some higher power, or maybe just the movie people, and by something, I mean shit ass scary, and not in the “look what you can

And now even HOTTER!!

overcome” kind of way, but in the the “something wants you to grotesquely lose a limb in some extreme sport” kind of way. And as I sit here and type, I think, what if I really had to lose an arm? Which one would I pick? How could I get this blog done on time? Do you have any idea how long it would take to type all this nonsense with one hand? And would they make a movie about me? “Blogger Boy”, the motivational movie about a typer who loses an arm but continues to type, just slower so his readers have something to … read. I bet they would! But if they didn’t then I would write it, it would just take a whole hell of a lot  longer to finish. So let’s hear it for two arms!! Hooray!!

And the winner IS!

Thank you all so much for participating in our little contest experiment fun time jamboree. We had fun putting it on and we hope you had fun entering and voting. We want to do something like this again someday when we figure out what the hell it is we want to do.

But now, we have come to the end of Van Full of Candy’s 2011 Van Haiku Contest. We had a lot of really good entries and literally DOZENS of votes in determining the winner. And when the exhaust cleared and the candy was swept away we were left with one clear victor, with 15 votes, and 40.54% of the total vote…

@Here_Comes_Joy — Debapom Saha!

And his stirring, heart felt Haiku… #FriendsForever:

Ever since that day
You kidnapped my heart away
Friendship eternal

So touching, I just… Give me a second. What? No, I’m not crying, my eye just came.

So as promissed Debapom, we will be adding your winning Haiku to our many web presences for, I dunno, until we decide to change it I guess, and given how lazy we are, that could be quite some time still. In addition, as soon as we finish assembling it, and you feel like you can trust us with your mailing address, we’ll be shipping you a generous sized box of our favorite hand picked candies in something that we hope to shape somewhat vaguely like a van. We’ll see what the United States Postal Service will let us get away with… Either way, congratulations Debapom!

As for our runners up, second place Scott Petty and second second place Josias Regalito Valdez, if you feel safe in revealing your mailing addresses to two guys who identify themselves as “Van Full of Candy”, we would like to send you a very little something as well. I don’t know what, but don’t expect much. Oh, and don’t tell Jason, I just decided on this.

Anyway, thanks again for being a part of this whole thing. We really hope you enjoy what we do and keep coming back every day for a new piece of insanity. We hope to keep this going for as long as we can both stand it, and only make it bigger and better as we keep rolling along.

See you all tomorrow with what ever it is we decide to do. Until then, let’s do some donuts in the high school parking lot! Woooo!