Going Green to the Grave

Alrighty hippies, here’s your chance to really put your carbon footprint where your mouth was.

A facility in Durham, England is ready to turn your last act of selfish global pollution into the greenest of green energies. Why let your rotting remains just disintegrate in the ground, a skeleton in a fine suit and a frilly cushioned box being all lazy and just taking up space as subterranean litter when it could be powering 1,500 television sets for an entire hour!

That’s right, I’ll bet you didn’t even know that when you die and bury your sweet, flammable flesh, you are wasting “as much as 150 kilowatt-hours” of usable body heat?! Well you are, Mr. Thinks My Dumb Dead Body Is So Damned Important.

Bio-fuel is people! It's PEOPLE!

This new and exciting way of making use of your corporeal garbage is coming to the old world because apparently in some parts of Europe the cremation rate is over 90 percent. I imagine that is mostly out of necessity as it’s generally referred to as the old world because people have been dying there for a long time and while digging under existing graves to bury new bodies SOUNDS like the most logical solution in my mind, it has been pointed out on numerous occasions by multiple individuals that my mind don’t work so pleasant extra bucks. So with an estimated (by me) 68% of Europe’s land mass already filled with the plague ridden bodies of Ghost Knights the options for corpse disposal are sort of limited.

While here in the good ol’ USA less than 50% of Patriotic Ameri-deaths result in post mortal immolation. We’ve got plenty of land, generously given to us by the plague ridden bodies of Ghost Indians in which to place the beloved remains of our beloved beloveds. And anyway, we’re Americans, it’s kind of our thing to make sure we waste as much of the planet as possible to make sure Jesus can see how much we’re enjoying ourselves. So don’t worry American dead and dying, this sort of answer isn’t going to come to this side of the pond until we’re already burning enough bodies to make it worth the crematorium’s while.

But that day may be coming. Owner and CEO of Florida based B&L Cremation Systems, operator, cremation engineer and all around fan of ashening the dead, Steve Looker, between mirthless cackles and rubbing his dry, cold hands together in a dark, hollow glee, said. “Over the next 10 years, with the baby boomers coming through, cremation is going to reach 75 to 80 percent. Then, this might be feasible.” Oh, to live your life, excitedly awaiting the mass extinction of a generation as a boon to your bottom line. But, I suppose it’s better than just letting them stack up and smell, so, more power to the creepy bastard wishing death upon millions as soon as possible.

I can’t say which side I come down on the burial vs. cremation subject myself. On one hand I have a place I can call my own for all eternity, or until my head stone is misplaced, or I’m dug up for after-after party necrotic sexy times. And if I’m all still intact, there’s still the chance that I could live again in undead form. While on the other hand, I could be reduced to an easy to carry travel size me. My loved ones wouldn’t have to get in the car and make a big trip of it to visit me, they could just high five the can full of me on the entertainment center. And there’s still the chance that I could maybe have an undead after life, but this one would be in the form of a kick ass Sandmanesque living ash cloud!

I want my tombstone to read "AHHHHH!!!"

It’s kind of a push when I think about it. The only problem I see with being used as an alternative source of energy is that then the hippies would win, and by God, I can’t allow that to happen. So I think the only way I’m going to accept cremation is if it’s going to come by means of me leading police in a high speed pursuit after robbing a whole food grocery outlet, losing control of my stolen electric vehicle and plowing headlong into a gas station in the middle of refueling, taking out the entire city block in a towering ball of fire that can be seen from space…

Gotta add that one to the “death journal”.

Cut It Out China! You’re Freaking Us Out!

China is going to murder us from the sky! How do I know? The Googles! The Googles told me!

…

GOOGLES!

Alright, let me back up here, this may require slightly more explanation than me shouting “The Googles” at you until it makes sense. That could take days. Days that WE DON’T HAVE!

First, take a look at this and tell me what you see…

Tasteful lattice work or map of your grave? China knows.

If you said anything other than “The Godless Red Chinese Communist heathens plotting our horrible deaths at the hands of their highly trained elite death guard” then you’re fooling yourself, Jack! I look at that and I see lasers from the fuckin’ SKY man! Lasers and… nuclear…ness! Nuclear death lasers in the sky! Ready to wipe us AND the debt that we never plan to pay back, clear off the face of their Earth!

And I’m not the only lunatic that sees what’s just layin’ right there, out in the open, ready to be Google mapped by just any lunatics with an internet connection and a government tracking device implanted in their dental work! Clear thinking, level headed, reasonable people, immediately branded as “conspiracy theorists” by some and “lunatics with an internet connection and a government tracking device implanted in their dental work” by others, can clearly see what we have on our hands here: the Chinese Area 51!

Dun dun DUN!

We in America have an Area 51, we call it “Area 51″ and just like our very real and very not just clumps of pixellated cosmic rays Martian bases, Area 51 is super real. And based on that absolute fact of reality we then have to assume that the Chinese Area 51, which we’ll call “the Chinese Area 51″ for short, is also very real. And keeping in line with this freight train of logic that I’m hurtling along on, because once I start it’s very damaging to what is left of my fragile psyche to stop and think about the reasonability or “sense” of anything that I’m saying for risk of shattering the thin layer of sanity holding together this undulating mass of violently, unpredictable crazy; the Chinese too must be holding their own space alien ship and or crew hostage as we have been in the American Area 51 which I will heretofore refer to as “the American Area 51″… for short.

Now, what was I saying? Oh, right, China is going to sky murder us.

The popular theories from those that the media have been dismissing as “conspiracy theorists” is that these appear to be “solar energy facilities” or ”test ranges for Chinese missiles, to simulate the street grids of cities.”

Since we know that most residents of China inhale most of their oxygen with a spoon it’s very unlikely that these are “solar energy facilities”. So the next possibility: missile ranges simulating the street grids of cities. And what theoretical city might the Chinese have patterned this completely fictitious street grid after on which to test their fire power? Well, it just so happens that one person has claimed that this is a replica of the Washington D.C. street layout! Yeah! That warmth in your chair is from where you just crapped your pants! I know it! I’m living it!

But now that I think about it, all of this is simply too easy. Chinese orbital battle platforms testing their might against the outlines of our nation’s capital? Right China, like THAT’S what you’re up to. You see, my hyper-brain sees an infinite number of potential explanations for these unexplainable land formations. I look beyond the obvious to the ludicrous, because somewhere between those points, the truth is pointing and laughing at us all. And I punch that bastard “truth” in the face and say, “Hey! That’s fuckin’ rude, guy!”

Now, it is obvious that this is an exact one to one recreation of the street system of Washington D.C., I don’t think that point is in question. Where I disagree is that it is a missile range. I see this for what it clearly is, or more accurately, what it WILL be. Ladies and gentlemen of God’s America, I present to you “America 2″.

Hear me out…

China, as we speak, is hard at work building an exact replica of the United States near the border of Mongolia. Then, as each America 2 city is completed, the Chinese government will kidnap the Americans living in the America-Classic equivalent city and transport them in the night to their new Chinese American homes. So you go to sleep one night in American Washington D.C., then the next morning you wake up in China American Washington D.C., never the wiser! As more America 2 cities are completed, those citizens will again be transported until eventually all of what was the United States is completely empty and ready to be conquered by our new land lords!

Now, you may be asking yourselves, “How did this one man figure out the most devious plot that has ever been hatched in the history of warfare? We should shower him with riches beyond his clearly limitless imagination.” And I thank you for that, but I do these things not expecting to be grotesquely rewarded with all that I could ever need for the rest of my waking moments. I do it for you, the loyal fans. Not so that we can rise up and stop this from happening, I’m not entirely sure that it hasn’t happened already and we’re just seeing images from the initial planning stages of this insidious plot now so that our conquerors can screw with out heads. I’m doing this so that when we do meet someday in our new America 2 streets we can nod to one another knowingly, you can say “You’re the guy that knew.” I can shrug humbly, then you can buy me a drink and we can reminisce about what we remember from when we were American Americans and not American Chinese Americans.

That is, before we have to get back to our stations, tasting poison for no apparent reason. Hey, a job’s a job…

Our future shift supervisor Lee Chin. He can fly, so, we kinda have to do what he says...

Which Angry, Hurtful, Bitter Lover Type Are You?

We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, 10 1/2 months is an eternity for most relationships. We like to think we’ve been a very attentive partner, but we know there’s been times when we’ve taken you for granted. It’s nothing conscious, it’s not because you’ve gained weight, we think that’s sexy, it means you’re comfortable with us. What we’re saying is, we’re taking this relationship seriously and are trying to take a look at ourselves, and see if this is going to work out.

I found a survey this morning on CNN.com from health.com. Now, if this were some bullshit from health.org or health.net or bonerstrengthsuperplus.edu I wouldn’t be taking it anywhere this seriously. But these guys clearly had to be around since the dawn of the internet to get that kind of prime URL real estate, so they can obviously be trusted to be experts on all subjects related to the health of any living thing. It’s pretty all encompassing, and when you think about the magnitude of their promise to the internet, you almost have to kind of feel sorry for them. But I’m digressing, and while I know you think that’s one of our more indearing qualities, I need to focus, this is for us. So shushy now, baby. Shushy shush.

Their article explains:

Experts say there are six different ways you can be in love, and your love style may change over the course of your relationship.

The purest, most beautiful example of true love ever recorded on film.

Oh, to be a love expert. It seems that all of life’s little problems would certainly be solved were one to be an expert in love. I wonder what type of schooling a love expert must complete to earn the title of “Dr. Love”. I’ll tell you what type, the school of life, brother. Because that’s where love happens. Love doesn’t happen in a book, or a web site, or an alley behind the coffee shop where you and your new friend just sat through your court appointed AA meeting. Love happens in your face, and occasionally on your face, and you’ve got to be ready to see it, know it and tell it “Hey, I know you, you’re love, I’m all up in everything you are.” And love will see you and blush and smile, and Jack, you’re all up in love’s under panties from there until the universe fucking explodes as long as you don’t stick your love in any of love’s friends.

I like to think of myself as a semi-professional expert on all things love and romance. In the school of love I major in romance with a double minor in “Uhh” and “You like that?” And being a pursuer of this elusive thing called love, I am always learning, always striving to answer the questions that love presents me. So when no less than health.com asks me, “Which is your love style?” well you better believe that I’m going to answer the hell out of that mostly rhetorical question. And hard.

The romantic

You love being in love. You may be swept away by your new lover’s looks or other appealing physical attributes — and disappointed when they change over time.

I do, indeed, LOVE being in love. If someone were to ask me the thing that I loved most in life, without blinking I would say “love”. If they were to ask what I loved second, I would blink and tell them “loving love”. And while physical attributes are certainly one of the things that I love loving, it’s not the only thing to be loved. Certainly breasts, the “Hey there” and “Look at me” of the female anatomy catch the eye like two suckable mounds of flesh aching to be ogled, and the shapely bottom, so curvy and spankable scream at the top of their butt lungs, “I am personality, I am things that we have in common!” but… what were we saying again? Ah yes, butt lungs.

The list-maker

“You have criteria that are important, and you won’t change them,” Schwartz says. Even if you’re in a committed relationship, you may put too much pressure on your partner to live up to your standards.

The “Schwartz” referenced above is apparently “Dr. Pepper Schwartz, Ph.D., a sociology professor at the University of Washington in Seattle”. I can only assume that she would be one of the experts in question, since she is being presented as such. But it seems to me that this is more a complaint about past experiences rather than an honest classification of lover. I am deeply sorry that ”Pepper” has been hurt in the past for not trying to reach even the most simple and basic requirements of love, but I hardly think that here, now, in this arena of love expertism, is the proper place to air her grievances against an ex who has supposedly wronged her. She does not so much seem to classify this as a “type of love person” as calling this “type” of lover ”a fucking prick who I could never fucking satisfy no matter how hard I never tried!”

 The obsessive

You want to spend all your time with your partner. And you constantly worry about your relationship, even when you’ve been together for years. Schwartz says this kind of partner can be overbearing or have highs and lows that drive her significant other crazy.

Oookay. I am starting to see a pattern here. This is clearly not a list of the types of lover you may or not be, but the types of people who have hurt Dr. Pepper Schwartz, Ph.D., sociology professor at the University of Washington in Seattle. I came into this article expecting to explore the many varied ways in which we as human animals legitimately love one another, emotionally, spiritually, in the butt, and instead have simply found the tear soaked rantings of a “love expert” repeatedly hurt by the very thing she professers her unquestioned knowledge of. Your expertise is in question Pep, by no greater authority than I, Loveiticus 9, defender of love in all of its dirty, sticky forms.

The giver

You may give more than you get. “At some point, you find that it’s all going one way,” Schwartz says. You’re constantly working selflessly to meet your partner’s needs, but you’re not looking after you.

How much more can Pepper do for you? You ungrateful slovenly fuck! She has no life outside of professing sociology inside the claustrophobic walls of the University of Washington in Seattle, and coming home to find you in your under pants playing Call of Duty and talking dirty to some fourteen year old boy over the headset! No she won’t play too, she doesn’t like video games, she likes sociology and love and being an expert. Did you even look for a job today? How many pizza boxes are you going to stack before Dr. Pepper Schwartz, Ph.D., sociology professor at the University of Washington in Seattle is killed by their inevitable toppling?

The player

You love courtship. “For these lovers, the chase is a lot of it,” Schwartz says. You’re easily bored in long-term relationships, though, and your eye may roam.

You son of a bitch! Fine, you know what? Fine. Just fine! Go ahead then, run off with her, she’s nineteen, her tits are firm and perky, she doesn’t smell like sociology books and vending machine sandwiches. After everything Pepper has done for you, she just wasn’t enough? She let you put your finger in her butt just to make you stop begging and this is how you treat her!? Well we hope this “barista” skank has syphilitic herpes crabs and your balls fall off!

The pal

Love seems to creep up on you. One day you think, “Wow, I’ve really been spending a lot of time with Jack,” then realize you’re in love. In the long term, your relationship may be quiet, but it’s strong.

Oh Jack, it’s always been you hasn’t it? I can’t believe Pepper never noticed it until now. The way you open the door for her or nod hello when she passes you in the halls of the University of Washington in Seattle. But you’re from two different worlds. You’re a maintenance man, rough hands bending materials to your will, solving complicated mechanical problems with your hard earned knowledge and lateral thinking. And she’s a Ph. D. in sociological professoring. It could never work, could it? Oh, I guess she’s just a dreamer. THE DREAMER! Type 7! Oh Pepper, you’ve got a WHOLE ‘nother paper on your hands!

Ain’t love horrible and inequitable?

We'll all die alone, a lifetime of regrets the last thought in our mind... SMOOCHES!

 

VFoC’s Guide To Effective Pistolwhipping (Succeeding in Daily Life)

No uncle Joe, I won't pass the mashed potatoes.

“Oh fuck what just happened? I have this strange pain throbbing in my forehead area, but my eyes are open and everything is black and it smells like exhaust, where the fuck am I?” … You’re in the trunk of a car you stupid bitch-ass-bitch, and if you’re there, you probably deserve it.

Don’t worry dear reader, this will never happen to you because of the simple fact that you are reading this article and you will be so well informed that the aforementioned sentence will only happen to those that you decide it will happen to. Pistolwhipping, it’s the new “timeout” for kids, the new “Whaa? I don’t deserve a raise?” and how we go about taking care of business, and other loved ones when they step the F out of place.

Extreme you say? Well yeah, perhaps. But this is the new way we handle things in this recession. What do you think happened in the great depression? Probably things way worse than a simple little smack to the face with some metal, and that’s why it was a depression, but people, sure it’s been 4+ years but it’s still only a god-damn pistolwhipping recession, so for those of you who think spankings are extreme and leaving a loved one for some hanky-panky outside your relationship is in order, well maybe you should look away, but for those of you who want to earn some real respect, read on …

Scenario #1: Loud Mouth Annoying Mutha Fuckin’ Co-Worker

If you’re lucky enough to still have a job in this Post-Apocolyptic-Bush-Jr-Economy then you probably have to spend more than half your life in an office … an office that sucks the ever-loving life straight out your nostrils in the form of steam or dry-ice (for visual effect). And you spend it with a person who talks too loud and laughs like a whiskey sucking cigarette smoker, who cooks fish in the microwave just before you heat up your leftovers and engages you in small talk and inappropriate jokes every time you pass by their cubicle. What can you do? Report them to HR? Complain about them to management? With what results? None !! Period !! Ever !! No, none of that “official” shit works. You reach for your 9mm Glock and you pull it out of your tucked in Docker’s or skirt, and right as they tell the punchline to “what’s the difference between a hooker and root canal”, you pistolwhip the shit out of that loud mouth pile of shit. Problem … solved. Time for lunch … and you clock out for an hour … with a smile on your face.

Scenario #2: That Person Who Seems To Be Filing Their Taxes and Legally Changing Their First Name at the ATM In Front of You

All I need to do is run to the ATM and deposit this check and pull out $20 as fast as possible so I can get to little Johnny’s daycare and pick him up before I start getting charged $1/minute for being late. You know the deal … you park your car, you jump out and run up to the only machine that’s working and there she is, that F’ing lady … the one who hasn’t been in front of anything technologically electronic since the last time she was on a drawbridge. There she is, writing a check with a ballpoint pen, licking the envelope, reopening the envelope to double check that her transaction is accurate, then dropping the pen on the ground, looking around for it, filling out a new … PISTOLWHIP !! Problem solved … you fucking cunt!!

Scenario #3: The Person Who Doesn’t Think That Signaling To Change Lanes is Necessary

Pull up next to them at the next red light, pull off a Chinese Fire Drill and pistol whip that mutha fucka in the mouth, hop in your car and continue on your way to the mall.

Scenario #4: Any Family Member at Thanksgiving Dinner

Bamm!! Any of them, at any time, because they all deserve it !!

Scenario #5: Your Kids or Other’s Kids

Self explanitory … you’re forgiven .. it’s legal in our eyes.

Nicki Minaj “Pullin’ a Janet Jackson” on Good Morning America

For no other reason than to have a gratuitous boob picture in our post today, here’s Nicki Minaj doing what I’d like to coin right here and now “Pullin’ a Janet Jackson”. And if somebody else has coined it then show me the damned proof, otherwise consider it coined right here and now on this fifth day of August, 2011 and about 3:30pm.

Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever even a heard a song of hers, and if I did, I couldn’t tell you one way or another, but who cares? She looks like Lady Gaga, Cher, Beyonce, a softball and a pack of Bubbalicious all rolled into one. And since I’ve seen her boob, I’m over her, no more mystery. NEXT !!

Well good f'ing morning to you there lefty ... oh ... and America

Cancer? Cured! Recession? Cured! Common Cold? EVERYTHING Cured!!

Something miraculous came to me this weekend. It came to me in the way of divine intervention sent straight from the Creator himself as my mind was magically opened to see something that has been inconspicuously floating around our planet for about 40 years. Something that is so awe inspiring that only a worthy clairvoyant hand picked by the hand of the Almighty himself, like myself, could ever completely fathom its true consequence. The veil was lifted for me to see the gift that was given to us +/- 14,600 days ago in the way of an instrumental melody, presented through the medium of a motion picture. And it was bright! So very bright!

The medium in which this life changing information was transported to mine eyes was through a Tarantino flick, Resevoir Dogs. A poignant movie giving many life lessons throughout with several emotions being touched, like a virgin, shall we say? But it’s the very last song in this film that tells us, well me, the simple remedy to all of life’s tribulations, and as the credits rolled, BAMMM!! it was revealed. It’s the song “Coconut” written by Harry Nilsson. The answer has been here all along, well for 40 years anyway, and the answer is “You put the lime in the coconut”. That’s it … simple, natural, organic, and both trees were in the Garden of Eden since the dawn of creation.

Now Drink Them Both Up ?

So why did it take 1,971 years after the birth of Christ to figure it out? Well it happened by accident like all things created in this world. For instance, bacon. How did someone figure out the beautiful thing known as bacon? Well, somebody had a pig, and that pig was caught in a barn fire, and as that little piggy burned, a smell emerged from that barn that was so sensual to the nose that only one thing could be done. Go get that pig and eat it … bacon.

Accidents, the ugly sister of Mother Necessity, Mother Accident lead to the elixer of the world. You see, Harry Nilsson was having a Hawaiin themed party one night in the early 70′s, he had tikis, coconuts, leis (pronounced Lay’s, like the chip), flower shirts and limes. He cut open a coconut to extract the milk and use the shell as a cup, however as he was getting ready to pour out the milk, one of his drunk friends was throwing limes and it landed in this cocunut shell. The potion began to bubble and fizz and a heavenly voice sounded through the room, “all who drink of the lime and the coconut will be cured”. And they drank. And it cured their belly aches.

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!

The “No Cut Off My Penis” Clause

Men, burn this image into your memory !!

This is probably the most painful thing I’ve ever had to write, no seriously !! The lady above, Kieu Becker, decided enough was enough with her marriage and decided to whack her husband’s pecker off and throw it in the garbage disposal. But it gets worse! She then decided to turn the garbage disposal on … HOLY F WOMAN !! That’s some badass shit right there. You wanna talk about somebody’s sex-life going down the drain. I don’t even know if I continue writing this all hunched over the keyboard grabbing my junk.

I guess I can finish this with one hand, so here goes … I don’t know what dude did to his wife, but I think there needs to be a new rule in place for relationships, and that rule is: If you are so dissatisfied with your relationship and you are thinking about cutting the sexual organ off of your partner (man or woman) you have to say it out loud once to your partner so that they have fair warning that it’s a possibility.

Example #1: “I really feel like putting sleeping pills in your dinner tonight, and once you’re passed out I’m going to tie you up and cut off your dick!” … See? Fair warning. This man now has a choice to get the F out of Dodge.

Example #2: “After I talk you into having kinky sex with me tonight and letting me tie you up to the bed, I’m going to cut your vagina off.” …  See how this works? Simple. Just a little warn-warn.

So people, women in particular, please, put the knife down, take a deep breath and give us a quick heads up that you’re thinking of “Bobbit’ing” us so that we will one day be able to get our … heads up … again. Thanks.

Trans Am [VIDEO]

Idiot #1: How do you like my new hair cut Moron #2?

Moron #2: That is quite a finely cut set of hairs Idiot #1. I would go so far as to call that haircut “awesome”.

Us: Hey idiot. Lookie here moron. You’re wrong; shut the fuck up.

Has this kind of thing happened to you? Are you tired of stupid people who don’t understand what words are ruining perfectly descriptive language with banality and wrong headed fucktarditude?

Well fret no longer friend, because Van Full of Candy has the answer. Introducing: “Trans-Am”. The ultimate human expression of appreciation and excitement. Wanna learn how? Well please enjoy our finely crafted presentation below.

If you have any further questions on how you should more properly express yourself in conversation, just ask and we’ll be more than happy to tell you exactly how you’re doing it wrong, and set you back on the right path: the “Trans-Am” path!

Wink, thumbs up, freeze frame!

Our Favorite Search Terms of the Week

Search engines. They’re imprecise, clumsy and ultimately telling of your inner most wants and desires. Your search history is kind of weird and embarrassing, and I’ll give you the same answer that I gave that flasher who lingered a little longer than necessary: no, you can’t look at mine.

When you have a website, you get a lot of information about that site, including the search terms that led someone to your virtual door step. With that in mind I wanted to share with you some of my favorite search terms of the week that, despite what ever the hell it was they were actually intending to find, led them to our sliding door.

For the week ending 4/10/11:

bimbo horse lamp

I’m not sure if this person was looking for a lamp, shaped like a bimbo horse, or a horse lamp with loose morals, even by animal shaped furniture standards.

student putting finger in teacher’s ass hole

I understand porn, there’s something for everyone out there, but I’m pretty sure nothing that we’ve talked about on this site can be directly traced to this find. I’m certain I’ve never said anything about inserting my finger into anything as a matter of fact, I’m saving that for marriage.

justin bieber has a girl clone

This one seems less like someone searching for something as someone trying desperately to warn the internet of something. It makes sense that you would scream this kind of horror into your nearest search field, but sadly the only response you’ll get if you type that in to Google is a simple “Shhh…” before someone unseen behind you stuffs your head into a burlap sack and you are never heard from again.

peace cocks

Now I understand we did an article with the title “Be at Peace, Sweet Cocks” so I can see how this might come up, but when I saw this I just imagined someone expecting to find a picture of a peace symbol being made by several penises and the disappointment we must have made that poor masturbater feel.

van full of kids

Clearly, what is left when the candy is gone… And speaking of which…

what is steven tyler’s favorite candy

I had never thought about this before, but now it’s all I’ll ever be able to think about again. What could possibly be Steven Tyler’s favorite candy. Yes, he’s a world renowned rock legend, having toured the world a bahundred times over, so initially I thought it would be some sort of Starburst type chewy snack custom made for Mr. Tyler to taste like a sixteen year old’s vagina. But then you have to remember that Mr. Tyler is in his sixties, so it’s probably hard candy… that tastes like a sixteen year old’s vagina.

“milli vanilli” “natalie portman” -steward -kstew -kristen -twilight

I can’t even begin to guess what this person was looking for, but what ever it was, it was a very specific, non-Twilight related connection between Milli Vanilli and Natalie Portman… But why? And how? And… Wha?

breast x

Clearly the newest Marvel Super Hero movie scheduled to come out sometime next May.

catch a grenade for you what kind of neighborhood

This one brings up an interesting question. In what type of neighborhood would it be acceptable for someone to 1) own a grenade, or 2) throw, catch and be exploded by said grenade in the name of making your ex feel like a cunt because it’s so clear that she would never be up for the gesture herself… Somewhere in Detroit? Or Arkansas?

ricky martin’s grammy pants

I for one didn’t watch the Grammys, the other guy in here did, so I have no idea how spectacular the trousers encasing Ricky Martin’s homosexual genitalia were, or how worthy of a second look at his sumptuously packaged bits strong enough for a woman, but made for a man were, but someone wanted an eye full, and another eye full.

i scream you scream we all scream for ice cream for global warming

Easily the longest search string and the saddest. Because really, if we’re having an ice cream social for global warming, by the time you’re done saying the name of what you’re doing, you don’t have ice cream any more and you’re wearing a dairy shoe wash.

two dollar bill parking lot molester

Probably my favorite if I had to choose just one, which I don’t, so forget I said that. I’m not sure how to interpret this one. Is it a parking lot that only takes two dollar bills and some guy was rubbing himself up against it? Was it a guy who would pull down his pants in a parking lot and rub the TJ Double Buck on his balls? Or even a guy who would molest someone inside this specific parking lot (or in a rash of parking lot molestations across the city) and when he was done, toss a two dollar bill on his victim as his own personal Joker style calling card? I have no idea, but there’s absolutely nothing I don’t like in this sentence: I love two dollar bills, I am a fan of parking lots, and molester? I barely knew her… but that didn’t stop me from molesting her, is what I’m saying…