Van Full of Candy traded to Jacksonville

Apparently, an actual team...

With the NFL lockout finally coming to an end this week, teams have been frantically signing and trading players in a feeding frenzy unseen in the history of the league as they get ready for the start of the 2011 NFL season, just six weeks away. Among all of the confusion of blockbuster trades and free agent signings we have learned just this afternoon that online humorists, Van Full of Candy have been signed to a multi year contract by the Jacksonville Jaguars.

Details of the deal are still coming in, but it is being reported that Van Full of Candy is being sent to Jacksonville from the Seattle Seahawks in exchange for a half a box of Britta pitcher filters and a bag of Werther’s Originals.

“I think everybody is coming out of this deal with something they wanted and filling holes in their lineups that needed filling,” said a Seahawks spokesperson who continued, “Our water is going to be delicious.”

“I didn’t know we were on the Seahawks…” a confused Jason told one reporter. “But, I guess I’d like to thank the people of Seattle for their… years, of support?”

“We’re looking forward to playing, which ever position it is we’re usually playing, to the best of our ability,” Jesse told ESPN Radio’s John Ireland and Steve Mason after receiving the news. “And with any luck at all, leading the… Jacksonvilles, to a… Stanley… Championship… Plate… Or something.”

“Jacksonville has a football team?” Jason went on to ask reporters, who themselves could only shrug in response. “I mean, which Jacksonville anyway? There’s a lot of ‘em. I guess I need to know where to forward my mail.”

League officials were too busy at press time to respond to questions about the legitimacy of the deal, with the anarchy presiding at NFL headquarters caused by this extremely abbreviated off season signing period. This unprecedented signing of internet comedy due Van Full of Candy is not the only NFL contract that the league office has been being bombarded with questions about. Many reports of confusing deals continue to flood the wires, including the Arizona Cardinals trading running back Tim Hightower for a stainless steel lemon zester and a bag of used postage stamps, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers signing a miniature pony and a bird bath to fill out their defensive line and a panicked Buffalo Bills releasing their entire roster and unplugging their phone.

The NFL season is set to kicks off Thursday, September 8th as the New Orleans Saints visit Lambeau Field to take on the newly merged Minnesota Bay Packings.

Amy Winehouse: Sobered to Death!

What is the only thing more dangerous than washing down a quart of vodka with a gallon of gin? NOT doing that exact thing.

Fully topped off with "Star Fuel" and ready to rock it out!

Amy Winehouse, VOICE of a TENTH of a generation and general pile of human mess, did not die as a result of the excesses of a lifestyle that made her biggest hit so ironic and adorable. She was MURDERED by SOBRIETY! CAPITAL LETTERS EXCLAMATION POINT!

According to “family sources” the shock to her body of not being pickled in delicious alcoholic beverages was just too much for it to bear, and after sucking every possible drop of life giving booze from every tissue in what was left of her musculature, her addled frame simply seized, unable to handle being separated from the only form of liquid inside it and tragically took the life of our precious, precious flower. To try to give you an example of what to compare this to, just imagine a car without oil, a Hybrid without hippie urine, or a Sheen not filled with Tigers,

You see, the family is saying that despite reports of Amy indulging in a 72 hour drink-a-thon prior to her “surprising” death, that the real reason for her demise is that she’s a stupid fuck. Their words, not mine. See she was supposedly instructed to gradually decrease her alcohol intake from “Norse Myth” levels to “Roman Orgy” levels and so on down the drunken scale, to carefully reduce the levels of fun in her body. And the woman that said “No, no, no.” to previous offers of assistance (according to FAMILY MEMBERS) told medical professionals that it’s all of nothing. She either never stops drinking or she never stops never drinking. And her family’s well reasoned hypothesis is that the sudden halt of personality swallows was too much of a shock to a self ravaged system.

And really, their “logic” is hard to argue. Alcohol is, after all, one of the essential building blocks of life. The human celebrity is composed of 62% alcohol, with the remaining 38% comprised of mainly amphetamines, opiates, cannabis and an over inflated sense of self worth and misguided feeling of invincibility. Exact amounts vary on a case by case basis. So asking a celebriwreck to abstain from alcoholic consumption, is tantamount to telling the Earth to go fuck it’s oceans. And then where would this fine planet of ours be? A shriveled, brown, husk of it’s former glory. Just like Amy Winehouse.

Satellite photograph of Mrs. Winehouse hours before her time of death...

Now again, just to be perfectly clear, that’s not ME saying that; that’s “family sources”. I would never say such things, because I’m mostly not a lunatic. But I’m also not an alcohol doctor, so I don’t know, it may be entirely possible that suddenly stopping killing yourself could kill yourself. I’m not qualified to say one way or the other. The same way I’m not qualified to say that Amy Winehouse was a liquor fueled zombie who cruelly had her life source yanked away from her by “professionals” and “people who cared for her well being”, causing her to dry up like a neglected tin man, before falling over, shattering into a cloud of crusty, dehydrated slivers and being blown away on the breeze like a Spider-Man villain. That’s not for me to say, that’s for HER OWN FAMILY (according to a “source”) to say, which they have, in not so many words…

So what have we learned then from this brave, flimsy song drinker? Hmm? Well, we’ve learned that if you have flushed your system of all vital fluids and replaced them with 300 proof drinky fun times, apparently it’s better to quit gradually, allowing your body the opportunity to replenish your juices as the fermented happy liquids fighting the endless struggle of keeping you upright while simultaneously trying to knock you down, are being drained.

Secondly, if you have a family who in interview after interview kept telling who ever would ask them “It’s not a matter of if she’s going to die young and tragically, but when. If only there were something that I could do, because I apparently care ever so much, but alas, there isn’t.” and you expect them to have any sort of rational reaction to the “sudden” and ”unexpected” news of their relative passing, then you’re going to wind up with them blaming not being shot with bullets as the most likely cause of sudden acute deadness.

And third, and I think most importantly: as long as you keep drinking, you will never die. So pour me another glass of immortality juice and let’s party like if we ever stop it’ll kill us!

2 Second Hef ?? Ouch !!

Good ol’ Heff, still pullin’ 25 year old strange at 85 years old. Hats off to ya old boy. But a little bit of the ugly truth was leaked recently by aforementioned strange. Crystal Harris, Hugh’s latest name added to his novel length list of ass-tap, called him out on Howard Stern saying that his lasting power in the sack “lasted like two seconds”. Well Christ almighty, that’s not really that bad considering the parties involved: She’s a hot 25 year old tart with Playboy body, he’s a raisin. I guess I’m shocked that he can get it up at all, so for him to even get to that point and THEN last two seconds, that’s bonus Crystal, quit hate’n !!

Yep, I would've lasted about 2 seconds as well

Hugh Marston Heffner retaliated to his ex-fiance’s accusations by posting the following Twitter things …

@TeamHef I feel sorry for Crystal. She seems lost.—
Hugh Hefner (@hughhefner) July 27, 2011

@hey_aaron Crystal convinced me that she adored me. That was the first lie.—
Hugh Hefner (@hughhefner) July 27, 2011

I'm happy to be in a better place with new girlfriends Anna Sophia Berglund & Shera Bechard.—
Hugh Hefner (@hughhefner) July 27, 2011

I don’t which one confuses me more … the fact that Hugh Hefner can get his hands on ripeness like that or that he actually uses Twitter. I mean let’s think about it … here’s a list of the things that were around when HH was born in 1926.

Walt Disney Studios forms
Air Mail begins in the US
1st transatlantic telephone call (London-NY)
Mussolini’s wife breaks his nose
30th Boston Marathon – Now at 115th
52nd Kentucky Derby – Now at 137th
Thomas Edison says Americans prefer silent movies over talkies
Houdini stays in a coffin under water for 1½ hrs before escaping
Weather map televised for 1st time
Jerry Lewis, Don Rickles and Soupy Sales born
Henry Ford announces 8 hour, 5-day work week
Babe Ruth hits 3 HRs in a World Series game
NBC (National Broadcasting Corporation) forms
U.S. Route 66 is established
2nd part of Hitler’s Mein Kampf published

Hey Crystal, how about givin' Daddy a little of that Boom-Boom

So for you, Crystal the bitch, to bag on Hugh’s fornication stopwatch, well all I have to say is F YOU with a capital F !! That dude was around when Babe Ruth was still hitting homeruns, like he was doin’ with you … for 2 seconds at a time !! BAMMM !!

Random Office Type Comic Strip Thing #1

Sometimes my mind breaks and I need to just shout incoherently… And things like these happen…

Then I go away to the quiet place and try to make sense of it all again…

4 Foot Vajayjay On Marilyn Monroe Sculpture (Porno Edition)

All I need is a ladder and I can get my carkeys.

So this weekend was big for the former actress known as Marilyn Monroe. Not only did the classy city of Chicago erect a 27 foot “upskirt” statue of Marilyn in her “Seven Year Itch” pose, a six minute pornographic film shot in 1946 or 1947 has surfaced with Marilyn Monroe in it. Now this is quite a bit of smut to take in so fast, all at once, but let’s just take a deep breath and gaze it over shall we?

Lets start with the statue. A voyeur’s wet dream come true, out in the wide open public with panties on full display. Where one could just lie down underneath Marilyn’s cooch and go at it until it fell off. I would think that any teenage boy going through puberty couldn’t get within two blocks of it without their divining rod going apeshit. I’d be curious to know the percentage increase in public indecency tickets and/or how many children are conceived during July 2011 in Chicago.

Are you hungry for a bedtime snack?

Now let’s focus on the good stuff, porn. As if a 3 story RealDoll wasn’t enough for one blog post. So apparently when Marilyn Monroe wasn’t Marilyn Monroe, and she was still Norma Jean Mortenson, she made a little 6 minute naughty-naughty movie. The lucky dude who has the original 8mm tape is getting ready to sell it at auction, and the estimate will be over $1 million. Man, for just 6 minutes of silent black and white film? A million bucks?!? Do you not realize how much poon you can get for that, not to mention lap dances and HD full color erotica? But I suppose if you have a mill to drop on 6 mins of unconfirmed Monroe porn, then you probably have a budget setup for the other stuff too.

So thank you Marilyn, or Norma Jean or whatever your porn name was back in the 40′s, thank you for continued legacy of men getting off on your image. And now to quote the great Elton John song about you …

Goodbye Norma Jean
Though I never knew you at all
You had the grace to hold yourself
While those around you crawled
They crawled out of the woodwork
And they whispered into your brain
They set you on the treadmill
And they made you change your name

Sounds like a porno to me … good luck bidders !!

VFoC 2011 Van Haiku Prizeocalypse!

Hey! Remember the Haiku contest? Oh, those were the days, we were all so young.

Well, for those that don’t and don’t care enough to look through the archives to find it. We had a contest in which participants submitted their best Van themed Haiku. And after weeks of heated competition and literally ten of entries, on April 11th, we crowned Debapom Saha’s stirring #FriendsForever, the winner of the Van Full of Candy 2011 Van Haiku Contest!

And there was much celebration. Promises were made. We inserted Debapom’s winning Haiku into all of our web presences, our home page, our twitterer our book of faces, et al, etc, chicka boom. Of course we also promised a candy prize to both him and either of the runners ups who felt comfortable giving us their addresses.

Well, finally after months of deliberation and careful, painstaking sifting through the back of our van in search of candies not already open and half eaten we found the least sticky and mysterious of our stock, boxed it up and sent it through the United States Postal Service to Debapom Saha and runner up Scott Petty.

Yesterday, they arrived.

Crammed tightly inside a medium sized Priority Mail flat rate box and addressed to Debapom was THIS diabetes grenade:

The grand prize winner's haul!

 So delicious, it pained me to send it all away, but a promise is a promise… And two days later…

A gracious winner after our own heart...

Recognising exactly what he had on his hands; a candy van started kit, it seemed Debapom had fully embraced his new life’s path…

Uh-huh... Thou doth protest too much...

A wink is as good as a nod to a blind man Debapom…

Meanwhile, almost simultaneously, runner up Scott Petty received his prize…

That's right ladies, come 'n get me!

 … and immediately put one half of the team what rewarded him, in mortal danger of having all of his beautiful lady fans send him sexy packages full of sexyness and yum. Then upon tearing open his consolation prize what to his wondering eyes did appear?

Yea verily! Have at thee dental work!

But the God of Thunder with an extendable throat full of Odin’s Treats and a seemingly endless supply of Asgardian Power Rectangle refills!

And our promise was fulfilled. Sure, it took a little while, but we made it happen, because we at Van Full of Candy are as good as our word!

We’re looking forward to putting together another ridiculous contest in the possibly near future. What it’ll be, we have no idea, but we’ll take any excuse to interact with you, our loyal fans. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to drop us a line, either here, or facebook or twitter, where ever you find us.

Anyway, thanks again for your participation and your patience Debapom and Scott and thanks to everybody for reading and watching, we really do appreciate it. Things are just going to continue to get bigger and better, so stick around and tell everyone you meet!

The Van’s a comin’! And we’re bringin’ Candy with us! Ya hear me!? We’re bringin’ Candy with us!

Burn Baby, Burn! (Hitler Inferno)

Human beings have kind of a sick obsession with dead bodies.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a monster, I get that the rapidly decaying, lifeless corpse over there used to belong to someone you had some fondness for. But at no point forward will that bio degrading fleshy mound of used ta was, ever do anything again that it used to do when previously possessed by the life force of who ever they aren’t anymore. Tickle it all you’d like, it ain’t never gonna giggle that unmistakable titter that you fell in love with. Call it by name, dangle it’s favorite bag of salty treats in front of it, it’s not going to pop up and suddenly begin recirculating all of your favorite bloods and give you a great big knowing hug. And if it DOES, run like hell for a stabbing or shooting utensil because your loved one is now zombified and it’s either you or it Jack!

The point I’m trying to make is this: the second your beloved friend, relative or lover breathes their last, the container they left behind that they used to drive around in to be recognizable to other things living in this plane of existence is no more them than the carton that the milk came in is going to help increase your bone density. You’re just left with an expensive bag of recycling. Feel free to mourn the person you’ve lost, but let’s try to be a little more reasonable about what remains, and treat it more like the ’74 Rambler that it is.

Now that I’ve angered and alienated most of you, let’s get to the two stories I found this morning about the uproar caused by the cremating of one barely dead (and mistaken) infant, and one already excessively dead Nazi…

Appropriateness at this point really isn't an issue I don't think...

Apparently, last year an Ohio funeral home made an isty bitsy boo boo and set alight the wrong dead baby, which, surprisingly, wasn’t met well by the guardians of said unintentionally reduced child shell. The story states that, due to a morgue mix up the body of a 14 month old was mistakenly released to the Marlan J. Gary Funeral Home, in stead of the 22 DAY old infant intended for a ride on the grill. And because the Funeral Home just cooked the baby they were given, they had their license suspended for six months.

This issue raises a lot of, what I feel are natural questions with me. Now, I’m no baby scientist, I’ve said that time and time again when ever someone runs up to me in a panic, desperately pleading for my expertise in baby science, so I feel it bears repeating: I’m no baby scientist, but I’m fairly certain that there is a decided difference between the density and general volume of the body of a one year and two month old child versus that of a three week and one day old child. I could go to Target right now and pick up a jumper with a tag that says “0-4 months” or something, and compare that to a pair of slacks in the ”Pre-pre-pre School to Pre-pre School” section and likely not be surprised by the decided difference in expected sizes.

So, does a hearse just back up to a morgue, wait to hear the thump in the bed and drive off, or are there some sort of checks in place to make sure that not only is the morgue giving away the right dead baby, but that the funeral home is RECEIVING the right dead baby? Just the shere handling of the body seems like it would tip me off if I were a dead baby delivery man. If I’m delivering a deceased 22 day old, I expect I should be able to chuck that bitch in the back of a corpse limo with one hand. Just lob it in under hand and high five myself for another day of life more than that poor bastard. And if it took say, two hands and a little bit of heft, and I checked my clip board and it said “22 dayer” I would probably wonder if I had the right infant cadaver.

Conversely, if I were a crematorier, just thinking from a strictly business stand point, I imagine I use a different amount of fuel to burn the body of a 22 day old than I would for a 14 month old. So if I were intending to roast a 22 day old, put in a bag of 22 day older fuel and just tossed in what I thought was a 22 day old, I imagine if I were to come back later, I would likely find a good deal of 14 month old left uncrematized and wonder if my baby burning fuel supplier was fucking me over.

Aside from all of that obviousness, what gets me the most about the article is where is says:

“A hearing officer noted that cremation is irreversible and said funeral directors must take precautions to ‘get it right.’ “

I doubt that most people need be reminded that reducing human remains to ash is awful difficult to undo. I’m certain that most of us didn’t think that cremation was just a fancy term for “dehydration” and that a body could just be returned to its former glory by simply splashing it with a Dixie cup of water.

Hmmm, skinheads are different than I remember...

Meanwhile, over in Germany in what seems like one of the more extreme promotional tie-ins I’ve seen for tomorrow’s release of Marvel’s “Captain America: The First Avenger”; the bones of Rudolf Hess, one of Adolph Hitler’s deputies, were exhumed and cremated. Germans don’t quite get the collectible cup level of promotion, and you can’t tell them that they’re doing it wrong or they might murder millions of Jews.

It seems that, with the lease on Hess’ burial plot coming up for renewal in October, and with the grave site having become a pilgrimage site for neo-Nazis, “Hess’ relatives and Lutheran church authorities in the town decided it was best to remove the remains.” And viola, no more neo-Nazis. Right?

“The grave is now empty,” said cemetery administrator Andreas Fabel. “The bones are gone.”

Soooo… neo-Nazis couldn’t still commune at the former grave site of their martyred hero?

They apparently “cremated the remains and scattered them secretly in a lake, whose name and location are not being divulged”, so in a way, they’ve sort of made just about anywhere a fair place to come together and celebrate the memory of Rudolf Hess. He’s now circulating in the water ways of Where Ever Germany, being carried out to sea, and floating about on the breeze. These short sighted Nazi haters have effectively dusted all of us with Nazi particles. Thanks, just what I needed, to breathe Nazi while I’m just minding my own business, hating just fine on my own thank you very much. I really have a hard time believing that neo-Nazis are so sentimental that they’re going to have any difficulty mustering up enough focused drive to gather for a hate fest just because the bones of one of their heroes, that they could never positively confirm or deny the existence of in the first place, might not be where they were last week.

But if it makes you feel any better Lutherans, congratulations, you just re-killed a dead Nazi. You won World War II. And you just spoiled the ending of “Captain America” for me, assholes!

Yeah! Rub Your Pie All Up In My Face, Mmmmm !!

During a session of love-seat-lounging yesterday, something dawned on me as I watched the “news” on my thin-black-box-of-tummy-plumping’ness. I realized that a good ol’ “pie in the face” has never lost its charm, AND, the most important realization, was that getting “pied” is the ultimate form of putdownery that you really can inflict on thine enemies.

How dare you sir, trying to taste my pie, well I never !!

Lets take a quick look at the history of the “Pie In The Face”. It all started in 1909 in a silent movie called “Mr. Flip”. It is the first known instance of “pieing” as it is sometimes referred to, and is considered “slap stick” comedy. The pie is pushed into the main character’s face after he tries to take liberties with a woman, an voila, “Pie In The Face” is born. There are two known “pieing” techniques, the old fashion push the pie in the face, and the “throw the pie” in the face, both of which are quite acceptable. There has also been a new breed of pie that has been born as well from professional baseball players, and it’s the “shaving cream pie”, which in my mind is just bastardizing the event, but, if you don’t have time to bake, then I guess it will do since it does somewhat resemble a lemon-meringue pie.

Now lets fast forward 102 years to Rupert Murdoch’s court hearing for his phone-hacking scandal. Just yesterday on this two-thousandst-and-evelenth-year of our lawrd CNN, the “Pie In The Face” got national attention when a guy who says he’s a comedian/activist who goes by the Twitter handle @JonnieMarbles decided to “pie” Mr. Murdoch in the face at said hearing. However, his plan did not go as, ummm, planned. As he stepped toward the intended victim, his “pieing” was intercepted by this old man’s younger, hot, Asian wife and the majority of pie was smeared on the “pie’er” as she slapped him silly. In the slap-stick comedy world, we like to call this “awww shit, you just got reverse pied”. Now earlier I mentioned that a “pieing” is the ultimate form of getting “cut down”, but I have to change my view and say that if you get “reverse-pied-in-the-face”, then THAT would be the worst, and you’re just a punk ass bitch now.

So in honor of the age old “Pie In The Face”, I push one in yours and smear it around on top of your head, and yes, that IS custard you’re tasting. And here’s a couple of famous people getting “Pie’d In The Face” … enjoy !!

Run Nessie! They Done Shot Chupie!

There are so many unknowns in this world. So many things that live with us every day, unseen, thought lost or having not even yet been discovered by man. The great mysteries of the world we live in intrigue us every day, push explorers toward the outer reaches of our understanding and beyond. What is it about these great, elusive creatures that sparks the imagination, drives the soul and compels us to shoot them in the fucking face?

El Chupacabra is dead, long live El Chupacabra.

And they’re coming for you next Nessie.

In Texas, where the law as I understand it is that you can shoot anyone or anything at any time for any reason, and that the only gun crime that you can be punished for is shooting one gun with another gun; a thirteen year old kid murdered the Legendary Chupacabra.

“Something slowly came across and started shaking, slowly moving across,” 13 year old Cryptozooassassin Carter Pope said when questioned about his grisly, thoughtless slaying. “It was gray, no hair at all. I thought that’s a Chupacabra.”

I chose this Chupacabra picture from Google because it was hung most how I've always imagined Chupacabra to be...

And reading that description, what else could it have been? Slow moving? Checkacabra. Shakey? Chupacheckra. Gray and hairless? Checkacheckra! That could only be the fabled El Chupacabra! Or a retired space alien, or any of our great grand parents. Or a Chupacabra, what am I saying? Of course, a Chupacabra, that’s exactly as I remember hearing them described. Slow moving and easily shootable. Almost too easily. 84% of bullets manufactured wind up in Chupacabras. If you own a gun, chances are it’s shot a Chupacabra already.

Not satisfied with simply murdering a sickly animal in his yard and declaring it “dead Chupacabra” before building a roadside shack where he could charge gawkers a nickel a peek, the report said that Carter “took hair and skin samples to get tested and put an end to the mystery once and for all.” Smart, because it’s one thing to just paint a sign with adorable backwards Rs on it and wait for the rabble to straggle on in, while it’s another thing entirely to have a certificate of authenticity nailed to your gut shot goat drainer to really add some credibility to your be-tented attraction.

But why stop at one shakey, elderly myth beast? Apparently the “Deadliest Catch” guys have set their sights on a catch of even more deadliesterness: The Loch Ness Monster… of Alaska… Or something.

Two of the “stars” of the Discovery Channel’s bafflingly uncanceled television program “Deadliest Catch”; Fisherman Joe and Dan the Crab Murderer… Or something… Apparently have footage dating back to 2009 that may prove the existence of an “Alaskan Loch Ness Monster”!

Now excusing that Mr. Monster’s first and middle names are not Loch and Ness but are instead a reference to the physical place in which it is most commonly known to reside, AND that he REALLY doesn’t like the negative connotations associated to the term “monster”, how about we come to a conclusion as to whether it is in fact the one and the same Nessie simply flitting about on an Alaskan vacation, or just some other upstart sea monster flashing it’s proverbial celebrity vadge at sea paparazzi for the TMZ of educational programming, the Discovery Channel, to parade around their air waves.

Coming next Fall: HTV, the Hillstrand Channel!

Crab genocidist Andy Hillstrand will be debuting this new footage on his creatively named “Hillstranded” special on the Discovery Channel. And just having put together that sentence, describing the upcoming airing of a SECOND television show starring this fisherist has broken my soul and gang raped my very will to live.

Honestly, how can I possibly be expected to keep my focus on the fact that today’s news is just jam packed to the rafters with the wanton execution and harassment of this planet’s most imaginary animals when I’m forced to confront the reality that a man who fishes, has two more television shows than I do. I’m so angry I could strangle to death something that doesn’t even exist! My anger is so rich and pure that my mind could conjure up a creature from nothingness, breathe life into it against all of the laws of the universe, solely so that I could vent upon it my righteous frustrations with the inherent unfairness of a guy who tricks sea insects into a cage being given not just one television show, which in and of itself is the kind of perverse joke that television producers dare other producers to pitch to nature channels, but the unmitigated gall of the universe to allow this sea faring ass a second avenue to more completely share his every fisherman eye on life with the shut ins and buried alive hoarders who have yet to be discovered for their own Learning Channel series; that make up the entirety of his viewing audience…

… Just bugs me is all…

Now what was I saying? Oh, right — RUN NESSIE! THE CAMERAS ARE COMING FROM INSIDE THE OCEAN!

I’m going to go cry now, for me, for you and for all the make believe creatures being hunted into pretend extinction. Big Foot, Abominable: watch your furry asses.

Better Get Your ‘Gaydar’ Fixed !!

A heterosexual black male, a gay white male, and a filthy hillbilly male walk into a bar. The bartender says, “We don’t serve your type here”. The three men look at each other in confusion, turn to the bartender and say, “Which one of us are you talking to”? And that there my friends lies the question of the day … Who was the bartender talking to?

The answer to this question will have many different answers depending on your own upbringing, beliefs, judgements, and what-not’s. The sad thing about this is that there ARE answers to this question. For some of you the answer is: The Filthy Hillbilly. Look at him, he’s disgusting, he reeks of Hamm’s beer, he’s gonna try and get in a fight with someone in this bar tonight, get him the hell out of here. For others it will be: The Heterosexual Black Male. Look at him, coming in here trying to take our white women away from us, and we all know he’s bound to steal something while he’s here. And then for others it’s: The Gay White Male. Oh lord, look at him with his great fashion sense, his manicured nails, white teeth, tan, and that gawd-awful lisp. Get that flamer out of here, he’s gonna try to hit on me, I just know it.

Good afternoon ... I'd like to donate some blood.

Now this brings up another question: How do you know that he’s gay? I know many men who match the description above, hell, I might even fall into that category. So … am I now … gay? Well according to some people’s ‘Gaydar’, I just might be, which I don’t think is such a bad thing considering, once again, the description above. But what happens when somebody’s ‘Gaydar’ is malfunctioning? What if it’s not as finely tuned as other people’s ‘Gaydars’ and they tell someone that there services aren’t wanted because they … well … they just … “look too gay”?

This happened to Aaron Pace, a 22 year old, heterosexual, black male. He wanted to donate some blood at the Bio-Blood Components donation centre in Chicago where he was turned away for “appearing to be a homosexual” and “looking too gay”. Blood donation centres, including those run by the American Red Cross, do not allow gay men to donate blood because of a 30-year-old federal policy. So, who is a chosen one to determine who is gay and who isn’t? Who’s ‘Gaydar’ can we trust? Has there been new developments in ‘Gaydar’ technology? Well, I think that my ‘Gaydar’ is actually quite good, so I decided I needed to test it out for myself. I looked for a picture of Mr. Aaron Pace on the googleweb and found his picture, and, well Aaron … you do look kinda gay.

The perfectly arched brows and the "lying on the ground" pose gives it away.