We love My[ _____ ] now, Justin! Love us!

OMG Ya’ll! O to the MUTHA FUCKIN’ G!!!

Did you hear? Did you hear the news!? Justin Timberlake owns My[_____]! I know! Well when I heard the news, I leapt out of my chair and kissed the nearest homeless person. Then I gave them a dollar to stop screaming at me.

When we at Van Full of Candy set up our web presence, we had largely ignored My[_____]. Almost solely because it lacked an element of Justin Timberlake ownership. But with the wonderful, magical news this morning that Justin Timberlake (as part of a partnership with Specific Media, but mostly just as Justin Timberlake) had purchased My[_____] from News Corp for only $35 million, (a miniscule fraction of the $580 million hat News Corp had paid for “MySpace” just a few short, heady years ago) I knew that we had to get our My[_____] on and get in on the ground floor of what can only be the single greatest thing to happen to the internet since the invention of the W! Here is the timeline of my throwing myself at the feet of Triple Threat McGee and his new Social Media Empire!

9:24 am: Read that Justin Timberlake personally bought My[_____] with his own gorgeous money.

9:25 am: Opened My[_____] account.

9:26 am: Sat, daydreaming about me and JT hangin’ out, being handsome.

9:31 am: Washed hands, began writing this article.

9:35 am: Posted first My[_____] status update.

9:36 am: Started looking for the perfect Hollywood hot spot for our first Champaign brunch with Justin SexyBack.

9:39 am: Took a break from brunch shopping to read my first My[_____] e-mail!

9:40 am: Visited the theme gallery and customized our profile:

9:43 am: Followed our fave Topics in movies, celeb and TV:

9:52 am: Listened to albums, created playlists, and more:

9:56 am: Didn’t connect with their many curators because I didn’t know what that meant and I was scared…

And then, at 10:25 am, after grooving to the JT express as hard and as loud as I could, I made the big step…

10:26 am: My little heart was broken…

10:27 am: … I cried. I cried so hard that I broke my cryer: I fear I may never be able to cry again.

Why Justin, why would you do this to me? I’ve done so much to show you my love, and this is how my affection is returned?

Sure, maybe I’m not Andy Samberg, maybe I can’t invite you onto my show and write you hilarious songs about boning each other’s parents. Maybe all I can do is love you, with all of my candy clogged heart, from afar, in the hopes that some day, SOME DAY, maybe that love will be returned in kind…

In the meantime, join us on the new JustinSpace page. Friend us, because if Justin sees just how cool and popular we are, surely he will be our friends. We couldn’t win Charlie Sheen’s heart, but please, help us make Justin love us!

Happy Birthday iPhone, You Skinny Bitch

Wow, I can’t believe that it’s been four whole years since we started dating. It only seems like yesterday when your camera only had 2 megapixels and you still had your cute baby fat which I was really attracted to. You were such a simpler girlfriend back then, so much nicer, you used to be so attentive to my needs, God I miss those days. Over the years you’ve changed. You started working out, tanning, getting your hair colored and even started yoga even though you said you hated it. You’ve started dressing different now that you’re so svelte and it seems you hardly even notice me anymore since you’ve become so “Hollywood”. I’ve just become “that guy who carries me around”, and that really hurts because I have a name damnit.

I remember when you used to weigh 135 grams. Yes I said it, I know you don’t want anyone to know how big you used to be, but since our relationship is going downhill, I’m going to air out all of our dirty laundry right here, right now! I used to lovingly lug you around in my pocket, and trust me it wasn’t easy back then, but sacrifice is how relationships work. I loved you, and you loved me and nothing else mattered. But now you have competition with that new sexy Android slut, and even though I would never look at her in a lustful way, your jealousy is getting the best of you. I understand if you’re looking for a way out of what we have, but let me tell you, you’re making a huge mistake. She’s sexy yes, but you are my true love! True, I may have held her a couple of times and commented on her gigantic screen, but none of that matters. You’re way hotter than her. I don’t care if you enlarged your screens, got lasik surgery for better sight, increased your knowledge with those fancy French and pottery classes you’ve been taking. I don’t care that you’ve lost 3.5 mm from your waist, I used to adore those cute love handles. Remember how I would grab on to those babies? Smacking that ass, your loud ringtones going off, and how hot your battery charger used to get  when I was all up in … sorry … I’m losing focus, but you know what I mean.

I hope this letter reaches you well, and I really do hope that you’ve found your true happiness out there wherever it may be. But just know that there’s a guy out there that still really cares about you regardless of what you look like, because he knows the real you and I don’t even care that you’ve gained 2 grams over the years. A guy who will always be there for you if you ever choose to return, and still smiles when he thinks about the fun times we used to have in the car with Shazam.

Happy Birthday

Sweden Wants to Steal Your Baby’s Genitals

As men, our number one mission in life is to ensure that no harm comes to our external reproductive organs. Above all else, this is our divine purpose in life. Our very existence revolves around the grandeur and majesty of our god granted penis. But if it were up to Sweden our magnificent boy glands would be treated as no more special than the common vagina!

 

I’ve talked in the past about a Canadian family’s attempt to keep you from knowing what their groin spawn’s packin’ in it’s Pampers, and today I find that this degenderfication of the toddler crotchscape, while just beginning to stir in the North America continent is fully engorged and raging in ye Olden Europe Towne.

 

Genderless Swedish "its" at play.

In Stockholm Sweden, staff at ”Egalia” preschool don’t refer to the children as him, her, he or she. Boys and girls play house together in a toy kitchen surrounded by Lego bricks and building blocks “to make sure the children draw no mental barriers  between cooking and construction”. The bookcases are stocked with tales of homosexual couples, single parents and adopted children. And their dolls are all anatomically correct and racially diverse

They want children to believe that their entire psychological make up and social worth and potential aren’t dictated entirely by what’s goin’ on in the pants you wear under your pants.

 

These penis hating, equality hugging, homosexual propagandists have some parents convinced that “An obsession with obliterating gender roles could make the children confused and ill-prepared to face the world outside kindergarten.” Because if a little boy grows up not knowing that the penis he has been favored with by the creator of the heavens and the Earth makes him special and entitled to unquestioned dominion over those cursed with the devil’s gash, how will HE ever know how much more favored HE is?

 

“Society expects girls to be girlie, nice and pretty and boys to be manly, rough and outgoing,” says Jenny Johnsson, a 31-year-old teacher. “Egalia gives them a fantastic opportunity to be whoever they want to be.”

 

Really, they just get to be WHOEVER THEY WANT TO BE? Who thought that was a good idea? Then who will be manly and outgoing? Ms. Johnsson? Girls? Don’t be ridiculous. Girls are demure and submissive, because that’s what we tell them to be, because that’s what we were told to tell them to be. An outgoing child? They have a name for that already Ms. Johnsson, it’s “boy”. And if not girls, who will be girlie and nice Ms. Johnsson? Boys? Then we’d have to call it “boylie” and that just sounds stupid. And you’re stupid for suggesting it!

 

But these deviants don’t just stop at claiming that boys and girls are “equals”, they also place “a special emphasis on fostering an environment tolerant of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.” Noting a particular example of homosexual indoctrination sitting on the children’s bookcase: “a story about two male giraffes who are sad to be childless — until they come across an abandoned crocodile egg.” That’s right, these perverts are forcing down these children’s throats tales of manic-depressive beastial-homosexual interspecies child abduction as just another socially acceptable “alternative lifestyle choice”! To suggest that two male giraffes could raise an orphaned crocodile better than a male giraffe and a female giraffe, still together only to raise the child in their loveless, spiteful, blessed union, is just irresponsible and dangerous!

 

But it doesn’t stop there, why would it? Why not introduce Sweden’s 1-6 year olds to the wonderful world of lesbian polygamy? 

Lotta Rajalin: Inventer of the "Infinite Moms" theory.

“When they’re playing ‘house’ and the role of the mom already is taken and they start to squabble,” Egalia Director Lotta Rajalin says. “Then we suggest two moms or three moms and so on.

You know what? At this point, why not? Why stop there? Why not five moms or ten moms or a hundred sexy, scantily clad moms, bathing each other every night while trying to balance their late night washings with the responsibility of raising a child all on their own without the firm, strong guidance of a male role model telling them that they’re doing it all wrong.

 

But like me Jay Belsky, child psychologist at the University of California, Davis and proud penis owner, can see clearly exactly what’s really going on in this twisted world of “gender equality” “mind control”.

 

“The kind of things that boys like to do — run around and turn sticks into swords — will soon be disapproved of,” he said. “So gender neutrality at its worst is emasculating maleness.”

 

Exactly. In a world where anything phallic is the enemy, and a country specifically where, and I am not making this up, the “Swedish Science Council had granted $80,000 for a postdoctoral fellowship aimed at analyzing ‘the trumpet as a symbol of gender.’ ” it’s all about the metaphorical castration of masculinity. Oh, children will still be able to run around and turn sticks into swords, female children, and they will be lauded, praise heaped upon them for their bravely in creating their own strong, powerful, imaginary womyn penis. While the male children will be told that their sticks are not swords at all, but merely sticks, and then their sticks will be taken away from them. And given to girls.

 

Because naturally, the only appropriate reaction to people proposing a de-emphasization of gender roles is to see it as an attack on maleness. The only appropriate reaction to people proposing that gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people actually be viewed as human beings worthy of equal treatment rather than scorn and derision, is to see it as an attack on maleness. The only appropriate reaction to people suggesting that a child should be allowed to discover who they might be on their own without the automatic restrictions of preprogrammed gender roles, is to see it as an attack on maleness. There is no other explanation.

 

There isn’t a war on the uniquely male appendage. It is not constantly under attack by those who would tell us that it doesn’t make us the most powerful, most capable, most important species of animal the planet has ever been blessed to foster. Not teaching kids that they have to be this and they have to be that just because of how they were born isn’t emasculating future men, and it isn’t masculating future women, it’s just giving kids a chance to see what else is out there, before those that weren’t raised that way tell them exactly how they have to live based solely on what parts their pants are covering. And everything’ll be right with the world once again…

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get back to thinking about those poor 100 moms, struggling to make it in a world where clothes must be rationed and lotions and oils must be constantly applied to protect against the blistering, chapped hellscape.

Sunday, Monday (Not So) Happy Days

The safe, happy go lucky, fun, Americana days of television have decided to not lie dormant in our hearts as a great television series any longer. No, the wonderful show Happy Days has been recently infected with the long battled disease of HollywoodyWantyMoney Flu, and has decided to enter into the 21st century of jaded actors and frivilous lawsuits.

The epitome of the American family was set in the mid 50′s to the early 60′s. They hadn’t a care in the world except what flavor milkshake to order at Big Al’s Diner and which poodle skirt wearin’ floozie Fonzie was gonna bang next in the men’s bathroom stall lovingly known as his “office”. All of life’s problems were easily whisked away when “Mr. C.”, Tom Bosley, returned from work at the hardware store with a quick quip about values, and when “Mrs. C.”, Marion

This picture is gonna cost you $1,200 to show anyone. Pay up sucka!

Ross, brought out her world-crisis solving apple pie. But now “Mr. & Mrs. C.” want a much larger portion of that pie, and they want it now!! But it’s not only them; “Joanie”, “Potsy” and “Ralph Malph” want some of Mrs. C.’s yummy pie as well.*

The cast of Happy Days has recently filed a lawsuit against CBS for unpaid royalties for merchandising. If their face got put on anything like a lunchbox or a sweatshirt, those greedy little bastards were supposed to get a cut of the money, but apparantly they weren’t, but didn’t seem to really give a rats ass since they probably made so much on the show, that a $10,000 royalty check was only good for wiping their asses with. But now that the Happy Days merchandise gurus have got them on slot machines in casinos all over the nation, I’m thinking that Joanie no longer gives a shit about Chachi and can smell mama’s pie bakin’ in the oven. A big ol’ fat apple pie of casino royalties which would make their ass wiping ever so pleasant.**

Now being the research addicts that we are here at Van Full of Candy, we have unearthed a very strange coincidence from the theme song of the show and how it predicted how these gluttonous parasites would act once they smelled blood. Casino blood.

Sunday, Monday, Happy Days
Tuesday, Wednesday, Happy Days
Thursday, Friday, Happy Days
Saturday, What a day, Groovin’ all week with you

This first verse represents how everything was groovy and happy when the show was in full swing and everyone was getting paid like superstars. There careers were flourishing, they were stars, they were happy every single day of the week and everything was hunky dory.

These days are all,
Happy and Free. (Those Happy Days)
These days are all,
Share them with me. (oh baby)
Goodbye grey sky, hello blue.
There’s nothing can hold me when I hold you.
Feels so right, it can’t be wrong.
Rockin’ and rollin’ all week long.

This is when things start to go awry and the cast feels as if they aren’t being “share them with me” with anymore, although they’re “rockin’ and rollin’”, they wanna be “rollin’” in the dough that apparently they aren’t being paid and they hate that CBS is getting their talent for “happy and free”. They see the payday, known as the “blue sky” on it’s way as they wave “goodbye grey sky” once this lawsuit gets settled and there’s nothing than can “hold me” back, and goddammit, it “feels so right, it can’t be wrong”. Now give us our gawd-damn monies bitches!!

These days are all,
Share them with me. (Those Happy Days)
These days are all, Happy and Free.
These Happy Days are your’s and mine, Happy Days.

And this final verse represents what they’re seeing on the horizon. They’ll be happy, everything will be free, they still want their “share”, and the feeling that they get will be “your’s and mine” because they’re going to share that wealth with everyone, and to that I say “Happy Days”!!

The Fonz already got his money ... AYYYYYYYYYY !!

*Mr. C. passed away in October of 2010, but it’s his “estate” that wants the money

** Richie and Fonzie are not part of this lawsuit. Richie had no comment, and Fonzie said he already got paid for the merchandising

Celebrity News: So Crazy, it’s True

Celebrities, they’re who we pretend we’re having sex with when we’re just giving it to the ol’ lady because it feels like it’s probably about time that we should. Celebrities live lives that are too ridiculous to be believed most of the time, flying around the world and being interviewed about the latest thing they were filmed pretending to be, like a soldier, or a talking car, or a talking car soldier. They’re just more interesting than regular people, automatically. But some times real life celebrity stories are almost too stupid to be believed. So we at Van Full of Candy present you with this quick little exercise “Celebrity News: Yuh-huh or Nu-uh”. Can you guess which stories are too good to be true and which are just dumb enough to be real? Come along with us and put your celebrity nonsensiscope to the test!

DON'T HURT MY JUSTY-JUST, MR. PEANUT!

Justin Bieber Rushed to Hospital for Violent Peanut Alergy

Teen, tween and twinfant heart throb Justin Bieber was whisked away to Atlanta Methodist Hospital late last night when he inadvertantly ingested a candy coated cashew that had been mistakenly sprinkled on the frozen yogurt treat that he customarily shares with an adoring fan during his tender ballad “Baby”.

NU-UH: As far as I know Justin Bieber is impervious to pain. There’s no evidence that I know of that he is not in fact an immortal who’s actually been here since the dawn of history, only now finally making himself known to the world. I can’t say any of those things are true or false, but I do know he wasn’t rushed to the hospital because of legume aversion… And he probably doesn’t call a squealing fan up on stage to share a delicious cup of Fro-yo mid concert… But he should…

Imagine my elbow in your stupid nostril!

James Franco Makes Invisible Art/Sells it for Real Money

When he’s not pursuing a multitude of college degrees, acting in soap operas and major stoner themed motion pictures, guest professoring, being a rock star or modeling on the side, you know, to make ends meet, James Franco is hard at work selling sculptures that he hasn’t sculpted and movies that he hasn’t movied.

YUH-HUH: Absolutely fucking true. Not only that, but apparently Johnny Renaissance has helped this pretentious institution well beyond merely contributing the “film” “Red Leaves” (valued at $25) but also a costume from the film, that I should remind you, doesn’t exist (valued at $50) and a sculpture (which exists just as not as the rest of the previously numerated items but is still somehow valued at a non-imaginary $100), but also helping open MONA, the “Museum of Non-Visible Art”. If he wasn’t violently punchable before, now the fact that he’s selling people imagination just makes we want to pummel his squinty face until his head becomes a found object to be used in another imaginary piece of art.

Oh, it's real alright

Kim Kardashian Gets Her Butt X-Ray’d

Khloe Kardashian posts on her blog, “Hey dolls. The PROOF is in the X-ray. Kim’s ass is 100% real!!!”. Kim Kardashian, trying to disprove the theories that her larger than life ass is real, got it X-ray’d to prove that it has no implants in it whatsoever.

YUH-HUH: This story has got to be one of the biggest wastes of medical resources available. If you have to “prove” that your ass is real, then there’s something wrong with white people everywhere, because I can tell you that there is not a single African American male in this world that would ever ask that question to her. And who cares if it’s fake, look at that damn thing, I just wanna snuggle up in it like a bean bag and watch The Neverending Story with a bowl of popcorn.

We f'ing just pulled off the best stunt ever

Jackass Tricks You Again – Ryan Dunn Is Alive

In one of the biggest publicity stunts ever, Ryan Dunn, Bam Magera and Johnny Knoxville of JackAss come clean that the death of Ryan Dunn was the biggest and best prank that they have ever pulled off. Dunn said about the stunt, “the hardest part of this whole thing wasn’t making people believe I was dead, but it was actually crashing my badass Porsche, oh well, it was worth it cause we got ya’ll good this time”. Reports that the local police and fire-department were also in on the prank made it that much more credible.

NU-UH: Sorry kids, this story is not real, well at least it isn’t real yet. See the problem is, we really don’t know if he’s dead or alive, just like we don’t know most of the shit that is spewed to us through the media box that tells us how to live. We don’t know if these guys pulled a sweet-ass prank on the world, or if he really died since they are the boys-who-cry-wolf of a spectacular fashion. If it is true and Ryan Dunn has passed away, then that sucks, but if he’s alive, then that sucks too because: 1. They got us, and: 2. We didn’ t learn that drinking and driving expensive cars at excessive speeds is dangerous, but that it’s a cool way to stunt for publicity.

Hey Poor People: Go Fuck Yourself

It’s no secret that the rich despise the poor. This hatred stems from a couple very different, very dark places in the place that at one time may or may not have housed a soul. Either 1) the rich person was once poor, and the very sight of the un-monied sends shivers down their spine, reminding them of the life they fought out of, frightened every day that someone will take it all away from them and send them back to the horrors of non-richness. of B) they have never known a minute of want in their entire privileged life and are so out of touch, with no reference for the plight of the soiled dirty people, they don’t understand how everyone doesn’t own a drawer full of platinum dipped, emerald encrusted cock rings, except that their abject lazy and unwillingness to make something of themselves makes them despise them and their worn more than once clothing.

There’s really no other way to explain the mind rapingly unnecessary extravagances that the rich continue to treat themselves to when surrounded by a world that at best is barely scraping by and is at worst, scraping off a bite of those who failed to scrape by.

The latest luxury item being offered to the bored rich collector of things that they should be ashamed of is this beaut…

The "Zaffiro Iridium": More luxury than your face could ever need.

Feast your eyes on the majesty of the only razor greater than yourself.

Now, you may be asking, “Why has a razor for the wasteful wealthy pissed you off so very much Mr. Blog? It’s just a razor, what harm could it possibly do to you and your constantly yelly face?” And it’s a fair question. Just looking at this face deforestation utensil, it looks no more special than your average Gillette. Frankly, it actually looks kind of ugly. A razor is generally a fairly harmless bathroom expenditure and this one looks like you could probably buy a bag of three of them for five bucks at CVS. But if that were the case, I wouldn’t have been shouting at the sky for the last three hours, now would I? Well, okay, I probably would have, but at least this gave me a somewhat defensible reason.

You see, if you’d like to scrape the whiskers from your face in the most luxurious, exclusive way known to the abhorrent excess of man, you can get yourself your very own Zafirro Iridium for the bargain basement price of JUST… $100,000.

No, I didn’t just have a stroke and lean on the zero key for a comically long period of time: that’s the real fucking price. For only $100,000 you can stride confidently across the face of your own bought and paid for planet with chops as smooth as a starving child’s malnourished ass cheeks.

"Oh good, my shaving razor's HANDLE has arrived. Send someone poor to fetch that for me."

And you know what, you get your very last penny’s worth, because the Zafirro Iridium isn’t made with space age technology, that’s for poor assholes. No, the Zafirro Iridium is made from fucking SPACE! See, if Zafirro’s razor sounds sort of familiar in a weird, sci-fi kind of way, that’s because it gets its name from the material it’s made from “Iridium”. What is iridium you may be wondering? Well you see, most of the iridium found on our planet is “the result of crashed meteorites”… That’s right, this razor is made of space rocks. Actually, scratch that. The HANDLE is made of space rocks. The fucking handle is made of iridium, an “extremely scarce and expensive metal that is so dense, it could survive a drop into molten lava”. Not the business end of this $100,000 indestructible face smoother but just the HANDLE, the LEAST IMPORTANT PART of this thing is made of a Superman metal from a doomed planet far, far away that has crash landed on Earth.

So then, if the thing that holds the blade is made of metal that can leap tall buildings in a single bound, what the hell fuck could the actual blade be made of? Sharpened unicorn bones? Laser carved shards of a brown dwarf star? Jesus’ finger nail clippings? No, that’s ridiculous, nothing quite so extravagant and fantastical, the blades of this $100,000 dollar shaver are simply made from artificially grown sapphire… That’s all… I don’t even know what that means or if the reality of what the blades actually are is even less insane than the other options I threw on the table.

Zafirro, which apparently only exists to sell these razors, is only offering 99 of these grotesque impulse buys to the money soaked “public”, adding one more irresistible feature to lure in the bahudratrillionaires: exclusivity. The only thing the super rich love more than buying more comically expensive things that shouldn’t cost nearly so much, is knowing that they will be one of only a handful of people on the planet to own it.

To say this is unnecessary is a gross understatement, but that doesn’t mean that people don’t have the right to spend their money how ever they see fit. What makes me so angry is when I see something like this and then, foolishly, put it in perspective. The poverty line in the contiguous United States for the year of our lord 2000 and 11 for a family of 4 (with all family members 18 years of age or over) is $22,350. So, give those four families a couple extra bucks in walkin’ around money to waste on frivolous nonsense that the poor are known to throw their money away on, such as food and electricity, and 16 people could live the lavish life of the just barely not impoverished for an entire year for the price of a single, solitary, volcano proof grooming tool…

It’s better not to think about these things, I wish I didn’t. But I do, and that’s why I’m angry all the time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go get a ten pack of Bics at the dollar store and try to resist the urge to cut my hands off with them… BYE NOW!

The Official VFoC Music Video (Sorta) In The Works!

Oh god, we’re ruined!

…

Let me explain…

Tally Hall's new album "Good & Evil", avaliable now!

I’m (Jesse) a huge fan of Tally Hall (going to see them at the Troubadour, August 2nd, let me know if you’ll be there, we can hang, maybe become besties and braid each other’s hair…) a difficult to categorize and describe indy band out of Ann Arbor, Michigan. I found them a couple years ago quite by accident, as almost all good musical finds happen. A couple weeks ago I pre-ordered their new album “Good & Evil” (released yesterday and available on iTunes and at Quack Media. After getting a link in my e-mail to check out the free streaming preview of the new album, I discovered another link, promoting Tally Hall writing and recording your own personal theme song. I was ecstatic, and as such, did not read very clearly the entire sentence. I assumed that all pre-order customers had been selected to receive a customized theme song from my new favorite band.

Well, that was all I needed to hear. I ran out and bought (not rented, BOUGHT) hundreds of thousands of dozens of dollars worth of equipment, the type of equipment somehow didn’t seem to matter. I bought lights, cameras, rototillers, gas ranges, more lights, a retired soviet communications satellite, all to make what in my mind was going to be the single greatest music video in the history of musicalized videography! I realize now that this was probably incredibly dumb and made very little sense, but at the time it somehow sounded like the most rational thing in the world…

After re-reading the web page at the insistence of Jason, I discovered that I had in fact entirely misread almost all of what I thought as the only true fact in the world. In fact we were merely entering into a CONTEST to potentially, maybe possibly win a theme song… Perhaps… In theory…

Now, we can clearly see that this is more of a raffle than much of a contest. It seems we post the information on our twitter and or Facebook feeds, and that is likely meant to be that. But frankly, I’ve sunken several life’s savings into all of this hardware and am somehow three weeks into filming of our multi-dollar music video, despite having just learned of the possibility roughly 18 hours ago… So we figured, we might as well make our love of and adoration for Tally Hall known, hoping to somehow sway the hat that the collective entrant’s names will almost certainly be drawn from. Assuming that a hat can be cajoled, and given my proclivity for believing in things entirely impossible, I don’t see how this could possibly fail.

So check out  “Good & Evil” the new album from Tally Hall and tell ‘em Van Full of Candy sent ya! Best case scenario, we end up with the most awesomest theme song that ever awesomed a theme. Worst case, we’ve potentially introduced the incredible sounds of Tally Hall to thousands of new, unsuspecting ears. Either way, worth our time.

VFoC “LIVE” on The Comedy Buffet’s Podcast

The good fellas at The Comedy Buffet were kind enough to let us stink up their otherwise hilarious podcast the other night. We’d like to apologize in advance for our uncontrolable crass behavior, rude language, and complete disregard to fat kids, cross-dressing boys, and religion in general, … yeah right, who am I kidding? Let’s face it, there’s just not enough room for those “types” here on this earth that’s about to overheat anyway, so forget all that bullshit I just said, click the link below and hold the F on because here we go !!!

Click Here to … HEAR !!!

How to be funny on The Comedy Buffet podcast

Can I get a Pack of Crusty Lung Light Menthol 100 Extra Slims Please?

Good news everybody! It’s still legal to suck disease straight down your throat, and it just got a whole lot sexier!

Word came down today that the smooth, rich flavor that just makes life worth living is now going to come in new, “edgier” goth doom packaging. Adorned in “labels that depict in graphic detail the negative health effects of tobacco use… the corpse of a smoker, diseased lungs, and a mother holding her baby with smoke swirling around them” and hip new catch phrases like “Smoking can kill you” and “Cigarettes cause cancer”… Hooray?

No shit...

This will of course do very little to curb smoking, likely as much as, say, distributing servings of heroin (that’s how they’re doled out, right? Serving sizes with nutritional information on the side? I haven’t caught up on my DVRed episodes of “The Oxycontin Express”, please, no spoilers) in mylar party balloons with the words “Don’t” scribbled on the side in the blood of your own children. See, we as Americans often do stupid shit, that’s kind of our thing. Not that smoking is strictly an American past time, ’cause it ain’t, but we know how to put our own particular child lock brand of insulting stupidity on it. It’s the American way.

There’s nothing in this latest move by the FDA about banning the sale of cigarettes or tobacco products. Nothing to remove from the shelves a product that is responsible for approximately 443,000 deaths a year. Their solution is simply to make the packs hard to look at and hope to scare smokers straight. By making half the pack look like a snuff film, telling them that “Eating poison will surely assassinate you” and giving them the 1-800 number to a stop smoking hot line, the FDA has done its job and made the world safe again. Smokers today are allowed to smoke legally only in a two foot square cabinet under their bathroom sink which upon moving must be shipped to a special cigarette nook disposal facility in North Dakota where it is then buried three miles deep under a thick protective layer of E.T. Atari 2600 game cartridges until Jesus can safely exorcise all of the inky black cancer vapors or the sun expands to the point of devouring the solar system and all life as we know it… Which ever comes first. Making the packs scary ain’t gonna stop smokers from smoking their smoke making smokes.

Debating whether or not cigarettes should be made illegal is pointless. They never will be. They’ll be $60 a pack and sold wrapped in photographs of the grandchildren that cancer will prevent you from ever meeting before they’re made illegal. Should they be? Well, the way I see it, the key to whether something should be illegal or not should be whether or not that something’s sale would be approved if it were presented as a brand new product today.

Chainsaw... it's what your face wants!

I personally have a product that has been proven to, if used properly, fucking murder you. When can I start selling this thing to children while telling anyone trying to arrest me that I am in no way trying to sell them to children? My new product is called “Chainsaw to the Face”. And just as the name suggests, it is the rich, refreshing taste of chainsaw, delivered conveniently and comfortably, directly to the god damned face. Chainsaws are legal, faces are most certainly still legal, despite all of big anti-face’s efforts to make them otherwise. Why couldn’t I sell boxes of “Chainsaw to the Face” in every gas station and drug store across God’s own free land. Go ahead FDA, slather it in warning labels if it’ll make you feel like you’re doing your job. Dip our boxes in pictures of the results of the use of our product: old people with their faces chainsawed off. “Chainsaw to the Face” is just too addictive, that’s why we secretly try to hook our customers when they’re young, to get the most possible “Chainsaw to the Face” years out of them before, inevitably, they are killed by the proper, clinical, only possible use of “Chainsaw to the Face”: a chainsaw to the face…

The only thing the FDA can think to do, or will be allowed to do, to a product that kills 1 in every 693 people in this country is to make half of the pack look like what will happen if you use what’s inside as directed. Nobody at this point in human history doesn’t know that cigarettes are bad for you. The last person born before packs of cigarette had to legally start telling people that they wanted to murder you for buying them, turned 56 this year. Seeing exactly how cigarettes plan on doing it every time you pick up your pack isn’t going to make many people suddenly realize that their sucking a dozen kinds of poison into their face might not be the best thing for them… They could start packaging cigarettes in people recently murdered by cigarettes and it would have little effect on their purchase power.

By the estimates of this article and of new studies 20% of Americans smoke: about 46 million Smokey-Americans. By implementing this new horrific labeling, the FDA, BY THEIR OWN ESTIMATES, believe they will reduce the number of smokers by 213,000 in 2013 “with smaller additional reductions through 2031″. So their big victory against tobacco is that by making half of the pack look like a cereal killer’s frigidaire, they are going to reduce the number of smokers in the United States by… wait for it… 0.46%! Twice as many people will still die in 2013 from smoking, as their new horror porn warning labels will save over the next 18 years…

The tobacco companies are laughing their tar covered balls off at you FDA. 

Cigarettes got in on the ground floor of murdering Americans with their products. tobacco products have been killing Americans as long as there’ve been Americans. And if one of our nation’s original biggest exports had been cocaine of heroin or Chainsaws to the Face, then they would be just as inexorably entrenched in American commerce as the tobacco industry.

So good for you tobacco, you made yourself too important to have to give a shit that you’re murdering your customers and too big to be stopped. Good for you.

An Open Letter To Katy Perry & Kenny G : Last Friday Night

Don't worry, I'll get those uncomfortable bottoms off of you soon enough!

Dear Super-Hott Katy Perry & That Spiral Permed Douchebag Kenny G.:

I was so fuckin’ pissed quite disappointed today when I finally got to see your new, super perky, bubble-gum 80′s themed music video “Last Friday Night”. Now don’t get me wrong, there was absolutely NOTHING you did personally wrong Katy, I mean, you were so pettable in your little day-glo outfit which made you look like a smokin’-hot bottle of Maybelline Great Lash Mascara, and that headgear, good god yummy potaotes girl! And please understand that I wasn’t disappointed with your ever pleasing tonal qualities with just a little hint of sex-growl at the end of each stanza that makes me feel you’re singing sweet-nothing’s in my ear, and my ear alone. No, none of that. Here’s how you completely crushed my utter soul you bitch hurt my extra brittle feelings today Katy. You chose Kenneth Bruce Gorelick, or better known as his stage name: Kenny G., over me! That dude is done! Time to cut your hair loverboy, sometimes you just have to know when to snip the ponytail and donate it to Locks of Love you selfish sax blower. EFFFFFFF !!!

Did you not see my audition video? I brought the new noise, I brought the cutting-edge-sexy-sounding-sax-sauce, and I slopped it all over your BBQ! Maybe your agent didn’t get it in time? That must be what it is, I just know it, because how could you ever pick a mopped-top-skeleton to blow the brass love instrument, when he isn’t even as close to being as talented as I? Sure, that must be it … there’s no other explanation. God, I just want to smack those braces straight out your head I feel so crushed, but now that I’ve talked it out loud to myself, I’m feeling much better. I mean sure, he’s been around a long time, and yeah he might be somewhat of an icon, and maybe he can blow a note for 45 minutes straight which got him in the Guinness Book of World Records, but he’s definitely no Clarence Clemons who just recently passed, God Rest His Soul … or me for that matter. Didn’t you notice during the filming of the video how “Uncle Kenny” annoyingly blows out the right side of his mouth? Yuck! It’s so nasty! It’s like he’s playing it the way Sherlock Holmes would smoke his pipe, almost like he does it so he can sip his prune juice on the other side, or maybe eat a sandwich without ever having to stop, or like he’s suffered a stroke but just won’t quit … YOU FUCKING WEIRDO KENNY G!!

Anyway Katy, that’s about all I  have to say about this, so when you’re ready to get some serious sax action all up in your business in your next music video, give me a call, check out my audition again because I’m sure there’s plenty of impressive material in there that will make you all soppin’ wet want to cast me. Hope to hear from you soon, and just in case you lost the link to my audition video, here it is … LINK-TO-BAD-ASS-SAX-BOY

I will forever love you, Hope to hear from you soon,

Jason