Van Full of Candy traded to Jacksonville

Apparently, an actual team...

With the NFL lockout finally coming to an end this week, teams have been frantically signing and trading players in a feeding frenzy unseen in the history of the league as they get ready for the start of the 2011 NFL season, just six weeks away. Among all of the confusion of blockbuster trades and free agent signings we have learned just this afternoon that online humorists, Van Full of Candy have been signed to a multi year contract by the Jacksonville Jaguars.

Details of the deal are still coming in, but it is being reported that Van Full of Candy is being sent to Jacksonville from the Seattle Seahawks in exchange for a half a box of Britta pitcher filters and a bag of Werther’s Originals.

“I think everybody is coming out of this deal with something they wanted and filling holes in their lineups that needed filling,” said a Seahawks spokesperson who continued, “Our water is going to be delicious.”

“I didn’t know we were on the Seahawks…” a confused Jason told one reporter. “But, I guess I’d like to thank the people of Seattle for their… years, of support?”

“We’re looking forward to playing, which ever position it is we’re usually playing, to the best of our ability,” Jesse told ESPN Radio’s John Ireland and Steve Mason after receiving the news. “And with any luck at all, leading the… Jacksonvilles, to a… Stanley… Championship… Plate… Or something.”

“Jacksonville has a football team?” Jason went on to ask reporters, who themselves could only shrug in response. “I mean, which Jacksonville anyway? There’s a lot of ‘em. I guess I need to know where to forward my mail.”

League officials were too busy at press time to respond to questions about the legitimacy of the deal, with the anarchy presiding at NFL headquarters caused by this extremely abbreviated off season signing period. This unprecedented signing of internet comedy due Van Full of Candy is not the only NFL contract that the league office has been being bombarded with questions about. Many reports of confusing deals continue to flood the wires, including the Arizona Cardinals trading running back Tim Hightower for a stainless steel lemon zester and a bag of used postage stamps, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers signing a miniature pony and a bird bath to fill out their defensive line and a panicked Buffalo Bills releasing their entire roster and unplugging their phone.

The NFL season is set to kicks off Thursday, September 8th as the New Orleans Saints visit Lambeau Field to take on the newly merged Minnesota Bay Packings.

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

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

 

I LOVE SOCCER!

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

It’s Raining Baseball Fans

Soon helmet giveaways at the ballpark won’t just be novelty promotions, but mandatory equipment given out before every game to protect lunatics from accidentally murdering themselves diving from rafters for collectible garbage.

I don’t know if you’ve heard the news, but there’s a hot new trend at the nation’s basedballing sport complexes: face diving onto cement from heights unsurvivable!

Last week at a Texas Rangers game, nearly seventy-five percent of the fans in attendance fell to its death from the upper deck. I’m sorry, I read that wrong, one man at a Texas Rangers game last week fell from the upper deck to his death. I apologize, that’s closer to 50%. Then, yesterday, during the Homed Running Derby of Hitting Competitions in someplace called “Phoenix” another idiot tried to hurl himself at a $5 souvenir laughably out of his reach and was only saved by the mistaken instinctive actions of those around him trying to protect him from his own unbridled stupidity as if his life were worth preserving.

This is really a guy you're going to try to save from what he's about to do?

Sports memorabilia is a very big, very dumb obsession, I know; I still have the bandana full of bottle openers that Charlie Hough hit me with at a Scottsdale Rite Aid back in ’98, and I cherish it as if it shattered my very own ocular bone: which it did. But these aren’t a home run ball that Mark McGwire kept his used steroid needles in after he’d already filled up the cat litter bucket he used to dispose of them in but before he had a new empty to fill, or the ball that Babe Ruth choked to death on when he mistook it for a heroin caked cheeseburger. The guy at the Rangers game was diving for a foul ball that Rangers outfieldman Josh Hamilton was throwing into the crowd and the idiot that tried to kill himself yesterday was at least ten rows away from a meaningless homerun derby dinger. Both of which, on the open market would fetch just about as much as any slightly used baseball listed on craigslist right now: “free, you pick up”.

Naturally, people hurtling themselves over railings, thirty or more feet above anything at all, is causing Major League baseball to look into the safety and security of their ball parks. Rather than simply, say, holding up these cases of the dip shitity of launching yourself from your insanely priced seats and understanding that the ball that the player that time will never remember just leisurely lobbed in your direction is the exact same one as those in the souvenir stand and probably isn’t worth a shattered face and traumatic, nationally televised orphanism.

And think of the players; won’t you? A quote from an actual article reporting the Rangers fan’s death:

There is also concern for Josh Hamilton, the player who tossed the ball. He’s battled his way back from addiction, and now has to deal with potential feelings of guilt over what happened.

Now please, don’t get me wrong, I understand that a professional atheletist must naturally feel some level of personal guilt that comes from shorting a throw, but I think the main thrust of the story is that a man just threw himself to his death in front of his six year old son in pursuit of a sports sphere of zero importance. Yes, it’s sad that the man DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE for this otherwise perfectly dexterous and well reasoned bat bases swing ball enthusiast’s untimely spine compression might want to have a drink after witnessing, someone so willing to put their life at risk, trusting completely in his ability to competently do what he is paid millions of dollars to do just a single time in a way that the recipient would not have to put himself in mortal danger, be so terribly wrong; but the story is about this suddenly shorter ex-father and his inability to see the ball into his glove like a four year old t-ball player. Focus up news story. If anything, this experience should certainly make Mr. Hamilton an infinitely better fielder as from now until he exhales his final dying breath he will envision every recipient of his throw as potentially falling to their untimely, comical death directly in front of their barely comprehending toddler as a direct result of his precision or lack thereof. That’s gonna make him throw all the way through from here on out I think.

Not a speck of awareness of his own mortality in his eyes.

I don’t blame Josh Hamilton for one Texas man’s lack of a self preservation instinct, that’s dumb. I also don’t blame baseball stadiums. I, as usual, blame idiots. They come in all shapes and sizes and they’ll accidentally assassinate themselves no matter how impossible the world tries to make it. Admittedly, a thigh high railing over a 30 foot fall is not the BEST tool to fight tools, but what WILL keep the stupid from jumping after the pretty approaching orb? As we have continued to moron proof the world, I don’t doubt at all that in the near future all baseball stadiums will be built with chain link enclosed bleachers, locking the crowd in like the animals they are for their own good. And of course, it still won’t be enough, because as any Giants fan at Dodger Stadium will tell you once they’ve regained the ability to speak, not all of the danger is on the field.

So over react as quickly as you can baseball. Encase the stands in memory foam and packing peanuts double time, because before you can say “problem solved” some forehead is going to choke to death on a hunk of NASA technology that his buddies bet him a beer he couldn’t snort.

Drunk, Homeless, German Man Wins NBA Championship

How much King Cobra can I get with this?

Move over LeBron James, there’s a new King in town, and he goes by the name “Dirk”. This seven foot homeless man from Germany reeks of malt liquor, sleeps in alleys, but by dumb luck has now found a new home in the NBA with the Dallas Mavericks.

HEY! This American beer is like pisswater.

Dirk, otherwise known on the streets as “Giant Adolf”, was mistaken for an NBA player last night while stumbling outside of the AmericanAirlines arena in Miami, Florida. A security guard at the Dallas Mavericks locker room figured that Giant Adolf had to be an NBA player being how tall he was, but was confused when Adolf kept asking him for some change. Through his thick German accent, the security guard figured he was “needing to change” so he could play in the game, let him in the locker room, and the rest is history.

Giant Adolf entered the game, ran around like a crazy man, scoring 21 points, grabbing 11 rebounds, won the NBA championship, was voted the MVP of the finals, and made LeBron James and Dwyane Wade of the Miami Heat look like playground punks playin’ a game of pickup basketball all while keeping a good buzz going during timeouts.

After the game, it was reported that Giant Adolf took his golden ball trophy and was seen walking in Miami Beach into JJ’s Liquor and Smokes looking to trade for two bottles of MadDog 20/20, a pack of Newports and some beef jerky. As for Giant Adolf’s future plans in the NBA, he was heard yelling “Ich liebe dieses Spiel” while he was pissing on a mailbox.

We Will KICK You In The Facebook!!

Big deal, you can kick a ball

I just read some bullshit about a soccer player who created a Facebook page and got 7 Million likes in 7 hours. Holy goddamn Pelé that’s a crock of shit. A soccer player? It’s taken us 3 months to get 80 likes on Facebook. EIGHT … ZERO!!! THREE … MONTHS!!! So apparently pouring your heart out onto this digital plain that looks like a piece paper day after day after fuckin’ miserable day doesn’t count for shit!! Apparently all you need to do is run around on some grass and kick a ball around with your friends to be popular, or apparently you have to be some sorta hot stud from Argentina, sponsored by ADIDAS, who just happens to be the best soccer player in the world right now and probably makes an assload of pesos! Ok, that’s cool with me, now where’d I put those damn shinguards?

Dude’s name is Leo Messi and as far as we’re concerned, he can go kick himself in the mouth with his gifted feet. But we here at Van Full of Candy aren’t bitter, NOPE! We love this kind of thing, and we’re gonna take it to the next level Leo! We challenge you to a race, actually two races.

Race #1 … you, me, soccer field, race from one end to  the other. Winner gets the other’s followers. BAM SUCKA!

Race #2 … First person to 8 million likes on their Facebook page gets the other one’s bank account … AND just to make it competitive, we’ll give you a 7 million follower headstart. DOUBLE BAM SUCKA!!

So let’s do this. We’ll wait for your response. You name the soccer field, we’ll be there. Show up alone.

Put your hands down, you haven't won shit yet!

Ok, so now that we’ve totally put our multi-million dollar bank accounts on the line for this, we are going to need all of your help. Please!! Go to our Facebook page and “Like” our page, tell your friends and tell them to tell their friends, and tell them to tell those people to tell their parole officers, or whomever, let’s kick this soccer guys ass and get to 8 million followers TODAY!! WHO’S WITH ME?!?!

UPDATE: [1:45PM] We just received Leo’s YouTube video reply, and he’s ALL IN!!  LET’S DO THE DAMN THING!!

TV Review: “Taking on Tyson”

You know that mustard and salami sandwich you enjoyed so much for lunch? How about high speed internet? Trail Mix? The carpool lane? Cupcake shops? Digital billboards? Cup o’ Chili? The soft cast? You like all those things? Well, you probably don’t know that you have “Iron” Mike Tyson to thank for all of it.

Mike and a... uhm... air fish, thing...

“Taking on Tyson”, Animal Planet’s new reality series following former man pummeler Mike Tyson, introduces us to the very real, very have been happening before now world of inner city pigeon racing. You see, Mike Tyson loves pigeons, and now that he no longer has the bestial hunger to pound another living human being to within an inch of their life, he has turned his life long love affair with the airborne urban rodent, the pigeon into an interest in “professional” pigeon racing.

Never heard of pigeon racing before, let alone the 6 month long pigeon racing SEASON that Mike will be participating in during the run of this surreal fever dream that is “Taking on Tyson”? Well don’t worry, that’s just because it didn’t exist until Mike Tyson decided he wanted to do it. Sure, the show goes on in great detail to set up this secret underground world of New York roof top pigeon racing, but that’s just because they don’t want Mike Tyson to punch them in the face. Not wanting to be punched in the face by Mike Tyson is the reason why most things in the world today exist. Mike Tyson is one of the biggest drivers of American innovation and invention in the world.

Vulcanized rubber. The second hand. Pizza flavored Combos. Thrift stores. The list of things that science, technology and nature has had to create because at some point Mike Tyson thought it would be sweet is staggering. Fingerless gloves. Space bags. Fish. You heard me, fish. Do you remember fish before Mike Tyson? You think you do, because much like this show, the back story of fish had to be retroactively created and inserted into public consciousness immediately after Mike had the simple fleeting thought of “Wouldn’t it be sweet if like, there were pigeons in the water?” Fish.

“I wanna be world champion. I want my pigeons to be world champion.” 

When not creating the very thing he’s now dedicated his life to, Mike is very philosophical about the roughness of his childhood and how he relates training his pigeons to training as a fighter. Mike Tyson is very all or nothing all the time. There is no middle speed on a Mike Tyson. I plan on tuning in to this show in the future just to see Mike’s birds zipping through the sky in silk shorts, punching the shit out of competing racing birds.

Are there flaws in this show? No Mr. Tyson, there absolutely are not. It’s the pinnacle of the medium. In fact, I’m pretty sure television was invented late Sunday afternoon simply for the purpose of airing this program. Of course a few particularly, great, things do stand out as one struggles through this seemingly endless hour of telling me how incredible pigeons are against the backdrop of more slow motion bird footage than a John Woo porn shoot.

For one, the show clearly realizes that since you’re watching a show about Mike Tyson racing birds, you must also be a lunatic, so it recaps the entire premise of the series after every break.

Okay, I hadn't thought about it like that...

Also, the word “pigeon” is used so often in this single hour that it quickly loses any and all meaning that it may have previously had. At one point in the show I decided to start replacing the word “pigeon” in my mind with the word “bread”. This ingenious word trick unfortunately had me soon believing that Mike Tyson got into his first child hood fight when a bully stole and murdered one of his prize pieces of bread right in front of him and that now Mike Tyson and a group of his bread loving friends wanted to competitively race bread. But you know what? If Mike Tyson wanted to race bread, a team of sport and agriculture scientists would be hard at work creating a system for how to do it, and I would be watching that show too, because actually, that sounds awesome.

Science has proven that anything can happen, whether it should or not, all that it needs is a little prompting and a lot of motivation. And just know that more than the needs of the masses or the necessity of the thing, the main driving force for the scientific community at large is the constant fear of being viciously and repeatedly punched in and about the head and neck area by the former five time heavyweight champion of the world: “Iron” Mike Tyson.

Oh, and escalators, that was his too.

Be at Peace, Sweet Cocks

During my customary afternoon search for all cock related news stories, I came upon a rather ridiculous article.

Now that's a cock fight I'd like to see. Am I right ladies? ... Fellas?

The basics of the story all fit together like well worn pieces of your classic, run of the mill stupid criminal news Madlib: Two guys pulled over for a routine traffic stop, cops see something suspicious in the back of their truck and take a little peaksie and naturally, inside the box is a felony jackpot. The obvious, immediate reaction that I have to these stories is the same that every right thinking potential criminal would have. If I am going to be driving around, a box of felony in the bed of my truck, I make damned sure that my vehicle is in perfect working order, with every flasher and blinker and bobbler and boobler all flashing and blinking and bobbling and boobling to it’s utmost, factory specifications so as not to attract any sort of unwanted attention to myself, and my cargo of prison time. But for every intricately planned and flawlessly executed Las Vegas casino heist filled with close calls, beautiful criminal master minds and crisp, tightly paced, world class banter, there’s a batrillion idiots with rickety pick ups, hauling around crates of loosely packed crime, just begging to be pulled over on their way to more criminality.

But what set this story apart from the rest might not be what you’ll initially think. You see, the two master criminals were hauling a box of chickens. As I understand it, hauling chickens in a box in and of itself isn’t a felony, but professional MMA chickens apparently have to take a bus. These two gentlemen were immediately arrested for improperly transporting bad ass chickens, and while they were taken away the coppers made a trip to their no doubt lavish hotel/casino, professional poultry fighting association sports arena where they found a “fairly large scale” operation of nearly 250 bench pressing chickens and their “fighting implements”, by which I assume they mean silk trunks and knuckle tape.

Now, even at this point, still not a story worth more than a simple glance and quick calculation of exactly how many buckets of original recipe that was that they just discovered, battling for the enjoyment of all of those enthuseists of fight. What did grab my attention was this.

All of the brave, fighting fowl, just trying to make an honest buck and claw their way out of poverty the only way they know how, with their claws, all nearly 250 “game birds” that authorities “rescued” from this fighting ring, were summarily executed.

They killed every last chicken.

I’m no stranger to taking up the fight for an unpopular cause, on more than one occasion I’ve argued in favor of bunny stabbings and I once talked a young mother out of ever caring for her new born child, but right now I am going to take an unpopular, but correct stand.

I am arguing in favor of cock fighting.

Chick "Thunder Wing" McGilliclucky, 9/26/09 - 2/17/11

After shutting down this “disgusting”, “inhumane”, “blood sport”, and saving these poor, not exactly defenseless creatures, Henry Brzezinski, Chief of Animal Services did in one fell swoop what he was supposedly saving these animals from. He told reporters that “The birds were humanely euthanized because they were either in bad shape physically or their behavior was too aggressive for them to be rehabilitated.”

So then, what exactly was accomplished here? I think the only person who got anything out of this was this sick-o Brzezinski who got to live out a mass execution fantasy that would normally be frowned upon but that he suddenly had a workable excuse to follow through on.

The end result of this is 250 dead chickens, bottom line. So how is their “humane” euthanizing any better than fighting to the death in the ring, like the modern day gladiators that they are? This state is in a financial crisis and we’re just going to throw away 250 perfectly good fighting chickens? You caught the guys, good for you, I’m not defending animal sport fighting as a whole, obviously it’s barbaric and deplorable… But if you’ve got 250 chickens that you’re just going to put down anyway, where’s the harm? Put that shit on Pay Per View with all proceeds going toward future farm animal fighting death prevention programs.

If there is one and only one thing that I do know for certain in this life, it’s that this was not what any of these magnificent fighters would have wanted. What this man did was rob these majestic birds of their pride and dignity. They were fighters, fighters of cock, and they deserved to die in the ring, doing what the betting public loved, clawing and scratching their competitor’s body to ribbons with the assistance of razor blades tied to their feet. That’s all they knew, that was their entire world and this man took it upon himself to decide what was best for these courageous, talented, crazy attack chickens.

So shame on you Mr. Brzenzinski, may you be haunted forever by the muscular, angry ghosts of 250 fighting chickens, stricken down in the prime of their careers. This is truly a dark day in the world of sport; a day that shall forever taint the proud name of cock fighting.

Super Bowl Halftime Show : The Gipper

 

Ya'll Thought I Was Dead? Oh Hells No!!

The 45^th Super Bowl airing this Sunday between the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Green Bay Packers will be one of the most historic of all time. This Super Bowl will have the 40^th President of the United States for their halftime show. What’s this, you ask? How can Ronald Reagan be the entertainment for the halftime show? Well it’s simple. First, FOX TV is the devil, and second he isn’t really dead. Just like 2-Pac, Biggie and Elvis, Ronald Wilson Reagan lives on a secluded five-star island sometimes referred to as Conspiracy Island. Unfortunately for the former President, he doesn’t know exactly where he is at any given time because of his ongoing bout with Alzheimer’s; he seems to believe that he is always inside a Sizzler restaurant and frequently mumbles about their world famous salad bar.

I'm On A Boat

The Alzheimer’s will make for an interesting show come Super Bowl Sunday, because Reagan is going to be in a number of highly choreographed dance numbers with The Black Eyed Peas, Usher, and the former guitarist for Guns & Roses, Slash. The spry 100 year old seems to be in great spirits and is visibly excited about his performances. During the Black Eyed Peas’ song “Boom Boom Pow”, Mr. Reagan and his team of dancers will recreate the assassination attempt on the President by John Hinckley, Jr. with former President George Bush, Sr. playing the part of Hinckley.

Kicking off the game, Christina Aguilera and the former President will perform a duet of the National Anthem. Christina did mention in an interview with E! that “… the only thing I’m a little nervous about is when he starts yelling ‘I love pumpkins’ over

This Was One Nasty Casting Couch

and over throughout the song, but other than that, things should go pretty smoothly.” Ronald is going to have a Guitar Hero battle with Slash and then transition straight into a dance-off with Usher with many costume changes throughout. This should be one of the most exciting halftime shows in Super Bowl history, maybe only taking a backseat to actually getting to see Janet Jackson’s teet.

So sit back, relax and enjoy the rollercoaster ride of Lazarus-of-Bethany proportions that only FOX can provide, and have a drink every time you hear our former President of the United States say “Win one for the Gipper”, or whisper “Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzzzler”.

NFL’s Unluckiest Photographer Retires

Barry Kalinowski, the world’s most unlucky NFL football photographer, surprisingly announced his retirement today after covering the game for 34 years.

After graduating from Albuquerque Technical Vocational Institute (TVI) in 1975, Barry started his photography career at Picture Your Pet, a small studio in Roswell, New Mexico.  “Dogs were impossible.  Those dang dogs would just never hold still.  I used squeaky toys, tennis balls, even dang doggy treats, but all they wanted to do was sniff everything, lay on the ground or lift their leg.  And cats were impossible.  This one time somebody brought in an Alpaca , and I tell you what, that thing was the nicest most cooperative vicugna I’ve ever worked with.  That dang thing did spit once though.”

Barry lovingly calls this one "The Spitter"

Barry got his first break in sports photography at a girls high school basketball game in 1978.  “I was there to see my niece play basketball, and when I took out my camera and started taking pictures from the bleachers, I got a lot of strange looks from parents.  A man approached me after the game and said he would pay me cash money for some copies of a few certain pictures, and he would get me in touch with a guy he knew that did photography for the NFL and ‘other things’.”  After the $25 exchange a week later for the pictures, and a business card for Tom Smith of Tom’s Vignettes, Barry had finally hit pay dirt when Smith got him a part time gig taking action photos of the newly formed expansion team, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.  “Man that team sucked ass!  When I started, their record over two years was 2-26.  They were so bad I never had to use any film because they never made any good plays to take pictures of.  I think I was their lucky charm though, because the following year they were one game away from making it into the Super Bowl.”  Unfortunately for the Bucs, they lost to the Rams, and that same year Barry lost his job in Tampa.  “I didn’t really care, I was embarrassed of the team, and since I only used one roll of film in three years, it was no skin off my teeth.”

Shortly after his layoff, Kalinowski got a call from a friend who had just landed a photo gig with the San Francisco 49ers, and they were in need of another field photographer.

"The Catch" - A picture Barry didn't take

“For whatever reason, I just had really bad timing when it came to taking good action pictures.  Those guys are really fast.  It seemed that every time I would need to reload the film, something spectacular would happen, and sometimes I would leave the lens cap on.  I would usually get the celebration after the play, and I was really becoming skilled at getting crowd shots when they would cheer.”

His defining moment as the world’s unluckiest sports photographer came in 1981 when the 49ers were playing the Dallas Cowboys for the NFC championship.  “I had been drinking a lot of Gatorade that game because I was a bit dehydrated from a stomach flu bout.  There were only :58 seconds left in the game and the 49ers were on the 6 yard line looking to score to potentially win the game.  I couldn’t hold it any longer and had to drain the lizard.

As I was standing at the urinal, I heard a huge roar from the crowd, so I zipped up, ran out and grabbed my camera.  My buddy Walter Iooss said he just got a great picture of an incredible catch.  Luckily for me I got pictures of people reacting to what is now known as ‘The Catch’”.

Kalinowski's most famous picture "Behind the Post"

Barry would spend the rest of his illustrious career missing many memorable NFL plays like Tony Dorsett’s 99 yard TD run (dead batteries), Billy “White Shoes” Johnson’s hail mary catch (sneezing attack) and David Tyree’s helmet catch in Super Bowl XLII (stuck in concession stand line).  Barry is best known for his pictures of cheerleaders, team mascots and goal posts.

“Those dang mascots would just never hold still.”