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American Atheists Unveil New Super Hero Team: M.Y.T.H.S.

22 Nov

Just in time for Christmas: the holy celebration of the birth of the one true lord who shall judge us all at the right hand of the father as we pass from this mortal realm to the infinite of our judgement, the folks at American Atheist have introduced America’s new favorite super team:

By our powers combined, we form-- HONK! HONK-HONK! H-HOOOONK!

By our powers combined, we form-- HONK! HONK-HONK! H-HOOOONK!

M.Y.T.H.S.!

(Mentoring Youths Trough Heroics Super!)

(From right to left: President Chupacabra, Secret Beard, Power Heart and of course, Aquaman.)

On Earth 7, Doug Parks was just your normal, every day, run of the mill live stock de-boner. He had come from a long line of live stock de-boners and expected he would live the rest of his life, going through the motions of the work a day world, removing the skeletal structure from farm animals for $9.50 an hour before someday retiring to a little place that a life time of de-boning and careful savings had bought him. That is until the day that his entire family was kidnapped by a squishy bag of goat meat that called itself “Vengepuddle”. Leaving the rescue of his family to the proper authorities Doug would go on to receive pieces of his loved ones in the mail for the next seven years.

Seeing that there was something wrong with the system Doug Parks launched a successful Presidential campaign on the back of his blue collar, rags to riches roots. Then, one day while touring an alternative energy facility President Doug Parks was sucked into an interdimensional vortex and deposited here on Mega Earth 1A, where he fights to protect a world that fears and distrusts him.

Dwight T. Eiffeltower was a sickly young lad who was rejected by the Army Corps of Engineers when his patchy, speckled facial hair caused a decorated war hero to commit suicide at a recruiting table that Dwight was simply walking past. Encouraged by a sense of responsibility for the Nine Star Admiral’s death Dwight volunteered for a secret government program that he’d read about on a public rest room wall. Eiffeltower was injected with a top secret serum consisting of Racist Honey Bee Pollen and Haunted Low Fat Milk and bombarded with Gramma Rays. The experiment seemed to be an embarrassing failure as Dwight was immediately killed to death and stayed dead for twenty-eight years.

But finally, after clawing his way out of his own grave Dwight T. Eiffeltower emerged again with strange powers beyond reason and a voice in his head that was not his own. Upon returning to life Dwight found that he had been possessed by the spirit of Nine Star Admiral Beauregard Tinwhistle. Dwight knew that he and Beauregard must use their new found powers to fight injustice where ever they found it, and so was born “Secret Beard”.

Secret Beard has the power to make anyone, anywhere forget facial hair.

While rummaging through a cardboard box full of donations behind an abandoned thrift store one Flag Day, Carlos Arriba discovered a heart shaped amulet glowing with energy. When no one would buy it from him Carlos decided to keep the stupid thing anyway then. Then, one afternoon, while taking a break from urinating on his possessions and screaming at invisible cookie people that he was certain were trying to kill him in the back of the alley he called home, Carlos took a moment to examine the back of the amulet where he found writing in a language that he had never seen before. Suddenly, as if possessed by the invisible cookie people themselves Carlos slipped into a trance, recited the words on the amulet and was transformed into the being known as “Power Heart”.

Able to seek out and destroy bad cholesterol where ever it dwells, Power Heart is the scourge of the Buttery Under World of New Oldly: The City of Whenever. Now, when Carlos speaks his magical oath “No fatties!” he becomes POWER HEART!

And Aquaman punches people with fish.

Together they visit inner city youth shelters, teaching children how to fill out job applications and the importance of adequate tipping while occasionally saving the world from the ruthless machinations of The Orange Bucket and his Legion of Fuck Offs.

So where ever there is three for one wing nights, when ever someone drops their keys into a stripper, how ever somebody forgets what they just came in for, there is just one force to scream for like a lost child in a lost child factory:

www.atheists.org Presents:

M.Y.T.H.S.!

This Time For Realzies: Judgement Day, Part 2: The Judgementing

20 Oct

Uh-oh, remember back in May, how the world was supposed to end with a bunch of goody goodies floating up into heaven and flashing their balls at us? And then remember how that didn’t happen and it was all hilarious? And remember how we all laughed at the guy who said the world was going to end with sack flashing god flights? And he was all like, “Well fuck you, it did happen, it was just invisible and you’ll see in six months when you’re starin’ up at my taint!” And we were all like, “Yeah, what ever crazy man, go be crazy somewhere else while we get back to not worrying about angry invisible rapture.”

"Who's got two thumbs and is gonna fuck your shit up? This God!"

"Who's got two thumbs and is gonna fuck your shit up? This God!"

Well, do you remember what day he said it was going to really happen for realzies this time? Well you know who DOES remember? Jesus.

Tomorrow, at “when ever you see believers in the sky” o’clock, this stupid little stupid planet full of stupid is gonna be over! It’s really going to happen this time! Seriously guys!

Have you noticed how many earthquakes there’ve been recently? Why, I read that just today there was one in San Francisco. SAN FRANCISCO of all places, experiencing an earth quake, co-incidentally the DAY BEFORE THE PREDICTED END OF THE FUCKING WORLD!? Did I say co-incidence? I meant NOT A GOD DAMNED CO-INCIDENCE AT ALL! And what about those floods and hurricanes and, you know, stuff. The world is flying apart at the seams people! Open your eyes!

I for one am here and now proclaiming my life long love of God and Jesus and everybody. Peter and Luke and who ever else. John, there was a John, right? I love all those mother fuckers. I always have, and I know that they’d never let their biggest fan be swallowed whole by this dying shit ball that I’ll be so glad when its gone! I’m gonna be kickin’ it up in heaven, with like, eighty tight angel ladies all complimenting me on my love of god and my indeterminate amount of abs. Me and JC and the Father, we’re all gonna hang out and laugh at the world writhing in agony below us, tip back a couple Four Lokos and play a little game of “No YOU’RE more awesome.” It’s gonna be so amazing and you’re not even gonna be there.

What? Wait, what? God’s not accepting any more applicants. On May 21st we were all judged and he’s just needed the last six months to warm up his planet splitter chain saw? Well that’s, that’s not really fair. I mean, I’ve just been comparison shopping. Like any good spiritual being, I’ve been pricing out deities, trying to find which one was right for me. ‘Cause, isn’t that what it says in the Bible, “Thou shalt have a fair amount of time to look around and make sure that you’re absolutely positive that you’ve made the best decision for you about having no other Gods before me.”? That’s in there somewhere, right?! RIGHT!?!

"Sorry bro, you are ska-rood,"

"Sorry bro, you are ska-rood,"

Oh science, I’m fucked! I’m fucked, you’re fucked, we’re all double plus super fucked! Alright, you know what? Fine. I’m good with that. I’ve lived a full, meaningful… productive… happy… life.

NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Oh Darwin! Oh Einstein! Newton help me! Alright, it’s not too late. I’ve got, I don’t know, some amount of time between eight and thirty-two hours left. If I’m going to hell I’m going there like I’ve got a god damned rocket strapped to my balls!

If I hurry, I’ve still got enough time to murder a drug dealer, have sex with the corpse, steal their drugs, sell them to a kindergarten class, maybe blow up a petting zoo. Oooh! I know! I’ll steal a car with a baby in the back seat, drive it through a handicapped nun picnic before finally crashing it into the river and lighting it on fire. Then, I’ll take a stack of Bibles that I’ve been saving for just such an occasion and give them a gathered crowd of homosexuals and feminists and activist judges and abortion doctors and we’ll all stand around in a big circle and jerk each other off onto them! Afterwards, we can sacrifice a new born lamb to, I don’t know, the wind or some shit.

Unless of course you’ll still have me Jesus, in which case, I’ll try not to do most of that.

Good luck with Hell suckers! Or… See you in Hell suckers!

AAAHHHHHH!!! (Apocalypse Edition: Parte the Somethingth)

2 Aug

It’s the end of the world! Oh sweet Jesus who up until this very moment when you might actually be of some use to me, I have heretofore ignored and denied, IT’S THE END OF THE MONKEY FIGHTING WORLD!

Don’t believe me?! Well fuck you! ‘Cause it’s real Jack! You’re dead! I’m dead! We’re all fuckin’ dead and we don’t even know it! But I do! I know it! You don’t, but I do! I know it! I know it and now you know it! So fuckin’ disregard the first part of this statement! Because now you know it JACK! WE’RE FUCKIN’ DEAD!

Alright… Okay… Alright… Breathe… Deep breath. New pants. Liquor. More liquor. More pants. Alright.

I can’t stop crying. And I’m not sure if it’s from fear or joy. Or foy… or, jear… But the end of days is at hand people. Oh yeah, call me a lunatic, as I have called many others in the past. It’s easy, just look: “I’m a fucking nut job crazy person who’s blind faith in the unseeable is as sad as it is moronic. Someone should put this pathetic excuse for me out of my misery, if just so that I don’t get to see the coming end of the world that I’m waiting for.” See, just that easy, I’ve belittled and discredited myself in one swift movement… Wow, I’m kind of a dick…

But you may be wondering why I’m now so convinced that the end is here and now. Why, after so often calling fans of the smiting lord blithering nut candy, I am now so certain that I’m going to be paying for my heresy unless I start sucking the blithering nut candy of those who can put in a good word with king nut candy… Who I should probably start referring to as my personal lord and savior, because continuing to call him hurtful names is probably doing very little to help my standing.

Well I’ll tell you why. THIS SHIT IS WHY!

Lake turned to blood. That’s some OT (Old Testament) shit right there son! That’s vengeful, child killing, world flooding, here’s my delicious fruit that you can live around but better not even think of enjoying, mountain top thou-shalt-not shit right there! And this is in Texas, where God is only slightly less worshiped than High School football, so this is some serious business!

Now sure, you can try to use some godless sciencey ”facts” and “non-freaking out rational thought” to explain this lake suddenly and miraculously turning to blood. You can SAY that it’s more likely the result of Chromatiacea bacteria thriving in oxygen-deprived water that is killing the fish of this almost dried up stagnant, drought ravaged reservoir giving it the delicious, thick hearty blood like tint. But that’s exactly what a godless heathen like you WOULD say if you weren’t so damned busy killing babies and drinking their juices at your gay orgy weddings for communists!

But you know what, since I’m now a warrior of Christ, ready and waiting to be raised from this damned place to my rightful station in the mutha fuckin’ CLOUDS, I can take your flimsy argument and just Goddize it up any damned way! Droughts? This is the result of droughts? Well, what exactly is a drought, except a reverse flood? And who’s literature’s biggest flood lover? MY SKY MONSTER!– NO! Not… Not sky monster. What’s the other thing, the– OH! My God… person. Lord? Something… And a bunch of dead fish? That’s some kind of tragedy? Fish are a bunch of lazy freeloaders just swimmin’ back and forth over our borders drinkin’ their own poop. Build the dang water fence!

"Oh yeah, that shit is on."

"Oh yeah, that shit is on."

And speaking of the reportedly “Good” book which I fully intend on reading as soon as I get the chance; this is all in there, warning us from Heavenland that this day would come. Indiana preacher Paul Begley went to the YouTubes to tell the world about it.

“The second angel poured out his bowl on the sea, and it turned into blood like that of a dead person, and every living thing in the sea died,” my new best friend Mr. Preacher Pastor Begley Poperson said. “The third angel poured out his bowl on the rivers and springs of water, and they became blood.” 

IT’S RIGHT THERE! The order doesn’t matter, I seem to recall making up something about Jesus or one of the others saying something about “The first being the last and the third being the first.” or some such nonsensical, contradictory shit used specifically to help my narrative! Bowls are being poured people, and that’s the important part. Blood bowls. Angels, with bowls filled with blood, are pouring them into our reservoirs and killing our fish! And if that ain’t 100% scripture proof, then I don’t know what the fuck is… But that’s probably just because I don’t know what the fuck is. 

So this is it folks, it’s fer rillzies this time. End of the world time. Unless it isn’t, in which case next time will absolutely be it. You see, God knows it’s not the eternity of gnashing and wailing that will be the true torment for the nonbelievers and sinners of the world: it’s the anticipation that really gets ‘em…

Hail whom ever is willing to accept me into which ever afterlife is true!

Bases covered.

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

1 Aug

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.

VFoC “LIVE” on The Comedy Buffet’s Podcast

22 Jun

The good fellas at The Comedy Buffet were kind enough to let us stink up their otherwise hilarious podcast the other night. We’d like to apologize in advance for our uncontrolable crass behavior, rude language, and complete disregard to fat kids, cross-dressing boys, and religion in general, … yeah right, who am I kidding? Let’s face it, there’s just not enough room for those “types” here on this earth that’s about to overheat anyway, so forget all that bullshit I just said, click the link below and hold the F on because here we go !!!

Click Here to … HEAR !!!

How to be funny on The Comedy Buffet podcast

Anarchgay in the USA

16 Jun

Every time a gay thinks about marrying, God gets punched in the taint by the Devil and a kitten sucks a dick.

Footballman Tyree, famous for holding ball to his head doesn't want two men to legally do same under God.

Footballman Tyree, famous for holding ball to his head doesn't want two men to legally do same under God.

A same-sex marriage bill is currently working its way through the New York state legislature which can only mean one thing, Jesus is warming up his wave machine while solemnly shaking his head in disappointment with us all. How do I know this? Because the Wide Receiver of the Apocalypse has deliver unto us our one and only warning.

You see, in a video released Wednesday by the National Organization for Marriage, former super bowling footballist David Tyree pleads for our continued discrimination against a people solely because we think the way they touch parts is icky, not just because God says so, but because God says so and, you know, for the children.

“You can’t teach something that you don’t have,” Tyree said in the video. “So two men will never be able to teach a woman how to be a woman.”

To say the statement by this ball hugging man in tight, tight knee pants is ignorant on the surface of it would be a disservice to the additional ignorance below the surface. The obvious implication here not only slights the ability of same-sex couples to raise a child, which as I’ve chronicled recently is nigh biologically impossible, but it also automatically implies that single parents raising a child of the opposite sex of them are doing it wrong. UNLESS of course, this statement is only meant to say that two parents of the same gender automatically negate any teaching they are attempting to pass on to their child, simply by the power of their reproductive organs not interlocking like Voltron limbs in the manner in which this ex-group man showerer deems Biblically correct. Because unless that’s the case he’s making, all children of divorce or any other single parentage should automatically be taken from their homes the second it is not populated by two alternately gendered parental figures, you know, for their own well being.

But the other bit of ignorance about the statement that probably bothers me more is a more stereotype based bit of observation. Two gay men would likely raise a better woman than a hundred straight women and two lesbian women would undoubtedly raise a better man than a dozen dozen hetro blokes. Or maybe that’s my ignorance clouding his ignorance in a hot, steamy ignorance sauna, so foggy from the drippy steam, just groping for answers, hands, grasping things that they might not normally if they could see clearly, it may be wrong elsewhere, but right here, right now, there’s nothing more right in this entire world!

What was I saying?

Ah, right, former professional sweaty man who was paid millions of dollars to run from the grasp of larger, heaving sweaty men and his hatred of amateur sweaty men’s want to be sweaty together…

“Marriage is the only relationship that actually mirrors the relationship with God,” he said.
Our Father, who art a total Top...

Our Father, who art a total Top...

Which, if you really wanted to be a dick, you could say SOUNDS a lot like him saying that as a believer, he is married to God, as generally depicted as a large, burly, bearded man in all artistic representations, which makes his statement sound kind of hypocritical. Feetball catchman Tyree can be married to what the community would call a “bear” but other mortal men can’t marry similarly mortal men. That’s kinda unfair really.

Let’s also just gloss over the ignorant hypocrisy of another statement of his objection in the article that:

it is not justifiable to alter a long-standing institution “because a minority — an influential minority — has … an agenda,”

Says the millionaire man of non-caucasian ancestry whom without the agenda of an influential minority not sixty years ago couldn’t buy a sandwich in many establishments owned by proprietors who hated his ancestors simply because of how they were born and the lifestyle they lived.

But the main thrust of his argument is that allowing dude one to buy a piece of paper that says he and dude two are going to be able to put each other on their health insurance and allow them to visit one another while in the hospital, that it could only signal for this great, man on woman bonded nation:

“the beginning of our country sliding toward … anarchy,” he said

Now, “anarchy” as defined by Susan Merriam and Alouicious Webster is:

1
a : absence of government
b : a state of lawlessness or political disorder due to the absence of governmental authority
c : a utopian society of individuals who enjoy complete freedom without government
2
a: absence or denial of any authority or established order
b: absence of order
Anarchy is so gay...

Anarchy is so gay...

It’s probably safe to say that Mr. Tyree didn’t mean it in the “utopian society” sense of the word, so I can only assume ”catchy runny yay” believes that allowing two ladies to scissor the night away as legally recognized wife and wife will somehow bring about the total collapse of the United States government. I’m not sure if he thinks this will come about by gays sucking up the steps of the capital building and ousting our elected leaders by force, or if he thinks that knowing fellahs would be out there sword fighting with their two married dongs would drive all of our countries legislators to mass suicide, leaving no one left to not pass laws out of petty childish gamesmanship or blind incompetence and or intolerance.

Why what two people do in the comfort of their own home bothers so many people is beyond me. If you think two hunky slabs of beef getting married on court house steps somehow delegitimizes your own legal bonding, it seems like you’ve got insecurity issues that have nothing to do with who sticks what in which where. Nobody is screaming at you about the failed experiment that is heterosexual marriage where more than half of these holy unions end up in do overs. So how about we just give marriage to the gays for a while, see if they have any better luck with it?
 
“We’re doing God an injustice by not making his heart known to our country. ”
The bible’s a big book, how about we focus on more than just your favorite sentence or two and try living more in line with the teachings on the whole, you know, peace, love and forgiveness. I’m no theologizisit, but I’m pretty sure it’s what Jesus would do.

May 21st, 2011 … It’s Rapture Time Sinners [VIDEO]

20 May

Ya'll Gonna Burn In Hell ... Me? Well I'm Goin' To Heaven Because I Am Nostradamus Jr.

Well as most of the world knows, tomorrow is the second coming of Christ, The Rapture, Judgement Day. Well … according to Harold Camping. Ya’ll ready? Better get repenting real quick like because only about 7% of us (dead or alive) are going to get floated up to Heaven tomorrow. The other 93% of us are gonna live in “hell on earth” for another six months or so. Sounds fun. If I were a bettin’ man, and I am, I’d bet that the Van Full Of Candy flies through the air tomorrow with flying colors.

Kirk Cameron vs. Soviet Russia vs. Stephen Hawking vs. Space Aliens vs. Sense of Any Kind

19 May

In American culture, there are two widely accepted sky myth stories.

The first of which being that a a giant bearded dude who lives in the clouds said one day “This shit is dark yo, BOOMSHACKALACKA!” and then everything that is happened. Then he made people in his image and decided he didn’t like them and washed them away and started over and sent his kid to check out how it was going and he got stapled to a fence post before floating back up to home until he collected enough crowns and a horse to ride back down from the sky on.

The other popular yarn is that a half dozen decades ago some little space mans in an intergalactic circle were taking in the sights of lovely, scenic New Mexico when they ran out of illudium Q-36 explosive space modulators and broke down on the side of the road. The United States Military was then kind enough to construct them an airbase that they deny exists and built us iPods out of the wreckage.

Each crazy belief system has it’s ardent, devoted followers, and each were under attack this week by nerds.

Crashed turtle person or Nazi mutant?

Crashed turtle person or Nazi mutant?

A new book, “Area 51″ by Annie Jacobsen claims that the craft that didn’t crash in Roswell was not in fact a group of drunken, joyriding frat aliens, but instead, a remote control Soviet Russia spy saucer built by Nazi scientists and filled with genetic experiments cooked up by Josef Mengele. Naturally. So we have gone from alien crash landing, to USSR Nazi crash landing “hoax” intended to freak us out “War of the Worlds” style.

Now, I understand that we and Russia were doing some crazy things back in the good ol’ days of black and white, and I get that Nazi’s had a whimsical sense of humor that was often a little heady and it was sometimes hard to see how throwing a Banana cream pie filled with genetically mutated astronauts at Nevada might be hilarious. The main problem with this argument though is trying to replace one fantastical, difficult to believe story, with another story that sounds like was left scribbled on a napkin by Quentin Tarantino after polishing off a plate of crystal meth and Draino lady fingers.

Since we’re clearly not being serious anymore, I’d like to offer my explanation for the Roswell Incident: a race of subterranean turtle people attempting to make contact with the surface world for the first time since sending their lone emissary nearly 2000 years prior with disastrous results, fashioned a land ship which burrowed up to the surface only to burst into flames and explode once being exposed to the atmosphere of the surface world. Fearing that no one would ever believe such a ridiculous story, the United States government, in co-operation with all other world leaders of the day decided it would be best to just tell the world aliens crash landed so as to not send the world’s population into a hysteria trying to dig down into the turtle people’s home and throw the planet into chaos.

Son of god, or misunderstood, murdered turtle person?

Son of god, or misunderstood, murdered turtle person?

Then we have Kirk Cameron. Some of you may remember Kirk as the dreamy Seaver boy on America’s existingest 80s sit-com “Growing Pains”. Since then he’s found god and wants you to know all about it. Oh, and he’s also kind of a lunatic. But he knows what he’s talking about, like most lunatics, and not just because he talks to god like, every day, or because he was already in the pretend rapture in the “Left Behind” movies, no, it’s because he’s not going to give jokes like Stephen Hawking a free ride like everyone else who’s afraid to stand up to him.

“To say anything negative about Stephen Hawking is like bullying a blind man. He has an unfair disadvantage, and that gives him a free pass on some of his absurd ideas.”

Now, to the first sentence, I’m not sure if Kirk thinks that blind people can’t walk, or that he’s also calling Mr. Hawking lazy for riding around in that chair all the time just ’cause he can’t see. And really, to say anything negative about someone else seems kind of un-Jesus like, and counter productive to a reasonable intellectual discussion. But what do I know? I just usually like to interact with human beings who exist in real life rather than spending all day sending telepathic love letters to a character in a story book.

But I think the more entertaining part of Kirk’s insult is the second half of that statement, that because of Mr. Hawking’s hysterical, debilitating blindness which has taken from him the use of just about everything but his eyes, he believes that because of his “unfair disadvantage” nobody calls him on his shit. Kirk Cameron is telling us that the scientific community has just accepted this man’s theories and lauded him as one of the most brilliant minds in the history of the world, because they don’t want to hurt his feelings.

This fountain of crazy continues:

“Professor Hawking is heralded as ‘the genius of Britain,’ yet he believes in the scientific impossibility that nothing created everything and that life sprang from non-life. Why should anyone believe Mr. Hawking’s writings if he cannot provide evidence for his unscientific belief that out of nothing, everything came?”

Always one of my favorite arguments. In this case Kirk calls into question Mr. Hawking’s beliefs, asking how anyone could buy his blind gibberish if he can’t prove any of it. What I don’t think Mr. Cameron understands is that, the bible, for all of it’s nice words and well meaning thought, is not a receipt for the universe. It’s a book. Unless I missed something, it’s as much proof of the existence of god and an afterlife as Mr. Hawking’s assertion that the afterlife is a “fairy story for people afraid of the dark”. Kirk saying it is doesn’t mean it is and his argument is that since Stephen Hawking can’t prove definitively exactly how the universe came into being that makes anything he ever says on the subject nothing more than the ravings of a perpetually pitied blind asshole. And when that’s the position you’re going to start this discussion from, where the hell do we possibly go from there?

So in the end, what do we have? We’re left with the choice between Alien visitation gone wrong or Soviet Nazi prank and the views of the existence of the universe as proposed by Stephen Hawking or not unproved sufficiently to Kirk Cameron. Who wins in any of these arguments? I mean, besides me that is, ’cause I can write about these kinds of crazy all day long.

Beware: Exploding Babies

11 May

I don’t do a lot of flying, I have my reasons. One of them, certainly, is the fact that I don’t do a lot of traveling. I don’t think they have a lot of destinationless flights, and if they did, why would they? But when I do go somewhere, which as I’ve stated, I don’t, I usually don’t fly. And when ever someone asks me, trying and failing to mask their contempt and disgust like I just told them I don’t own a TV or that I’m literate, “Why don’t you fly?” I like to first joke with them “Because I wasn’t born on Krypton, a dying planet whose inhabitants my desperate father tried to warn of its impending doom. But in their arrogance they cursed him a fool and refused to listen to his pleas. Then, in defiance of the planetary council, he built an escape craft, large enough only for a tiny infant, I, their third choice for occupants, to be rocketed to the safety of a distant planet, this planet, this Earth. Though if I had been born there and had been sent here, my alien physiology would surely be fantastically affected by the radiation of this planet’s yellow sun, imbuing me with great powers, not the least of which could quite possibly be the gift of unaided personal flight.” And we laugh. And by we I usually mean me, because most of the time the people I tell that joke to will wander off midway through. Undeterred I always finish the joke, because it’s so whimsical and outrageous, it gets me every time. Krypton… where do I come up with these things?

The other reason I don’t fly is because of the ever-present threat of exploding babies.

Now you may say “Well, how big of a threat could exploding babies be? I’ve never been exploded by a baby.” To which I would say, that makes you one of the lucky ones. A statistic that I just now made up shows that three in every two people in America have been exploded by a baby. That is a true made up fact!

So when I hear of the “uproar” stemming from a photo taken by a busy body priest in Kansas City over the weekend, of brave air port security personnel putting their very lives on the line for the air faring general public by thoroughly patting down a suspicious, potentially explosive packed 8 month old, I just want to say “You shut up, you shut right the hell up before you set off that ticking baby!”

Did someone make a boom boom?

Did someone make a boom boom?

You see, Saturday the right Reverend Jacob Jester took a dirty picture of a felt up baby after he passed through security in the Kansas City International airport. The first question one might ask of course is, “Why the fuck was it any of this asshole’s god damned business in the first fucking place?” Which, despite the somewhat excessive use of vulgarity considering we’re speaking of a man of the cloth, I think is a fair question. This wasn’t the parents having a problem with it like the six-year-old from a little while back. This was a literally holier than thou air traveler who decided it was his job to make sure the world knew how he felt about baby security.

But moving past the obvious problems of a Reverend taking snap shots of child touching, we arrive at the question of “Is this TSA screening gone overboard?” An excellent question. Wait, did I say excellent? I meant dumb. A dumb, stupid question. The reason this toddler-erroist was being given the smooth hand was because it’s stroller set off an alarm during a screening for explosives (or so says the TSA). Now, the world that we currently live in necessitates us screening things like strollers for explosives. Whether or not that’s a world any of us ever imagined we’d be living in or not is another question for another day, but that’s the cold hard fact of where we are. And in this world, where people are tucking C4 under their balls and trying to light it with a Bic between peanuts and beverage service, if something sets of a “Go Boom Boom” siren, that something gets wiped with a rubber glove, no matter how adorable it might have been before we thought it could explode.

The parents, who were either trying to smuggle explosives onto a plane through very clever baby based means, or simply accidentally bought a strolled constructed from bomb, were said to be “very cooperative and the process was completely without incident” and apparently didn’t have a problem with the proceedings. They did what they had to do, which then included allowing their infant to get a little bit of the “‘ol rub ‘n tug” and then they went on their way, being transported in mid-air from where they were to where they went. End of story for them. They had no idea that footage of their child’s federal massage had become a Twitter sensation. So then the next question becomes, if the family didn’t have a problem with it, and they weren’t taking cupcake snaps of their off spring getting digitally manipulated by the deft fingers of justice, then why the fuck is it any one else’s business?

Reverend @JacobJester wants YOUR plane to be filled with exploding babies!

Reverend @JacobJester wants YOUR plane to be filled with exploding babies!

The TSA, whom everyone seems to have no problem beating up for trying to do what they’re tasked to do in what may largely be a system of mostly symbolic gestures but is still designed to protect people as best they can, said that while children are not excluded from security screenings, that they are reviewing ways to improve its procedures for “low-risk populations.” But Reverend Your Business is My Business told the Kansas City Star that “An 8-month-old doesn’t pose a threat to airplane or national security. I am grateful for TSA’s willingness and desire to protect, but I believe in this instance that was extreme,”

But I for one couldn’t disagree with Acting Home Land Security Chief Jester more on this point. Any parent will tell you that a small child is just one squirming bag of biological explosions, barely contained by thin layers of disposable absorbent pull ups. Most home-made explosives use bags of fertilizer, essentially ”doodies”. You stuff a fuse up the pooper of one of these things, wire it up just right, you’ve got a craptastrophe on your hands. And then where will your moral authority be Reverend? Plummeting 40,000 feet in a Pampers packed ball of smelly flames! That’s where!

So I say keep feelin’ up those babies air port security personnel. I’ll not fly better knowing that the skies are being protected from the clear and present, imminent threat, of air traffic’s new public enemy number one: exploding babies!

Van Full of Easter Candy

22 Apr

Easter is traditionally celebrated for two things:

a) the brutal shit kicking of Jesus Horatio Christ, culminating in his being affixed to a tree and propped up in Rome’s front yard like a pink flamingo that’s been kicked in the face for an hour. You know, for you and your stupid sins.

And

2) delicious seasonal candies.

We here at Van Full of Candy, naturally, spend a good portion of our day talking about the former. But we’re not monsters, after all, “Candy” is either 1/3 or 1/4 of our name, depending upon whether or not you personally count the ”of”. So it would stand to reason that we at VFoC love candy at least as much as commemorating your personal lord and savior’s unholy beat down.

So with that in mind, Van Full of Candy will be transformed for this weekend into the Van Full of Easter Candy, and present to you a showdown of delicious and not so delicious treats that mangy Spring Rabbit might crap into your pastel hued Jesus basket!

The orange colored dye is good for your sight

Whitman’s Marshmallow Carrot

Easter just keeps falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole. As time continues on and the real reason for Easter keeps getting pushed further and further away, we’ll have more time to ignore the brutal crucifixion of Jesus, and focus on the happy happy fun time Easter bunny and all that comes along with him. Like eggs, and little pink & yellow birdies, and jellybeans, and now … carrots? Are we just completely running out of rabbit associated candied paraphernalia to avert our eyes from the grandeur of Christ’s suffering? Oh wait, they’re made out of marshmallow? Ok then never mind, these are cool.

- versus -

Chock full of escential vita-yums!

Chock full of essential vita-yums!

Reese’s Pieces Carrot

It’s Reese’s Pieces, already, a win. Only the orange ones of course, because if they had the yellow and brown ones it would look like Maze, and this isn’t Thanksgiving, so get back to being a conveniently forgotten national shame, “Native Americans”. And all of these orange tasties are all wrapped up in a pointy baggy with green edges. It’s a peanut butter carrot. If “real” carrots tasted like this, I would shit rabbits. But they don’t, so I’m legally blind. Fortunately I just have to follow the orange, peanut butter scented blur to my daily allotment of beta caroyum!

Don't eat too many, we're going to McDonald's for dinner

Weight Watchers Chocolate Mousse Eggs

Nothing says “sorry kids, we’re horrible parents and fed you to obesity” more than getting one of these super yummy Weight Watchers mousse eggs in your basket, and it’s ONLY 1 POINT per egg!! So eat up kids!! I’m sure it tastes just like real chocolate like all the other kids in the neighborhood got, and I’m sure there won’t be any teasing when everybody is comparing what they got in their baskets. Thanks mom!

- versus -

They also sell individual eggs in a uranium shipping container.

They also sell individual eggs in a uranium shipping container.

Marshmallow Eggs by the Carton

Okay, I get what you’re doing here. A carton of eggs. Cute. By all rights, this should be a solid treat, the idea of chocolate covered marshmallow is a sound one. It’s chocolate, it’s marshmallow, there’s nothing not delicious there. But somehow they seem to find the worst of both elements, make them unreasonably small and store them in the worst possible way, selling these miniscule chalky marshmallowesque lumps slathered in a dry, crumbly chocolateish shell in a full sized styrofoam egg carton that could easily accommodate three times as much “candy” as it’s asked to foster. And I’ll give you six to one, in a decomposition race the marshmallow egg dances on the styrofoam’s grave.

God, Chocolate, Government ... The Easter Trifecta

Bunny Money

If you can find an Easter candy that embodies religion, government, chocolate and poor taste as much as this sweet little gem from the horrible people at Whitman’s does, then I’ll actually eat a piece of any Russell Stover “chocolate” of your choosing. My mouth just did that pre-throw up watering thing. “In God We Trust” takes a whole new meaning for the kids when they find this edible currency in their Easter basket. Not only do they get to associate the importance of the almighty dollar with a tummy ache, they also get taught that Jesus’ death symbol (the rabbit) is as important as a US President and tastes like sweet chocolate death.

- versus -

Please hear my prayers, for nummy treats.

Please hear my prayers, for nummy treats.

Palmer Hear My Prayer Double Crisp

Palmer is science’s answer to candy. While mostly relegated to dollar stores (I can only assume to protect the general populace from excessive delicious), a lot of Palmer candies do still make it out into the “retail” world. Their fudge cups are one of my personal year round favorites, and I love any sort of holiday shaped confections they churn out throughout the year. But you see, the thing I love most about Palmer candies is that they don’t bullshit you. They come right out and tell you that hey, we’re chocolate FLAVORED. They make no claims of being actual chocolate and I respect that. I don’t know what exactly it is that I’m eating, but it tastes like yum to me. And with these sinfully delicious crispy chocolate prayer hands the good people at Palmer sure know how to put the Christ back in Christ-Easter-mas. I’ll tell you what I’m praying for… MORE!

Happy Spring Rabbit Festival everybody, have a big ‘ol tummy ache for us.

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