Lesbians Take Down Plane With Heat Seeking Kissle

“Get these monkey fightin’ lesbians off this Monday through Friday plane!”

The greatest threat to American air travel, right now, as I am typing this very important piece of internet fluffery, is not exploding shoes, or slightly larger than tiny bottles of shampoo, or the stinky guy. No, commercial air travel enemy number one, is lady kisses!

And somewhere, an airport exploded.

Now, you and I, being people of a reasonable nature who exist in a world where things happen, have likely seen a lesbian before, whether we like it or REALLY like it. We, being human animals with the ability to move our heads a not unreasonable degree (I mean, not like, owl levels or anything, that’s crazy and unreasonable, let’s not get all fantastical now gentle reader) and have a fair working knowledge of what it is that we prefer to bear witness too and what it is that we simply will not linger upon, no matter how pant tighteningly hot it is. And while the majority of us do not own aero-planes, dirigibles or any other manner of flying machine, we do own something, be it a mode of transportation or posession otherwise, that we likely would not clutch fearfully to our chest sobbing uncontrollably simply because a lesbian happened to be lesbianing in, on or near to it.

But then, I guess that’s what makes us different from Southwest Airlines.

It seems a lady (to call her a “celebrity” would be KIND of stretching it. She’s known, more than I am, sure, but “celebrity”? meh) kissed another lady while in mid air and that caused quite a stir, and not just the trousery kind that that sort of exchange usually engenders. It seems as little as one flight attendant and as many as one flight attendant and “several” passengers were unable or unwilling to employ their neck muscles to avoid the horrible, ghastly sight of two sets of soft, warm lips, coming together in a loving face embrace IN FRONT OF GOD AND EVERYONE!

Oh for the days when a flight attendant recognized a playful pat on the ass for the compliment it was...

This interaction prompted a talking to by Southwest staff and resulted in these filthy consenting adults being thrown from the plane upon its landing. Which is a confusing part of the story to me, perhaps because I don’t do a lot of plane flighting, what what with my uncanny power of unaided human flight (a direct result of my prolonged exposure to your planet’s yellow sun) but I always thought that once a plane had landed, it wasn’t strictly necessary to escort someone from it, as, unless they planned on paying rent, that was the entire purpose of a plane’s landing, so that one could then disembark and continue on toward the destination that the plane flight had aided in expediting. So it just seems that escorting someone from a plane after it lands is just kind of a dick move. Is there a fear that, without the forceful prodding of Southwest employees these two lady pervs would continue to face slam one another willy nilly, further endangering all of those around them to varying levels of arousal depending upon their personal proclivity?

I get that people have personal tastes and beliefs and dislikes and prejudices. I understand. I myself can’t stand to see people. But when I see one or more of these “people” doing anything ever I don’t immediately tell them to stop doing it because I don’t like that I’m able to see them doing it. I don’t ask the nearest other person that I don’t like to stop the activity of two people who have absolutely nothing to do with me simply because what they’re doing is visible. So why should anyone, in this dazzling age of spinal rotation, be so offended by something that they have to actively look at, when the other 340 degrees of potential visible landscape would likely offer unto them something that even their hateful little minds would find inoffensive?

I guess just the fact that they would KNOW that someone was in some way happy near them would just be too much. And the only thing that gets THEM hard, is interfering in the happiness of others. So thanks for ruining it for the rest of the passengers, haters of sexy things. Now I’m going to have to jerk off to the over priced electronics gadgets and lemon bar recipes in the in flight publications… again…

One Million Moms Hate Balls

During the winter break of my Sophomore year at the University of Nevada, Reno (go fighting Soft Sixteens!) I took a backpacking excursion through the inhospitable wilderness of the South American rainforest. I hiked for nine days with my trusty guide Tuo Uu-nu Eepchak. I was but a fool child, ill prepared for the conditions I would face in these endangered woods. Tuo became more than a guide to me, through our perilous journey he became mentor, teacher, father, lover, and the night that he boiled his freshly severed foot to provide us the nourishment we would need to see us home, I knew not to refuse the plate, and ate every last bite without once breaking eye contact.

I could have chosen Amsterdam, instead I will die here.

As Tuo carried me, in an uncomfortable one footed hobble, back to civilization we collapsed, unable to journey any further. I was certain this was the end, so as to not let any of my brave friend go to waste, I began chewing on his left hand. As I drifted off into unconsciousness, suckling upon the sweet, caramel colored digit I was prepared to welcome death’s clammy embrace. But to my surprise I awoke again, laying on a straw thatch that a pungent combination of my profuse perspiration and seeping diarrhea had bedamped. Beside my bed of natural fibers sat a woman of indeterminate age and coffee complection. Her heavy, naked breast swayed gently as she reached into a loosely woven basket that sat in her lap, retrieved a single nut and carefully fed it through my cracked, blistered lips.

Over the next week I was nursed back to health by this plump, wizened woman and adopted by her tribe. I received a native name, “Kuh Naya”, which I chose to believe translated to “Brave Explorer” but which I knew was more likely to have meant “Oozer of Liquids”. My strength returned almost immediately as my diet of native legumes replenished my vitality. When I was finally well enough to resume my journey home I asked the elders for their permission to take a supply of their restorative food back to the states to offer the civilized world a chance at the restorative effect of these native people’s hidden miracle bounty. The elders refused, but I could not take no for an answer. As the tribe slept I filled my back pack and slipped off into the night.

Upon returning to Reno I packaged my ill gotten prize for presentation to a friend in the grocery business. I told him about my adventures in the jungle and my encounter with the natives and offered him a taste. The flavor assaulted his dulled western taste buds and the burst of vim and vigor shot through his body with one bite. He grasped at my collar, begging me for my secret, offering me anything in the world for this wonderful prize.

“What do you call these?” he pleaded, tears welling in his eyes.

With no small swell of pride I straightened up and smugly replied.

“These are the native nuts of the ancient and wise Haree tribe of South America.” I beamed. ”What you have in your mouth, are my Haree Nuts.”

…

A group calling themselves One Million Moms is leading a boycott against Ben & Jerry’s over their new limited edition ice cream flavor based on a Saturday Night Live sketch; “Schweddy Balls”.

“The vulgar new flavor has turned something as innocent as ice cream into something repulsive,” the group of humorless hags said. “Not exactly what you want a child asking for at the supermarket.”

One Million Moms, a “division of the Mississippi-based American Family Association” also hates Ben & Jerry’s commemorative flavor “Hubby Hubby”, a special edition of “Chubby Hubby” celebrating gay marriage.

“It seems that offending customers has become an annual tradition for Ben & Jerry’s.

This ice cream embarrasses me. NO ONE MUST HAVE IT!

One Million Moms (which I am almost certain, does not consist of one million actual mothers) hate fun or gay ice creams.

People actually live their lives hating jokes, being offended by tasty frozen treats that don’t hate gays and threatening people that sell things that others rightfully don’t think are insulting them, that they’re not going to buy something that they likely weren’t buying in the first place. This is important to these people. It makes me want to punch everything, ever.

I do not know what my parents expected me to learn from the people of your planet when they launched my escape rocket only moments before my birth home exploded millions of miles from here. But what I have learned so far I do not like.

It’s Never Too Early to Learn That You’re Not Good Enough

Hey you, portly meat child, put down that bacon glazed ham turkey and mash your thick, meaty fingers into the keyboard over here, I’ve got something to tell you: You’re not okay!

Did you know that people hate fats. They do. Especially fat children. Nobody hates anything in this world more than they hate rotund rotoddlers. It’s uncomfortable for everyone involved when you have to tell a friend who is the parent of an oval kid how “handsome” of “beautiful” or “not sweating profusely from merely existing” their baby is. Your non-tinyness isn’t just hurting your young circulatory system, but our ability to see your parents as anything but grossly neglectful.

"No, silly Maggie, that dress isn't cake. No! Maggie! SOMEBODY HOLD HER DOWN!"

Fortunately, one intrepid author is using the fat kid’s second biggest weakness (behind marshmallow covered chocolate stuffed with marshmallows), to trick them into pulling their shit together: books. Books are to fat kids what friends are to regular, popular, healthy and well adjusted “normal” kids. Fat kids trust books because they take them to places that they might otherwise have to use their over burdened legs to discover. And since most overweight youth can’t get to the outside world to be told how they can never be loved as they are, the wonderful world of self loathing and poor body image are brought home to their cake plates, in the form of “Maggie Goes on a Diet” by Paul Kramer.

See Maggie is a fat little red headed 14 year old girl who:

“has so much potential that has been hiding under her extra weight.”

Because as everyone knows, you can never reach your full potential if your gut keeps getting in the way. It’s so far, and your arms are so heavy with internally stored ice cream! You see, your personal and professional successes are directly associated to your Body Mass Index. Think of it as your ranking as a human being. The lower, the less disgusting.

“This inspiring story is about a 14-year old who goes on a diet and is transformed from being overweight and insecure to a normal sized teen…”

Now, to be fair, Maggie almost IS a normal sized teen, and more than likely in the next hand full of years, WILL be. One in three American kids is overweight or obese, so the Largeican Americans are going to stop being the minority soon and then the thins are going to have to watch their tender, bony asses.

“Through time, exercise and hard work, Maggie becomes more and more confident and develops a positive self-image”

Everyone knows that fatties hate themselves, so they eat. Then they hate themselves for eating, and they eat some more, which makes them fatter and more eatie. Books like these, telling fat people that they’re fat and will never be happy until they stop being fat are exactly what is going to save our children. No amount of responsible parenting or thoughtful food choices for your children can do as much to benefit your child as a picture book with “normal” sized kids calling a little cartoon girl “fatty” and “chubby”.

Another of Mr. Kramer's books, apparently featuring sinister drops of piss...

So while this book isn’t due out until October it’s already gotten people (fat people) up in arms (fat arms). People who say that targeting the insecurities of young girls and enforcing negative body image stigmas is somehow “wrong” and “evil” and “yum, butter!” But those people are clearly just trying to invent a problem where there is none. Of course, author Paul Kramer knows that a 14 year old shouldn’t be dieting, in fact, he told Fox News that very thing.

“I’m not advocating, never did, that any child should go on a diet.” said Mr. Kramer while apparently not promoting his book about a dieting teen.

So there, you’re all getting it wrong fatty lovers. When Mr. Kramer said ”Maggie Goes on a Diet”, what he CLEARLY meant was “Maggie Makes Sound Personal Dietary Choices, Resulting in a Better Over All Lifestyle, Which Coupled With Exercise Can and Often Will Result in a Healthier Maggie For Years to Come, Rather Than the Potential Weight Loss Roller Coaster of Dieting”… But everyone knows that the most expensive part of self publishing a book is paying for extra cover words. Which is why my autobiography is going to be titled “Book”. And don’t worry fatty, it’ll be your best friend and take you on the magical journey of the most awesome humorist to ever ride the internets.

Alrighty Hippies, Cut it Out

Seriously…

Knock it off.

We get that everyone’s created equal and that it’s a beautiful thing and that we should all celebrate each other’s differences even though we’re equal and beautiful just the way we differently are. And that’s beautiful. In an equal kind of way. A way that doesn’t discriminate against any other beautiful thing and equally celebrates beauty. And we all go home at the end of the day with a trophy and an ice cream cone, because we’re all winners of beautiful, different but equalness.

You can call 'em best friends, but we know what we're imagining them really doing...

What I’m getting at is: stop trying to make Bert suck off Ernie.

There’s a petition going around the internetted webbing, trying to “encourage” “Sesame Street” producers to have their pair of bath sharing confirmed bachelors joined in holy matrimony.

“We are not asking that Sesame Street do anything crude or disrespectful,” the petition reads. “It can be done in a tasteful way. Let us teach tolerance of those that are different.”

Oh, well, good, it’s not like they’re asking for hot, muppet on muppet butt sex. They don’t want any graphic “rubber duckie” action. They just want to tastefully teach children to stop hating homosexuals. Because as we know, the audience of Sesame Street is made up almost exclusively of gay bashing infants and intolerant toddlers.

Every episode ended with Paul Reiser tied to the bed with is own Cosby sweaters...

The argument is built upon a fraudulent premise, and I would hope they understand it. Children don’t hate gay marriage. Some children’s parents may not like it, but I don’t think it’s the Children’s Television Workshop’s job to adopt all of the children of hateful parents around the world. So you’re not about teaching tolerance. Do I think that it’s wrong to present a married same sex couple to children? Absolutely not, when I was growing up I watched “My Two Dads”. What I disagree with is someone trying to force an agenda upon someone based on the supposed solution to a problem that they’ve manufactured.

But it’s the equality hypocrisy that gets me the most. Because while crusaders will likely shout down and ridicule anyone who opposes this as homophobic and closed minded, let’s not act like they wouldn’t be similarly shitting their carbon neutral, zero impact, humanely harvested hemp onesies if someone was circulating a petition calling for Snuffleupagus to come out as a Soldier of Christ.

Do I want Elmo prancing around asking everyone on Sesame Street if they have accepted Jesus Christ as their personal lord and savior? Fuck no. Nor do I want Oscar the Grouch pushing his Freegan lifestyle on kids, or Grover teaching preschoolers the joys of autoerotic asphyxiation. Your agenda doesn’t have to define you. You don’t have to make it your life’s quest to make sure that what you believe in is in front of everyone’s face at all times. Preaching about gay marriage is the same as preaching about anything else, preachy.

But listen to me; preaching against the preachyness of preaching. Isn’t this just the african american cookware calling the indigenous person’s leaf drink water warmer a racially insensitive epithet? Feel free to go back to not listening to anything I’m saying and calling me names for saying it. It’s what gay married Jesus would do…

Dr. Keith Ablow is Really Angry By How Turned On He Is By Little Girls

While browsing the e-www’s this afternoon in search of the ridiculous and wrong to scream at, I stopped, as I often do by FOXnews.com. I stumbled upon an article written by a “Dr.” Keith Ablow with the headline “Dr. Keith: Is Vogue Magazine Creating Pedophiles?”

Am I missing the sexy part?

I could do a thousand words on the headline alone; the sensationalizing of fear and absurd reactionism being used to draw people in to his asinine argument by shouting “Pedophile” in a crowded internet. But that would be too easy. To really get into the pure unbridled directionless anger of this Keith Ablow, I have to really examine the heat of his meat… Which upon review, is probably not the best way to preface the thing, but there you go, because my delete key doesn’t work.

The entire article is written with the same self righteous chest beating and finger pointing that most crazy reactionaries fling around in a way that if you even dare to question a word of it, you might as well be doing so from atop your naked child throne. But it’s dipped in the kind of anger that makes it sound like Mr. Dr. feels like Vogue is trying to tempt him into breaking a promise that he swore he would never break again. I’m almost certain that Vogue isn’t specifically testing Ablow’s personal resolve, but by the way he viciously digs into everyone even remotely involved in this photo spread’s existence it sounds like it was written during the angriest fit of masturbation in the history of the penis.

The French edition of Vogue is rightly under fire for publishing a series of photos of Thylane Lena-Rose Loubry-Blondeau, a 10-year-old who appears in heavy makeup and a plunging neckline exposing her nonexistent cleavage and stiletto heels.

Immediately Dr. Keith begins his article by forfeiting any objectivity, journalistic integrity or grammatical competency with his opening salvo. The battle is effectively over before it has begun. By saying that Vogue is “rightly under fire” Dr. Keith makes his feelings perfectly clear while telling us about a “plunging neckline exposing her nonexistent cleavage and stiletto heels”  it’s also safe to assume that his doctorate is not in medicine, or he’s been jerking it so hard and for so long that his eyes are crossed. 

Blondeau’s beauty has been compared to that of film icon Brigitte Bardot. She is, however, most likely years away from puberty and more years away from being able to have a consensual sexual relationship with an adult.

I could make a couple arguments, which admittedly sort of contradict one another’s point. For one, it’s been shown that with the hormones in much of our food children have been encountering puberty at younger and younger ages in recent years. The other that in France the age of consent is 15 and in much of Europe generally hovers around 14, while in Spain, it is only 13… Neither of which actually matter much to either of our arguments, just saying. Also one could argue the difference between ”being able” to have a consensual sexual relationship and being legal allowed to, but then I’d kinda sound icky…

The images of Blondeau prove beyond any doubt that children are now being portrayed as erotic by mainstream media and industry. I’ve been warning about this trend for a long time, noting, for instance, that clothing companies like Abercrombie and Fitch were selling padded bikini bras for 8-year-olds (without any boycott of their stores), that Spanish toymaker Berjuan is selling a doll to little girls that encourages them to breastfeed (while wearing a vest that has flowers instead of erect nipples) and that fashion house Juicy Couture has no problem finding parents who’ll buy their little girls tight velour sweat suits with the word Juicy emblazoned across their bottoms.

It’s worse than I thought! Apparently the brave Dr. Keith has been trying to warn us for years that the mainstream media wants to fuck your children! I had no idea! The worst part about it though, is how they haven’t been doing that! Those tricky bastards! The Abercrombie toddler bra stuffing I can’t speak to, didn’t really see it. The Juicy pants are certainly ridiculous and while they simply make me groan at their stupidity, they seem to be iliciting an entirely different gutteral utterence from Mr. Dr.. But calling the breastfeeding doll an example of children being portrayed as erotic is a fairly clear example of one of Keith’s own personal fetishes. It almost sounds like he’s more disappointed that the vest DOESN’T depict hard little girl nipples, instead taking a little bit of the sexy out of it for him by replacing them with flowers. Feeding a baby naturally as mammals have since they were invented is of course lewd and pornographic, and teaching children that it’s okay is just turning them into deviants and objects for vague medical professionals to lust after.

In one Vogue photo Blondeau is pictured lying on her stomach atop a tiger pelt. She is wearing diamond earrings, lipstick, eye makeup and a red dress. In another, she looks about 20, with her mouth open and her finger gliding along her scarlet lips. The clear message is that it is A-OK to feel sexually stimulated by her (since that is the obvious intention of the photos), that little girls are inherently sexually desirable and that they desire men, in turn. Why else, the unconscious part of a man asks himself, would she dress that way?

Here we see plainly the conflict that this photo spread conjures in the loins of Dr. Keith. The entire thought was clearly transcribed from the “Doctor” justifying his own actions on himself, to himself, as he briefly lost track of the fact that he was composing an article.

The answer is, of course, because her reprehensible parents (no better than pimps) got paid to dress her that way by Vogue, and Vogue gets paid to dress her that way by selling magazines. But that doesn’t do away with the impact of the images themselves. Men don’t dismiss what they are made to feel sexually about little girls simply because they are looking at a staged photo shoot, any more than they dismiss their sexual feelings about female movie stars simply because they know the glib and erotic things they are saying and doing are scripted.

 

Oh yeah, and any girl who's ever played dress up is a dirty whore.

Now the full extent of the blame is being distributed. It’s the pimp like parents fault that Dr. Ablow has a funny feeling in his Doctor parts. It’s Vogue magazine’s fault for knowing just how to get Dr. Ablow’s juices running down his leg! And by simply changing a few pronouns “I don’t dismiss what I am made to feel sexually about little girls simply because I am looking at a staged photo shoot, any more than I dismiss my sexual feelings about female movie stars simply because I know the glib and erotic things they are saying and doing are scripted” sharpens the focus of the accusations the “good” “Doctor” is making a little more. For one, the photos aren’t that god damned sexy, I would go so far as to say they aren’t sexy at all, but that’s mostly because I don’t think that the ten year old girl on the other side of the page wants me inside of her any more than I want to be. The effect that you perceive the photos eliciting are equal to the effect you wish them to elicit. The question on Dr. Keith’s mind doesn’t really seem to be ”Is Vogue Magazine Creating Pedophiles?” so much as “How does Vogue Magazine Know I’m a Pedophile?”

It may be that something about social media and the Internet and technology is contributing to this trend. The fact that little girls have assimilated glib, flirtatious turns of phrase harvested from the Web (without even intending to be glib or flirtatious) and that they own the props of adulthood—like cell phones—prompts damaged men to think of them as little adults.

And as if it weren’t bad enough that parents and magazines want you to finger bang a fifth grader, so do the facebooks and the Googlepluses! AND CELL PHONES! Dr. Keith Ablow thinks that cell phones make little girls doable. Let’s stop for just a half a god damned second to examine that little throw away nugget, shall we? In the pictures that I saw in reference to this photo spread, there was nary a one cell phone. So this isn’t even something he’s taking from the subject matter, this is just a kink that he’s admitting to on his own. That cell phones, one of the “props of adulthood” make children look bangtastic. Cell phones. Fucking CELL PHONES!

Not only do I believe Vogue is stimulating pedophiles to act on their desires, but I believe Vogue and Abercrombie and Juicy are creating pedophiles by coaxing dark, illegal desires out of men who would never have otherwise consciously felt them, let alone acted upon them.

Any time a child is abducted or assaulted by anyone ever from here until the end of time, it’s on Vogue and Abercrombie and Juicy’s hands. They are pushing men who would otherwise have ABSOLUTELY NO SEXUAL INTEREST IN CHILDREN, into wanting to violate them with their man penises, because of non-racy pictures, swim suits and sweat pants… That’s what this man, who presumably went to school to be able to type “Dr.” in front of his name, essentially just said. You have probably never thought your entire life about touching a child, but a pair of stupid pants has the power to make you want nothing more than that thing now. That is what this imbecile is saying…

Any adult woman who buys a Vogue magazine, or sets foot in an Abercrombie and Fitch store or buys a stitch of Juicy clothing (just to name a small number of examples) is on the side of those who would deprive our children of childhood and turn them into the targets of predators.

And in the end, this rant against a magazine, becomes an attack on women specifically. Any woman who buys this magazine, or those pants, or that bikini supports pedophilia. Supports, promotes, defends, and produces pedophiles. Apparently there are innumerous “examples” of how pedophiles can be created, but “Dr.” Keith would like to simply point out the specific examples how it’s women’s fault that little girls are raped. If it weren’t for moms “pimping” out their little girls, these poor, defenseless men wouldn’t be tempted into forcibly penetrating them. WHAT ELSE COULD THEY DO!? It’s not their fault, they didn’t even want to before things like tight sweat pants existed.

Dr. Keith Ablow, I know this isn’t the first time you’ve been told this, and it won’t be the last time you ignore it:

You’re a fucking idiot. If I believed you were capable of it, I would say that you should be ashamed. Now go ahead, if you ever see this, go ahead and ignore everything I’ve said here and just dismiss me as defending pedophiles too, rather than pointing out the ridiculous, knee jerk, reactionary rantings of a lunatic feeding red meat to the frightened idiots who listen to you, instead of trying to contribute to a rational, thoughtful discussion about something.

Happy weekend everybody!

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!

VFoC’s Thursday Post Delayed Due to Sweaty, Sexy Celebration

Your regularly scheduled Van Full of Candy Thursday post has been temporarily delayed due to a sudden, raging Soccer on… 

 

I LOVE SOCCER!

We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, we just love Soccer so very, very much. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the Soccer room to Soccer one out… USA! USA! USA!

Bulls and Beers: Nothing to Fear

People do stupid things. To be more accurate, college aged kids do stupid things. To be even more accurate, drunken, college aged kids do stupid things. I wouldn’t know, I was torn from the thigh of Zeus, fully formed, wizened beyond reason and sent here to entertain the masses with my razor sharp wit and imaginative usages of the word “cunt”. But today, two stories involving predominantly drunken, college age participants caught my eye.

A poll published in the online edition of the journal Psychology of Addictive Behaviors showed that “Drinky, yay!”

CHUG CHUG CHUG RESPONSIBLY!

This survey of ”nearly 500 college students” revealed to the shock of absolutely no one, that the “positive” effects of binge drinking out weighed the “negative” effects, in their drunken eyes. Asking college students if they think partying like lunatics and fucking their brains out is worth potentially having a headache in the morning and maybe missing class and expecting them to not respond with “Woo!” is like asking anyone being punched in the face if they have ever enjoyed anything less in their entire lives and expecting them to reply with “Well, I was miserable until this face punching started.”

I personally never had a problem with binge drinking, I simply had a short period in my life where I would drink large quantities of alcohol and throw up on things. But between point A and point Blurgh, I had an excellent time, and that’s what alcohol is.

One of the authors of the report, University of Washington Professor of Psychology Kevin King said, between what had to have been a couple drinks:

“There is some kind of bias that’s happening when people experience these things. You could compare it to touching a hot stove. What we are seeing is that only when people get really burnt by their drinking are they deterred.”

And while that statement is, on one hand insane, on the other there is an element of truth to it. It’s absolutely true that drinking in excess does carry with it many potential negative effects when combined with other activities, such as improperly operating a motor vehicle or a penis. My problem with this analogy is the comparison between drinking and touching a hot stove. Drinking alcohol has many enjoyable effects along with several less desirable potential outcomes. Touching a hot stove carries with it little to no positive outcomes. If touching a hot stove responsibly and in moderation made me and those around me more entertaining and attractive, while touching it irresponsibly burned the flesh from my bones, this would be a fair comparison, but as it stands, only the latter of those two outcomes is true.

College is a place where teens go with little to no adult supervision and scant responsibility to live in close quarters with other hormonally charged young adults enjoying their new found freedoms, many of them for the first time in their lives. They are going to put things in their bodies and then put their bodies in other bodies until they’ve had their fill of that and are ready to move on to what ever’s next. Telling them that their fun might murder them will make them think twice at the first drink and giggle like a freshman who was just told she was the prettiest girl in the world by the Basketball team’s third string center after keg three.

"Why are we running?!" "BULLS!" "Ah, gotcha!"

Meanwhile, in Pamplona Spain, drunks are running in front of bulls when they absolutely don’t have to be… again. But good news! Day 1: No gorings!

That was news. That was in the headline, the excitement of no one being gored by animals that don’t belong on paved roads, running after drunken tourists who have spent money to fly half a world away to do something incredibly stupid. Everyone who gets gored and or maimed at the annual “Trampling of the Dipshits” deserves every painful stitch, itchy cast or scornful shake of the head over their casket, that they get.

This event is only made possible by drinking to excess, and when it’s cause to celebrate that no one was murdered by wild animals during your national celebration, perhaps it’s time to rethink how you spend your leisure time. But despite the inherent stupidity of this festival, it continues, seemingly unabated while practically every year someone is mutilated by angry, confused beasts running wildly through these Spanish streets, and occasionally by the bulls as well.

But just as with the drunken activities of college kids wasting their parents’ money at home, the problem with these drunken college kids wasting their parents’ money abroad is not merely consumption of alcohol, but what follows said drinking. Give two people the same amount of alcohol, have them drink it in the same amount of time, set Drunk A loose in an open field filled with pillows and Drunk B loose in an open field filled with pistols and odds are the one thrown into an already stupid situation will probably be more likely to suffer stupid consequences.

What I’m saying is, alcohol doesn’t kill people, dangerous, stupid things combined with alcohol kill people. So I guess the message I’m trying to get across with all of this is this: friends don’t let friends be cunts.

Now take a shot.

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.

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.