Santa Christ Is Coming To Town

What better way to bring in the Yuletide season with the wonderful smell of Gingerbread Lattes and White Christmas playing in the background. Storming the malls on black Friday and hopefully not trampling anyone in the process, let alone being the trample-ee. Getting all the things our family wants and eating all the things that make us feel good about the season. Santa and Rudolph, snowflakes and chestnuts, presents and misletoe and … oh wait … what about Jesus? No, not your gardener, the little baby from the book who’s mama never did the nasty … no, not that movie about the barren mother who went on an adoption spree … the freakin’ son of God people, come on !! So let’s go back to the beginning of this nonsense run-on sentence and start over … what better way to bring in the Yuletide season then by combining the things we love, the things we have faith in, the things we know are both real … right? Enter Loudoun County Courthouse in historic Leesburg, Virginia … virgin, Virginia … I smell co-ink-ee-dink. The good people of the courthouse decided to let the first 10 applicants put up an art display, on the courthouse lawn for the holidays, and here’s what they got for their trust in mankind … I like to call it … Santa “Bones” Christ …

Apparently some of the residents in the area did not like this art installation and neither did the councilpeople who decided that this would be an ok idea. “I just think that these folks are trying to ruin the holiday spirit in the name of the first amendment,” Leesburg councilmember Ken Reid said. “They are just very disrespectful of the community.” But the odd thing was that they didn’t seem to mind a very similar wood carving in church the following Sunday … strange.

Thanks baby J for Xmas and Easter !!

Van Full of Candy’s Top 8 List “Looking Back on My Childhood, I Should Have Called CPS”

#8 … Being forced to mow the lawn in lederhosen, ’cause it’s cute

#7 … Go make grandma a lowball glass of special medicine, shaken please

#6 … The overnight mayonnaise hair conditioning in a hair-cap treatment

#5 … Take this note and this $5 bill to the gas station and go buy auntie some cigarrettes

#4 … You know why your dog just died? Because you stayed out too late, that’s why !!

#3 … Making friends at school is always harder when you’re packed a sardine sandwich for lunch

#2 … That butterfly leotard costume fits you just FINE for the school play

#1 … If you’re not nice to your grandparents their arms will come out of the graves and find you wherever you are

Van Full of Candy’s Last Minute Zombified Costume Ideas

Halloween has become big business in recent years as adults have stolen away a holiday intended for children to play dress up by scaring parents with tales of abduction and tainted treats to the point where most juvenile trick treating takes place in well lit suburban malls at two in the afternoon on February 9th. In its place a parade of whores in inches of fabric vaguely associated with some sort of  honorable profession, crime fighting, fire fighting, hamburglaring, and guys wearing just enough of a costume to legally grind against those scantilly clad heroes for as long as legally allowed.

Now, we’re not here to pass judgement on this changing of the holiday, because really, no matter what we say is wrong. We’re either endorsing whore fest costumed VD transmittal gatherings or children being used as candy retrieval devices for lazy parents. So whether or not it’s right is irrelivent, what’s important now is that Zombies are in and we want a piece of that multi-trillion dollar costuming pie! Every body wants to be a zombie, but you also want to stand out in the endless horde of flesh eating monsters. And with that in mind Van Full of Candy would like to present our last minute costume ideas, infected with just enough Zombie to make you the life of any undead party!

iPhone Zombie: You want people to touch all your buttons? Well there’s an app for that. Push it here, slide it here, yeah now THAT’s a costume! Oh but wait … your trap worked. You got people close enough to you, the trusted iPhone and as soon as they start manipulating your front side, it’s too late for them. Not only are you an iPhone, you’re a goddamned zombie grabbing your victim and pulling them in towards your life size retina display whilst eating them alive spilling blood all over yourself, in turn voiding your warranty.

Baby Kitteh Zombie: Everybody who has a baby during Halloween needs to dress them up in a cutesy little Elmo outfit, or perhaps a baby sunflower so all their friends and family can koooo and awwwww and MAKE ME SICK !! This year, for those parents who need something a little more … exciting … should choose the Baby Kitteh Zombie costume. Secure that neck biting baby zombie in an adorable little kitteh suit and when friends and family get close to get a closer look … unleash the flesh eating fury of Baby Kitteh Zombie.

Can of Zombie Spam: As much as people pretend that they don’t like SPAM, we all know deep down that the congealed pink meat will always be one of our favorites. It looks like cat food, smells like food and well … It doesn’t matter because we still love it, so much so that we dress up like it for All Hallows Eve. The great thing about this costume is that the love for the pink meat juice is so strong, it’s a natural attractant for a zombie massacre. Not only can you eat the laymen who get too close to your Fancy Feast aura, you can also eat yourself if you are still hungry afterwards.

Zombie Flower: Some ladies just want to look pretty and dainty and delicate and not like a slutty version of something that is usually associated with not slutty traits. But naturally, they still want to be zombies. Our solution: the “Zombie Flower”. The cold hard truth of the matter is that when you pick a flower, you have just commited murder. So that pretty, delicate, dainty thing now wants it’s sweet smelling revenge! I think the costume would come with a bee with it’s skull ripped open, dripping delicious honey comb shaped BEERAINS!

Zombie Ghost: To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how the back story logistics work on this one. What I do know is that the ghost, while formerly a staple of the halloween costume hirearchy, has sort of fallen out of favor in recent years due to the wearer often being beaten savagely in a case of confused racist. So clearly the ghost could use a little costume rehabilitation. And the ghost lends itself to Zombification in a couple ways. First, you only get a ghost if somebody dies. That’s ingredients one through seven of Zombie! So it could either be that the zombie bite not only transforms the flesh, but also infects the SPIRIT and then you’ve got a whole afterlife of souls for the Zombie ghost to hunt and devour! OR perhaps the ghost zombie is the result of an exorcism where a ghost is sort of, kind of killed. So the GHOST comes back to life. OR OR, the result of an exorcism performed by a ZOMBIE PRIEST! Wow, the ghost is kind of kick ass now. You’re welcome ghosts. Now stop haunting everything we own!

Zombie Battery: … ‘Cause batteries die. And, zombies… And… batteries.

“BrAAAins!”

Come on! It’s hilarious if you don’t think about it!

Happy Trick or Treat! Reach way down in that candy bucket to get the best candy! Trust us, you’ll thank us later.

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.

My Name Sucks Ass … And So Does Yours

All of our names suck, yours, mine, his, hers, your grandmothers for sure. These ridiculous names passed down from generations, these middle names from an uncle who drinks too much, or grandpa who strangely smelled like Werther’s originals but had no teeth. Agatha, Bertrand, Prudence, Oliver, Sherman … Who in the world would ever keep these for sentimental reasons? You do you say? Well what the hell is wrong with you? You can change your name and you can do it NOW!!

Not only am I a number ... I'm Spanish !!

I wanted to actually write this story about the two professional athletes who have recently changed their names, Ochocinco and Metta World Peace. Even though Ron Artest just recently decided that Ron wasn’t cutting it anymore and went with Metta World Peace, yep, Metta. But these pros get too much attention and money anyway. So, during my extensive research, I stumbled across the most Trans-Am name change you’ll ever find, and he isn’t a superstar, well he is now … in my eyes.

This is what happens when you name your son Ron ... happy mom?

Enter … “Captain Awesome” !! That’s right John, Mary, Jim, Lisa and all the rest of you boringly named unloved people, Captain Awesome is here and he’s kicking ass. Douglas Allen Smith, Jr. from Oregon decided enough was enough, and rightfully so, with one of the most boring names ever, and then insulted with the Jr. at the end, he went out and slapped family history straight in the face, dawned his cape and apparently learned to fly. Did I mention his new signature is “two arrows pointing to a smiley face in the middle”? Dude is awesome and I’m a mere mortal with a name that means nothing. My hat is off to you Doug, err, I mean … Captain … Captain Awesome.

Best signature EVER !!

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.

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.

Science Hates Your Balls: The War on Sperm

Scientists, in laboratories all over the globe, are busy thinking of new and hilarious ways to make mice fucking even more pointless. But don’t laugh too hard at blank shooting rodents, because science’ll be coming for your testicles next!

On your mark, get set, SPLOOGE!

Since the invention of the penis approximately 47 billion years ago man has been desperately trying to devise ways to control them. They are godless fornication machines, guided only by impulse and an unyielding quest for personal gain and satisfaction of their unquenchable desires. Hell bent on destroying all those that possess them, whether it be through their devilish creation of distilled, fermented spirits used to bend the will of their symbiotic hosts, or their ingenious invention of the internet which they use to transmit their images around the globe to all of those who would marvel at their grandeur.

At the moment there are only two proven methods of male contraception: prayer and butt sex. And if you ask any homosexual couple trying to have a child, they’ll tell you it’s nigh impossible to impregnate each other, try as they might, but science still isn’t sure if it’s the power of the prayers of people who hate other people despite their own god telling them not to hate anyone, or just the simple fact that the homosexual uterus is located just below the left lung, too far for the penis to reach through either of the homosexual’s two favorite orifices… try as they might.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on the proclivity or selfish laziness of whom you ask, heterosexual procreation is much more easily achievable. Almost anyone can do it. But that seems to be the problem. And rather than continue on as we have for the last fifty years, allowing the ladies to take almost complete responsibility for repelling the seminal onslaught on their innards, science says that gentlemen should have more contraceptive options than simply genital mutilation or specially designed poison coated miniature trash bags.

So armies of spooge hating scientists around the world are experimenting with all sorts ways to keep testicle tadpoles from getting from point A to unfertilized egg B. With experimental “solutions” including stopping and restarting sperm production in mice, bombarding scrotums with ultrasound waves, removing proteins that keep sperm cells from being able to penetrate eggs, and blocking vitamin A. You see, apparently as this article seems to suggests and I’m not interested enough to look for confirmation of, “life wigglies” as I so childishly refer to them, are composed solely of vitamin A. So just know, if you ever take any supplement that contains vitamin A, you’re swallowing semen.

In India they’re testing an injectable synthetic substance that “sabotages sperm as they leave the testes and lasts for years”. I don’t even know what that means, or have any idea of what it COULD mean. I didn’t realize that a sperm cell had so many moving parts that you could simply loosen a bolt or two and it’d fly apart, slam into your urethral wall and explode in a tiny, tiny fireball.

So many options yet there's still so many stupid people...

As for what’s already on the market, in addition to the customary permanent snip and latex straight jackets there’s also apparently other “hormone gels and implants that can make men temporarily infertile” available in America “for other purposes”. I’m going to chalk up the “for other purposes” in their description of these currently available temporary infertility gels and implants as some sort of error in translation from what ever language is native to this jizm hating propagandist, because aside from preventing unintentional impregnation, I’m not entirely sure what other purposes temporary infertility could serve. I can’t even think of any ridiculous explanations for a statement as seemingly nonsensical as this one. And when I can’t think of a way to properly ridicule the stupid thing that you just said, it makes me angry, and frightened, and then angry again. Because I don’t know if you’re the smartest person in the world or if you’ve just invented a new stupid that will surely kill us all.

Me, I’m a traditionalist. I don’t need any fancy doodads and rigmarole to make sure I don’t end up a with a miniature version of myself that only seems to take pleasure in shitting on me. I personally employ the time tested ”paint the naval” technique of birth control, which, in doing actual research on the subject I have found when done properly has almost the same effectiveness as any other form of over the counter birth control. Of course, when done incorrectly the failure rate sextuples, but I just have a hard time understanding how the “thorax frosting” method could be done incorrectly. Maybe I’ve lived a sheltered life, but I’ve never been surprised by the culmination of my own pelvic efforts. At no point in my life have I ever suddenly, and without substantial forewarning experienced an eruption of mount baldy that’s caught me completely unawares… But I guess I just understand how my personal workings and doings present themselves, and apparently that makes me special.

So science: leave my gonads alone! Let the ladies handle the parenthood prevention, because left in the hands of those completely ruled by their more powerful apendage, contraception will be less than pointless. I can’t be trusted to not to forget to put my watch on before leaving for wok, you think I’m going to remember to spray my groin with vitamin A killing lasers every morning?

Besides, what me and my seed do is nobody’s business but mine and who or what ever I decide to shellac with it.

It’s Raining Babies In Physics Class

Helen "Baby Catcher" Beard Gets 1st Place in the Baby Catching Contest

Helen Beard, a tourist from England, who was vacationing in the posh environment of an Econo Lodge in Orlando, Florida, is being regarded as “an angel sent from Heaven” for catching a toddler who fell from the fourth floor balcony. The two year old, Jah-Nea Myles, didn’t have a single scratch or bruise even after hitting the third floor balcony on the way down. Ok, hang on, let’s just stop this right there. This is all starting to seem a little odd to me. So, this woman, Helen, is hanging out at the hotel pool at 9pm with her two kids and husband, happens to glance over to the hotel and sees a toddler, who apparently has no one watching her inside the hotel room, hanging on the side of a balcony four stories up, gets up, waltzes over to the area where the baby will fall, gets in perfect position, with perfect timing just as the baby falls and catches the baby with nary a bruise on the toddler and not dropping it? Come on! This sounds staged. Let’s Mythbust this shit right now.

The average weight for a 2 year old female: 28.4 lbs.

Average height of the 4^th floor of the “hotel” (4^th floor to ground): 60 feet

This Also Calculates Time In Jail For Baby Neglect

Ok, so now we’ve plugged our numbers into the “Impact Force from Falling Object” calculator, that we just happen to carry in the van, to figure out how freakin’ hard and fast this kid fell and what kind of an impact would it have on this lady from England when it hit her arms. So after looking at the calculations, I have no freakin’ clue what any of that means, except the kid fell for about 2 seconds getting up to a speed of 21 mph. So that’s like three 10lb bags of potatoes duct-taped together and being hurled at you going 21mph and hitting with Newtons and Joules and other scientific’y stuff and yet there is not one scratch? Not one little tiny bruise? Hopefully somebody reading this is smart and can geek out on it and give us a scientific answer, because mine is … really fast and really hard and really f’ing scary. And if it’s true, I want her on my egg-toss team.

Michael saw Helen in the crowd and knew it was safe to dangle baby

TV Review: Seriously Funny Kids

Anyone who knows me, knows that I have said one thing more than any other single thing that I have ever said. More than “please”, more than “thank you”, more than “you tell anyone about this and I will ruin you!” And that one phrase that has come to be known as the thing that most defines me as a person is:

Pictured in the sweater he was buried in.

Heidi Klum is this generation’s Bill Cosby.

The resemblance is uncanny. They were both mammals, they both existed, the list goes on and on! If only Bill Cosby were alive today to see the stellar work of his rightful successor.

Last night saw the debut of Frau Klum’s latest television “show”, “Seriously Funny Kids”. And just like the late Cos’, Heidi seems to believe that kids, when you speak to them and listen to their half formed, uneducated responses, unfiltered by experience or knowledge of acceptable social tact, often say what one could call, the darndest things. I assume the only reason Klum’s ”new” Lifetime ”program” wasn’t given the “Kids Say…” moniker was because it’s too hard anymore to know who’s parent company owns which what, so they just figured it would be safer to call it something else.

When a show begins it’s relationship with the television viewing audience with an attempted reassurance in it’s very title, you’re already setting yourself up for an awkward evening. If a show has to try to convince you of what it’s premise is, it probably isn’t what it’s telling you it’s supposed to be. You have to have a certain confidence, bordering on arrogance if you’re a bad TV show trying to make it out in the big cruel world of a billion channels worth of choice. “America’s Funniest Home Videos”, that is a declarative statement. They are telling you, in no uncertain terms that what you are about to see are THE funniest home videos in the entirety of America and it’s controlled territories, no questions asked, end of story. It’s not “Really Guys, America’s Funniest Home Videos”. I wouldn’t believe that shit for an instant, and neither should you. And as such, neither should you believe that these kids are “seriously” funny.

There's too much in this one picture that doesn't make sense to even begin to comment on.

Heidi seems to believe that her qualifications of having borne a litter of Seal pups gives her an intimate knowledge of which kids are and are not “Seriously Funny”. Her interviews with kids run the gambit of topics from asking the infants if they have a girlfriend, to taking every opportunity to imply how much she enjoys her husband’s pock speckled baby wand. Her innuendo are so thick that even the kids try to get her to dial it back.

Ultimately Heidi proves several things in this half hour that time will never remember existed. Firstly, the long-held understanding that Germans don’t understand the meaning of the word “funny”. It’s not their fault, they’re a dour people. There actually isn’t a German word for funny. The closest they have translates roughly to “that which momentarily distracts from my reality of sorrow and anger”, and that is hard to fit in the TV guide.

And secondly, that just because children will blurt out anything that comes into their mind instinctively and without any sort of thought as to what any of it might mean, it doesn’t mean it’s funny. Least of all SERIOUSLY funny. Kids get a lot of leeway because they don’t know better yet, but I think that just sends the wrong message and I believe our over crowded prison system will back me up on this. If some one, anyone really, came up to you rubbing pancakes on the sides of their face and shouted “I’ve got a pancake hat!”, then giggled like a maniac for ten straight minutes, you would empty three cans of pepper spray into their face before you stopped screaming. But if a kid does it, we have to laugh along with them and pretend what they’re doing isn’t completely fucking psychotic? Bullshit. You have to learn some time that that kind of shit is unacceptable and you either learn it at home, where these mistakes can be easily remedied, or you learn it in a court of law where all of the pancakes in the world won’t lessen your sentence. Teach your kids how to act now, or they’ll see first hand how “Seriously Funny” their first prison tattoo is before you know it.

Or I may just be so confused by that promo picture that I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I’m gonna grab a pudding pop and my blankie and take a nap.