Articles Schmarticles … Show Us The Boobs !!!

When I think of great reading material the only true publication that jumps out at me without even giving it a second thought is Playboy. Month after month, year after year they churn out some of the  most interesting and in depth articles covering the gamut from polictics to Super Bowl MVPs, from how to get your woman off in 30 seconds to tips for deep frying a turkey on Thanksgiving. And in some circles “deep frying a turkey” just happens to be a term for getting your woman off involving Crisco in a bathtub with a turkey baster, so you see, they’re pretty damn smart without even knowing it. So you could probably understand my utter glee when I discovered that the double edition, holiday anniversary issue of Playboy for Jan/Feb 2012 was going to feature Elmore Leonard and George Pelecanos … HOLY SHIT !!! Not to mention the 20 greatest cocktails and cars of the year … CARS OF THE FUCKING YEAR PEOPLE !!!

With that gleam in Jill's eyes, Mark knew it was Deep Fry Time !!

The truth of the matter is, without Playboy, I wouldn’t even know what “cocktail” actually meant unless it had the words Pabst Blue Ribbon painted on the glass with an all American red, white and blue label to let me know that it was worthy of pouring down my gullet. Cock … tail … to the untrained ear that could really be misconstrued as some sort of weird rooster appendage, or even worse, a tail that looked like a … you get the idea. So thank you Playboy, thank you for making a silly layman like me into a cultured sophisticate looking refined when I order a Vieux Carre at the Keefer when I’m jet-setting in BC, or when I make simple conversation about how one should never even THINK of mentioning the Bentley GT V8 in the same breath as the Carrera 4 GTS, two completely different animals, and if you don’t understand the subtleties then please excuse yourself from this conversation sir. Oh, and apparently some drunk chick who’s spent the last 2 years failing to make it to court hearings got paid a cool million for showing us her tits. Yay America!

US Army Vet Un-invites Cameron Diaz to “Fondue Fun Night”, Invites Zach Galifianakis

The Marines are bringin' sexy back

Holy crap !! When I read today that Justin Timberlake had attended the Marine Corps Ball over the weekend, I thought “Oh my GAWD, did I accidentally stand up Cameron Diaz?”. For whatever crazy reason, I forgot to put the Fondue Fun Night at The Melting Pot in my calendar, but in a fortunate scheduling miracle, I had made the occasion on the same night as the OTHER Marine Corps Ball, the one where Mila Kunis will be attending on November 18th. Phhhhhhhhhhhhew !! I read that JT had an incredible time with his YouTube date even going so far as saying, “Last night changed my life, and I will never forget it!”, just as Fondue Fun Night will change your life Cameron, I swear it !!

Now, granted, I acknowledge the fact that Cam-Cam hasn’t “replied” to my video invite “officially” yet via YouTube or/and an email, a phone call, a comment in these posts, a middle finger, ANYTHING, etc., but I know how busy these celebrity types are with their movies, and their interviews, and their money, all that fucking money. I’m sure it was just an accidental oversight on her part, or her assistant’s part, or her publicist’s part, or maybe her camera phone hasn’t been working lately. It’s ok … I don’t mind waiting around for a reply, I’ll just sit here and … hmmmmmm … you know what? Forget her !! Now that I look back to see when the initial invite went out, it’s been over four months now !! That’s just DAMN RUDE CAMERON DIAZ !! So as of right this minute on today’s date, I am retracting my invitation to you Cameron, sorry, but I’m also a entertainment professional, and I just cant be strung on like this, so, it’s off. I’m very sorry.

So, I’m going to change my invite to somebody who won’t act so unprofessional by toying with one’s emotions. Here’s my NEW video invite …

Welcome To (Alleged) Fatherhood Justin

MAZELTOV!

AND Sandy with Keanu?! Well now I've heard everything!

Oh Justin, we’re so very, very (allegedly) happy for you! I’m sorry this is a couple months late, but to be fair, you’re just finding out about it yourself now aren’t you? Wow, who’d a thunk it? Our little Justin Bieber already a daddy. Seems like just yesterday you were also still a child one day younger than you are today… Circles and something about Spring and… sun rise, or something, I think…

Anyway, lazy metaphorical imagery aside, I can’t believe our little Biebs has already grown up. Well, when you think about it, I guess it’s not too surprising to hear that you’re already (allegedly) littering your southern neighbor, these fantasmical United States of the Americas, with Bieber Brood in every town you pass through. I mean, honestly, every night thousands of recently egg producing fans scream at the top of their lungs for your not yet legal loins; does the world honestly expect you not to have a field day with that endless salad and bread sticks of vadge? You are an international pop star, it is fully understood by everyone who purchases a ticket and every parent who sends their lady child to a mega star’s concert venue that by doing so they forfeit their right to not be penetrated by said super star. Why do you think I keep an extra pair of undies tucked into my sock every time I go anywhere that live music could potentially be over heard? Well that’s one of the reasons!

I guess really the only surprise is that we haven’t heard of all of the rest of them yet. But give it ten years or so when American public schools (if such things exists in a decade) are flooded with foreheadless cherubic adolescent song birds, being scooped up in the night by stealth Disney Channel extraction teams. There won’t be enough back streets or numbers of degrees with which to catalog the limitless Boy Banditry!

I do have some sympathy for how your wonderful, life changing, special news has been delivered though Justin. I mean, no body wants the beloved (alleged) mother of their child to tell the entire damned world in a court filing, under the penalty of perjury, that the conception of your child with your fellow procreationist, which also just so happened to be your (alleged) virginal deflorination, had all the romance of a halftime leak and the longevity of the Final Jeopardy theme music. No man wants seven billion human souls to know that the (alleged) half minute grunt and squirt that culminated in your be-fathering was very likely punctuated by the flushing of a nearby urinal by a confused, groggy concert goer.

Now, if I may, I would like to speak directly to the (alleged) mother of your child, Mariah Yeater, for just a moment Justin, if I may. Mariah, Justin is a very special boy to us. We’ve been chronicling Justin Bieber’s crazy year since there’s been a Van Full of Candy. Please, don’t make us have to get our heaviest hair brush and learn you some shit! Don’t you DARE break our Justy Just’s heart! What you got after that show in Los Angeles isn’t just a souvenir! It’s (allegedly) Justin’s first born! The first in line to the Bieber throne! Naturally you will have all of the protection of the “Secret Beliebers” at your back. You will never know we are there, but we will keep you and the child god safe until it is time for its ascension.

Remember, no shaking. Just keep repeating it to yourself, it helps.

Oh the joys you have ahead of you Justin. Parenthood, as I understand it, is a wonderful thing, filled with years of not resenting the unwanted child for its role in robbing you of your youth and your dreams, constant open communication filled with loving respectful conversations about love and respect with never a single moment of feeling taken for granted. There’s also never any nagging thoughts of disappointment in your off spring for the horrible choices they’ve made or fear that your poor parenting might have destroyed the inherent potential of this new life, hamstringing it from birth with your own poorly sculpted psyche, (molded by your own parents’ clumsy, inept guidance) closing doors for it before they ever knew they were ever open at all…

Just remember Justin, every child’s a miracle. And just because this one was (allegedly) conceived in a 30 second tryst in a Staples Center bathroom after a show, doesn’t make it any less so.

The Death of Winehouse, Parte the Third: The Resolutioning

A pathologist says Amy Winehouse consumed a “very large quantity of alcohol” prior to her death.

What? Wait, what? No, wait… WHAT?! NO!? WHAT?! Wait, WHAT!?! NO!?

Suhail Baithun has told an inquest into the singer’s’ death that blood and urine samples showed she was 4.5 times over the legal drunk-driving limit.

Are you– But how could– You’re not saying– That isn’t– I was told– WHAT? Wait, WHAT? No!? That can’t possibly– NO!?

…

WHAT?!

WHAT?! Wait, what? NO!

In quite possibly THE single most shocking news story that I have ever heard in my eight thousand years of immortality, a professional in the medical field, with what one would assume is some level of training and expertise has apparently found that the reformed Lady Winehouse had “resumed drinking in the days before her death after a period of abstinence.”

BUT THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE!

I was told by “family sources”, whom I trusted implicitly, that our fragile flower was killed by sobriety when she went against doctor’s orders to gradually decrease her alcohol intake from “like air” to “like water” and eventually to “like a normal responsible human being” but instead went cold wild turkey. Her family full of apparent booze scientists were convinced that her lack of spirits was to blame for her “unexpected” demise.

“Family sources”! Who would know better about what killed their family member than a her neglectful, useless family?! I considered the case closed. Clearly she had died due to lack of personality potion. I know the feeling, my liver threatens to shoot my spleen and pistol whips my gal bladder every time I go more than three hours without a flower pot full of vodka.

Then came PROOF INDISPUTABLE that tragelebrity and leathery garbage bag full of fermented juice drinks, Dame Winehouse had been sobered to death! That proof of course came in the form of a complete and utter lack of illegal substances found in what was laughably referred to as her “body”. The initial toxicology results showed absolutely nothing, nada, zilch, ZERO illegal substances in her body, what more proof do you need that she was brutally murdered in a street fight with not drinking?!

SURE, alcohol was “present” in her system, but we detailed exactly how the alcohol found in her system was the work of her own internal organs, so starved for conversation started drops that it began internally brewing and bottling its own Amy Lagger. We were assured by further “family sources” that she simply could not have been killed by alcohol since she hadn’t touched the stuff despite reportedly being seen on a non-stop three day personal liquor reunion tour immediately before her death! Those stories were clearly lies told by liars who lie!

But this is apparently it. The end of life’s last great mysteries. Evidence that the only thing that I have ever in this long, lonely life, believed to be indisputably true, was in fact– Wait! I see it now! Oh my god I’m suck a fool! The apparent confusion and contradiction. The lies and cover ups. The deception! It’s as plain as the drink in your face! Amy Winehouse didn’t die from an over abundance OR utter lack of alcohol. AMY WINEHOUSE ISN’T DEAD AT ALL! I’ve seen this played out so many times, I’ve PLAYED this out so many times, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Over eight thousand years on this planet, you live many lives, pass in and out of the lives of so many fragile mortals. That’s it, don’t you see!?

Finally Amy, we see each other plain!

Amy Winehouse is a Highlander!

Usually people like Amy and I are able to shed our past lives quietly, simply, typically leaving only a few loved ones behind when we can no longer live the lie that would eventually put them through so much pain. But in some cases, our “escape” is so much more public and baffling. This is exactly how it happened when I was Elvis.

Oh Amy, sweet Amy. I understand now, I get it. The sadness, the self destructive tendencies. But alcohol will not kill us Amy. Only we can do that. I will meet you some day in battle, Amelia of the House of Wine, and my blade will grant you the freedom you so desperately seek.

There can be only one.

Van Full of Candy’s Celebrity Sex Tape Auditions

Pamela likes our van candy ... so should you !!

First it was Pamela & Tommy, then Paris, and then that one Kardashian chick. Rock stars, television stars, and others who ride the coattails of their father and become reality TV stars. Two glaring things stick out like a sore thumb … that I’m assuming have been smashed by a hammer, because how else would a thumb be sore? Well, there’s always the explanation that you were sitting around with your thumb up your ass and you were startled when somebody actually asked you to do something, and you moved too fast and broke your thumb causing it to stick out like a sore thumb. So there’s two idioms for you to enjoy for the price of one. You’re welcome. Now, speaking of things in one’s ass, lets get back to the main gist of this talk, Sex Tapes, and the two things that stick out like … god I hate repeating myself !!

#1. Not one of the stars of any of the celebrity sex tapes are comedic blog writers/sketch comedy performers … and …

#2. All of the aforementioned “accidental” porn stars have only BENEFITED their careers from having their sex taped “accidentally” leaked … so …

In an effort to level the playing field and get this celebrity porn industry into other aspects of the entertainment world, Van Full of Candy does hereby declare that we will be holding auditions for hot starlet types who are looking to take their career to a whole new level, which level that might be is still yet to be determined but please know it will be a WHOLE NEW ONE !!

We have the perfect props and the perfect premise. We have the piece de resistance first of all … a goddamn van full of candy, and then the story line just writes itself, not that there’ll be much story if you know what I’m sayin’. So … if you’d like to be one of the lucky chosen ones to star in our celebrity sex tape, then you’ll need to leave us a comment on this blog letting us know how to get in touch with you so we can meet in person and … well … rehearse a little. That’s just part of the process, the dirty, metal smelling, why is this gas can next to me tedious process. Now don’t get discouraged if you don’t make it … we will have literally thousands of applicants and it takes a long long LONG time to “interview” each and every one of you, but please know … we won’t NOT interview a single one of you soon to be starlets. And remember, first come … first served.

Sonny & Cher’s Daughter … Watch Him Dance !!

There’s been a few times over the last few months that I wanted to write something about Chaz Bono, and each time the slant was different. Not liking Chaz: pointing out Chaz’s silver platter and how using the Sonny & Cher platform to succeed was lame. Liking Chaz: for doing what Chaz was doing in finding Chaz’s self, thinking about how completely transforming the physical body into one that matches the inside and how brave that is. So I’m torn. Do I like Chaz or not? I guess the honest answer is that I could really give a shit about Chaz. If Chaz was someone who wasn’t in the limelight and went through this transition would we even know about it? No. And would we care? Probably not. But since Chaz is tied in with “celebrity”, we are exposed to it, and therefore, I have to read about and see it, and hence here I am writing about it. Ugghh !!

I remember when you were knee high to a plastic lady.

I couldn’t imagine what it was like to be the offspring of Sonny & Cher and all that went with it. I’d like to imagine how cool it must have been, but then on the flipside how shitty it probably was. Is this Chaz’s attempt to finally get the attention that Chaz has wanted for so long, starting in the days when Chaz was Chastity? Is this how Chaz seperates from the Sonny & Cher dyanasty and makes a name for Chaz’s self? Was the family fame so great that this was the only choice? Who knows. Who really cares?

Tonight I saw Chaz’s appearance on Dancing With the Stars and kept thinking, “ok, that’s a guy dancing with a girl, but the guy is a girl who really looks like a fat guy, but she’s really just an overweight girl who looks like a dude who isn’t really a good dancer, but if I look at her like she’s a girl, then I guess she’s an ok dancer, just a tad awkward and wearing a suit, but the dancing partner is hot, and what is she thinking? Does she just pretend it’s a guy or she’s dancing with a not so good looking female cousin with facial hair, and is the crowd cheering because the dance was good or that they feel compelled to because of what she went through? This is too much to deal with right now so let’s turn on The Singoff.”

I guess what I’m getting at is, I want to know what Chaz would look like if Chaz dropped 100 lbs. and had long auburn hair.

Brad Pitt : The Movie … Right?

In our many drives up and down this country’s most awesome state of Californyeaye (no offense NY in lieu of the 10 year) we see many great things , and being that half of the van is based GawdDammHollywood bitches we see a lot of movie-stars and boring shit like that. Yeah boring, I said it … it’s like seeing a crack addict when  you live in Oakland, it’s not unusual, you just get used to it, and in a number of cases it’s your own family if not yourself, but if you’re visiting from Montana and you see a crack addict, you bust out your camera phone and show all of your family when you get back because you don’t know how to upload to YouTube or Facebook yet, not will you ever, if you even have a phone with a camera, or a cell phone, or … well … even a camera, but I digress Montanians.

As the van made its way through the LA, it stumbled upon a billboard that could only be described as a documentary or biopic or something along the lines of a movie about somebody that has to do with something biographically filmy. The billboard is titled “Brad Pitt” in bold beautiful white letters, and then underneath his hot handsome name is a picture of Hotty McHotterson with a beautiful green baseball field background, his luxurious light brown hair kissed by the sun giving highlights that women would kill for, or spend $180 dollars for at a beeeeuty salon, looking back with his look of confidence and a slight smirk of “yeah, I belong here” that makes us all slow our cars down and puppy dog eye a little at his marvel and hit the brakes just in time to avoid that completely annoying fender bender that would get us to our destination 30 minutes later than normal and hope that douchebag has insurance … and then there’s some other words underneath it which really don’t matter much, blah blah blah, Moneyball, blah, other names, blah blah.

I'd watch that movie all day ... whatever the fuck it is !!

What’s the point of wasting all that billboard space with more words that don’t mean anything more than they had to make a smaller picture of Brad-Brad? Why even put his name? We know who he is !! We don’t need to know anything more than his beautiful face, as big as possible on billboards and posters around the city, and we just know when to show up to drop our $12 to see his Academy Award winning performances over and over and … 12 Monkeys counts right? Anyway, what I’m getting at is I cannot WAIT to see the movie named “Brad Pitt” because it just HAS to be great !! And what the F is a moneyball? Besides the one that hangs a little lower than the other in his sack?

GQ Men Of The Year My Ass !!

Apparently we here at Van Full of Candy were somehow overlooked for this years “GQ Man of the Year” awards. I’m not sure if it’s because we missed the phone call or if our nomination into several of the categories got lost in the mail …  strange … we’ll get it all straightened out. I’ll need to write a quick letter to have the ballots recalled so we can get our names on the list. We’re a shoe in for at the very least 3 of the categories. And just to show that we’re not bad sports, we’ll show you the guys that “won” last night … you know … until the recall happens. Then we’ll see who’s yuckin’ it up with Charlize Theron on their arms huh Bradley Cooper? Not feeling so tan and smiley NOW … ARE YOU ??!!

BAND OF THE YEAR : U2

Well that was sweet that they brought their grandpa to the ceremony.

INTERNATIONAL MAN OF THE YEAR : BRADLEY COOPER

Don't test me Cooper, I'll slap that handsome STRAIGHT off your face !!

COMEDIAN OF THE YEAR : ROB BRYDON

You are SO lucky our nomination was lost ... SOOOO lucky !!

LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD : DURAN DURAN

For what ?? Making Nagel prints famous ??

MAN OF NEXT YEAR AWARD : LORD COE

Not quite a man yet !! Might as well be the Chaz Bono award !!

PROOF That Amy Winehouse Was Murdered by Not Drinking!

I don’t want to say I told you so. I mean, I’ve told you time and time again about how I hate to be the one to tell you that I told you. If there’s one thing that anyone who knows me can tell you that I’ve told them is that the thing that I enjoy least in the world is telling them that I don’t want to tell them that I told them I wouldn’t tell them…

But I fuckin’ told you so.

Amy Winehouse: murdered by sobriety! Case closed! How is it case closed? How do we now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Amy was killed in cold blood by the absence of alcohol? Because the family “says toxicology tests show there were no illegal drugs in her system when she died”.

BOOYAKA!

Air tight, non-smoking gun of smoke filled guns. No illegal drugs in her system = assassination by lack of alcohol. One plus one still equals two, does it not? … Does it not? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a math class, things may very well mean different things than how I remember them.

Absolute definitive proof that a lack of alcohol killed our Ms. Winehouse… Especially when you consider that according to the tests “alcohol was present” in her system. FURTHER PROVING that quitting alcohol “cold turkey” killed her!

“Abstinence gave her body such a fright they thought it was eventually the cause of her death,” a family source told  The Sun, one of Brittain’s always trustful newsesque Tabloid publications.

See, her family still believes that Amy dropping the sauce “completely for three weeks” was such a “shock for her tiny body” that it simply could not cope with “such a dramatic withdrawal”. And they are clearly pointing to the absolute lack of illegal drugs in her system as proof positive that she was killed by not drinking alcohol… So, the fact that alcohol was found in her system can mean only one thing, and is the final piece to the puzzle of the death of Amy Winehouse. TO THE VFoC SCIENCE LAB OF IMPOSSIBLE OCOURANCES!

Overcome by exhaustion from finding so much booze a loving home.

Amy Winehouse, singer of songs, drinker of things; seeing that her life was in grave danger at the mouth of a bottle, decided to muster the power of her famed self control and restraint, and kick booze right between the o’s. So, the first several weeks was spent disposing of all of the alcohol that heretofore had been her only source of nourishment. This process went on for some time, unfortunately spilling into her professional life, as evidenced by video of her stumbling and incoherent during her aborted European tour approximately a month before her death, which was clearly brought on by the exhaustion of humanely disposing of so very much alcohol back into the wild.

Then, as the weeks of clean living piled up, her treacherous body, unwilling to live as her will demanded, began to turn against her. Seeing clearly that alcohol would not be provided externally any longer, as Amy’s unwavering determination refused to waver in the face of waverable circumstances, her organs knew that they had to begin producing their own fermented good times. And so her liver, in conjunction with her pancreas, kidneys, large intestine, spleen and the master mind of it all, her appendix began the process of transforming her internal fluids into alcohol.

Visual approximation of Amy Winehouse's current state of being.

Being in perfect tune with all of her various inner workings, Amy was immediately aware of the nefarious plot of her internal moving parts. Knowing that the mutinous squishy parts of her could not be reasoned with, and determined to never again be turned to the drunk side, Amy understood what she had to do. Focusing her essence, channeling her universal flow and harnessing the forces of being as only one who has achieved a 407th level consciousness as Amy had, can, choosing to simply halt her corporeal functions before being corrupted again by her easily corruptible flesh.

So weep not for Amy, she was ultimately a hero, saving the world from drunken organs that would certainly have eventually over run her body and taken over the world, their unquenchable thirst driving it ever forward until it enveloped this world and eventually, swallowed whole all of reality.

Thank you Amy, thank you for your service to sentient beings everywhere.

And I fuckin’ told you so.

Celebrities Gone Wild (Boobs Edition)

Only 5 short days ago I wrote about how Nicki Minaj’s left boob wanted to see the live audience on Good Morning America and decided to leave the confines of its snug little bra-home and smile for the cameras. “Pulling a Janet Jackson” was then coined by yours truly which I have just recently shortened to “Pulling a JJ” if you’re nasty.

Well it seems that these dirty little female singers aren’t done flashing us the goods. Two days after Nicki’s “accident”, another pair of funbags deployed when Kelly Rowland was performing in New Jersey on Sunday. Not to be outdone by Nicki, Kelly decided to up the ante and let both of them do some backup dancing with her during the concert and later told her Tweetster fans that she hopes they didn’t mind the “peekaboo”.

New Jersey crowd was amazing!! hope you enjoyed the show and didnt mind the peekaboo LOL!!! #kanyeshrug #stuffhappens—
KELENDRIA ROWLAND (@KELLYROWLAND) August 08, 2011

Look ladies, I’m not against you baring your num-nums to get some exposure, but don’t you realize that Playboy would actually pay you to let those rib-bumpers loose on the world. I’m just lookin’ out for ya, that’s all, because once the goombas have been released, there’s really nothing left to hope to see one day. But the selfish part of me is now hoping this dairy-pillows dispensing trend becomes as big as PLANKING has, I mean crap, who doesn’t wanna see millionaire bazoombas for free? But what you’re not realizing is that it’s all about when and where the chesticles are showcased, and now you’re the next casualty of the Peekaboo-NipSlip-BoobyShow-WardrobeMalfunction war of poor timing. You’re boring now, NEXT !!!

Get that girl some Mardi Gras beads !!