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

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."

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.

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!

We love My[ _____ ] now, Justin! Love us!

OMG Ya’ll! O to the MUTHA FUCKIN’ G!!!

Did you hear? Did you hear the news!? Justin Timberlake owns My[_____]! I know! Well when I heard the news, I leapt out of my chair and kissed the nearest homeless person. Then I gave them a dollar to stop screaming at me.

When we at Van Full of Candy set up our web presence, we had largely ignored My[_____]. Almost solely because it lacked an element of Justin Timberlake ownership. But with the wonderful, magical news this morning that Justin Timberlake (as part of a partnership with Specific Media, but mostly just as Justin Timberlake) had purchased My[_____] from News Corp for only $35 million, (a miniscule fraction of the $580 million hat News Corp had paid for “MySpace” just a few short, heady years ago) I knew that we had to get our My[_____] on and get in on the ground floor of what can only be the single greatest thing to happen to the internet since the invention of the W! Here is the timeline of my throwing myself at the feet of Triple Threat McGee and his new Social Media Empire!

9:24 am: Read that Justin Timberlake personally bought My[_____] with his own gorgeous money.

9:25 am: Opened My[_____] account.

9:26 am: Sat, daydreaming about me and JT hangin’ out, being handsome.

9:31 am: Washed hands, began writing this article.

9:35 am: Posted first My[_____] status update.

9:36 am: Started looking for the perfect Hollywood hot spot for our first Champaign brunch with Justin SexyBack.

9:39 am: Took a break from brunch shopping to read my first My[_____] e-mail!

9:40 am: Visited the theme gallery and customized our profile:

9:43 am: Followed our fave Topics in movies, celeb and TV:

9:52 am: Listened to albums, created playlists, and more:

9:56 am: Didn’t connect with their many curators because I didn’t know what that meant and I was scared…

And then, at 10:25 am, after grooving to the JT express as hard and as loud as I could, I made the big step…

10:26 am: My little heart was broken…

10:27 am: … I cried. I cried so hard that I broke my cryer: I fear I may never be able to cry again.

Why Justin, why would you do this to me? I’ve done so much to show you my love, and this is how my affection is returned?

Sure, maybe I’m not Andy Samberg, maybe I can’t invite you onto my show and write you hilarious songs about boning each other’s parents. Maybe all I can do is love you, with all of my candy clogged heart, from afar, in the hopes that some day, SOME DAY, maybe that love will be returned in kind…

In the meantime, join us on the new JustinSpace page. Friend us, because if Justin sees just how cool and popular we are, surely he will be our friends. We couldn’t win Charlie Sheen’s heart, but please, help us make Justin love us!

Sweden Wants to Steal Your Baby’s Genitals

As men, our number one mission in life is to ensure that no harm comes to our external reproductive organs. Above all else, this is our divine purpose in life. Our very existence revolves around the grandeur and majesty of our god granted penis. But if it were up to Sweden our magnificent boy glands would be treated as no more special than the common vagina!

 

I’ve talked in the past about a Canadian family’s attempt to keep you from knowing what their groin spawn’s packin’ in it’s Pampers, and today I find that this degenderfication of the toddler crotchscape, while just beginning to stir in the North America continent is fully engorged and raging in ye Olden Europe Towne.

 

Genderless Swedish "its" at play.

In Stockholm Sweden, staff at ”Egalia” preschool don’t refer to the children as him, her, he or she. Boys and girls play house together in a toy kitchen surrounded by Lego bricks and building blocks “to make sure the children draw no mental barriers  between cooking and construction”. The bookcases are stocked with tales of homosexual couples, single parents and adopted children. And their dolls are all anatomically correct and racially diverse

They want children to believe that their entire psychological make up and social worth and potential aren’t dictated entirely by what’s goin’ on in the pants you wear under your pants.

 

These penis hating, equality hugging, homosexual propagandists have some parents convinced that “An obsession with obliterating gender roles could make the children confused and ill-prepared to face the world outside kindergarten.” Because if a little boy grows up not knowing that the penis he has been favored with by the creator of the heavens and the Earth makes him special and entitled to unquestioned dominion over those cursed with the devil’s gash, how will HE ever know how much more favored HE is?

 

“Society expects girls to be girlie, nice and pretty and boys to be manly, rough and outgoing,” says Jenny Johnsson, a 31-year-old teacher. “Egalia gives them a fantastic opportunity to be whoever they want to be.”

 

Really, they just get to be WHOEVER THEY WANT TO BE? Who thought that was a good idea? Then who will be manly and outgoing? Ms. Johnsson? Girls? Don’t be ridiculous. Girls are demure and submissive, because that’s what we tell them to be, because that’s what we were told to tell them to be. An outgoing child? They have a name for that already Ms. Johnsson, it’s “boy”. And if not girls, who will be girlie and nice Ms. Johnsson? Boys? Then we’d have to call it “boylie” and that just sounds stupid. And you’re stupid for suggesting it!

 

But these deviants don’t just stop at claiming that boys and girls are “equals”, they also place “a special emphasis on fostering an environment tolerant of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.” Noting a particular example of homosexual indoctrination sitting on the children’s bookcase: “a story about two male giraffes who are sad to be childless — until they come across an abandoned crocodile egg.” That’s right, these perverts are forcing down these children’s throats tales of manic-depressive beastial-homosexual interspecies child abduction as just another socially acceptable “alternative lifestyle choice”! To suggest that two male giraffes could raise an orphaned crocodile better than a male giraffe and a female giraffe, still together only to raise the child in their loveless, spiteful, blessed union, is just irresponsible and dangerous!

 

But it doesn’t stop there, why would it? Why not introduce Sweden’s 1-6 year olds to the wonderful world of lesbian polygamy? 

Lotta Rajalin: Inventer of the "Infinite Moms" theory.

“When they’re playing ‘house’ and the role of the mom already is taken and they start to squabble,” Egalia Director Lotta Rajalin says. “Then we suggest two moms or three moms and so on.

You know what? At this point, why not? Why stop there? Why not five moms or ten moms or a hundred sexy, scantily clad moms, bathing each other every night while trying to balance their late night washings with the responsibility of raising a child all on their own without the firm, strong guidance of a male role model telling them that they’re doing it all wrong.

 

But like me Jay Belsky, child psychologist at the University of California, Davis and proud penis owner, can see clearly exactly what’s really going on in this twisted world of “gender equality” “mind control”.

 

“The kind of things that boys like to do — run around and turn sticks into swords — will soon be disapproved of,” he said. “So gender neutrality at its worst is emasculating maleness.”

 

Exactly. In a world where anything phallic is the enemy, and a country specifically where, and I am not making this up, the “Swedish Science Council had granted $80,000 for a postdoctoral fellowship aimed at analyzing ‘the trumpet as a symbol of gender.’ ” it’s all about the metaphorical castration of masculinity. Oh, children will still be able to run around and turn sticks into swords, female children, and they will be lauded, praise heaped upon them for their bravely in creating their own strong, powerful, imaginary womyn penis. While the male children will be told that their sticks are not swords at all, but merely sticks, and then their sticks will be taken away from them. And given to girls.

 

Because naturally, the only appropriate reaction to people proposing a de-emphasization of gender roles is to see it as an attack on maleness. The only appropriate reaction to people proposing that gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people actually be viewed as human beings worthy of equal treatment rather than scorn and derision, is to see it as an attack on maleness. The only appropriate reaction to people suggesting that a child should be allowed to discover who they might be on their own without the automatic restrictions of preprogrammed gender roles, is to see it as an attack on maleness. There is no other explanation.

 

There isn’t a war on the uniquely male appendage. It is not constantly under attack by those who would tell us that it doesn’t make us the most powerful, most capable, most important species of animal the planet has ever been blessed to foster. Not teaching kids that they have to be this and they have to be that just because of how they were born isn’t emasculating future men, and it isn’t masculating future women, it’s just giving kids a chance to see what else is out there, before those that weren’t raised that way tell them exactly how they have to live based solely on what parts their pants are covering. And everything’ll be right with the world once again…

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get back to thinking about those poor 100 moms, struggling to make it in a world where clothes must be rationed and lotions and oils must be constantly applied to protect against the blistering, chapped hellscape.

Your #2 Is NOTHING For Our New Russian Toilets !!

No thanks, I'll just shit my pants tonight.

Indestructible toilets … finally!!!

Not only can these toilets from the future take the blast of a terrorist bomb, but I can finally piss on the lid and have absolutely no guilt. Seriously! These toilets are made of “ultra-strong fibrous concrete” so they can take the biggest load you could ever conceivably dump into them, and the “fittings are hewn from a mixture of steel and reinforced plastic”, so I can slam that lid down as hard as I want when I’m finished and it wont break. These baby’s are “vandal proof and terrorist-proof”. Wow! Terrorist proof? That’s a pretty balls’y claim. Where were these during Sept 11?

So I guess the natural question would be … why in the world would we need to have toilets, of the public type, to be fortified fucking bunkers? Is there that much anarchy happening within the confines of the #1/#2 variety that we need to take such extreme measures?

“If somebody leaves a bomb inside the lavatory and it explodes, then the toilet won’t be destroyed.” Well thank fuckin’ Christ Russia. You can’t imagine how many times I’ve sat on the pot in a public place and thought “Eff … I certainly pray to Gawd that this gawddamn porcelein pot of bowel-catchings doesn’t explode.” And certainly not on my watch … well … not that I’m watching … but I hope you get the gist. Butt apparently, the drive to “introduce bomb-proof toilets in the city follows a spate of deadly bomb attacks in recent years.” I’m actually a bit confused right now as I type this out. I can’t actually remember the last time I’ve ever even heard about a toilet-bombing. Can you dear reader? No seriously … can you? If so PLEASE leave us a comment because I feel so out of the shitter-loop right now. CNN Moscow reports … “In the most recent incident, a suicide bomber struck Moscow’s main airport killing 37 people.” So, you’re trying to make me believe that there were, at ONE time, 37 people sitting on the toilet at the same time in an airport? Not believing that!

Hey Russia ... We're sending over our secret weapon ... Patty Poopster

They go on to say that “The high tech facilities will also be kept above 16 degrees centigrade ­ (about 60 degrees Fahrenheit), important in a city where winter temperatures often plunge below -30 degrees centigrade.” … So in a freakin’ winter wonderland of hypothermia, you’ll always know that if you’re out and about wandering the streets, you’ll always have a warm place to snuggle up with your honey and warm your tootsies together and share a warm cup of cocoa? Man! How nice is that? But wait … there’s more … “City officials say an extra security feature of the new unisex toilet is that members of the public will be able to spend a maximum of 30 minutes inside before the doors automatically open and an alarm sounds.”

Well I don’t know about you fellas out there reading this .. but … shit … I’m not gonna throw down the $39.99 for a night at a Holiday Inn with a lady of the night or a lady of the drunk-bar variety. I’m gonna be a chivalrous man and drag her into a public port-a-potty, knock out some business which usually only lasts 7-9 minutes anyway, and totally not set off any alarms and be home before Wheel of Fortune starts. Sha-blamm!!

Thanks Russia!

How Much Would You Pay For An Ass Stabbing? But Wait, There’s More!

The Hemorroid-Be-Gone 2000

Ok seriously China what the fuck is wrong with your peripheral neuropathy? I guess the better question to ask would be “what the fuck is wrong with your cutlery manufacturers”?

A few months ago I wrote about a man in China who was stabbed in the head. In the goddamn’d head people! The blade of the knife broke in his skull and was lodged in zombie-boy’s cranium for four wonderful years. THIS time a 26 year old Chinese lady, Ying Shi, was stabbed in what I’d best describe as the asshole, or the Sphinxbox, or … well here’s a list of possibilities. She was stabbed in a mugging in which the 6″ blade broke off in her ass, was in there for four months before she got herself checked because of severe stomach pains.

Now come on, is this some sort of joke China? Do you have some sort of anti-tourism campaign due to sloppy mugging tactics in place to keep us filthy Americans out of your country? These stories are just too far fetched, and two broken-knife-in-body-stabbings stories where blade in oriface go unnoticed are just too unbelieveable. I’ve seen the “picture” you’ve supplied as “evidence”, and I’d have to say it would be best described as “The World’s Worst Anal Porn DVD Cover Ever!”.

Perhaps this is some sort of misdirected jealousy against our Ginsu Knives of the late 70′s/early 80′s? It makes total sense. We steal the extremely Chinese’y sounding name, we brand it with Asian’esque lettering and then the final slap in the face, we use your Ming Dynasty aura to sell millions of them. So now you’re trying to duplicate the miracle blade, but your R&D budget is so non-existent that the only real way to test the strength and sharpness of your Made-In-China version is to go around stabbing people to see if the blade is up to spec, but the damn handle keeps breaking so back to the drawing board.

So I guess you’ll just have to make your own decision as to what’s the truth for this Chinese knife implant epidemic. Either she was actually mugged or she came up with the best ever solution for keeping one’s boyfriend from begging to Plow The Back Field.

Finally Science Gets it Right, Introducing: Handjob Bot

There are many ways to tell when you’ve finally become an unquestioned, dominant global super power. Maybe you’ve dropped a couple nuclear warheads on an enemy, kicked some dirt in their face and asked their quivering corpses, “Now what?!” Perhaps you export all of your worst social trappings to the four corners of the world and poison cultures with dreams of throwing away everything that’s made them special as a people in search of a dream of blue jeans and Coke-a-cola in a bottle. Either one of these are sure fire signs that you’re King Shit and the world needs to get used to the cold hard fact that they’re just going to have to take it for a while. 

Most of the time when a power reaches this level, it takes a while to fully realize just when and where they staked their claim to heavy weight super power status. It’s the kind of thing usually best left to historians to pinpoint years, even decades later. And while I’m no history scientist, I think I can nail down for you right here and now exactly when China announced to the world that they were taking their place as masters of the planet. And it is here:

China is making robots to stick it’s dick in, and there is fuck all we can do about it.

A couple weeks ago at what the Chinese cleverly called a “medical supply expo”, but which I know full well is China’s 4th Annual Invitational Handjob Robot Design Competition, they revealed this year’s winning entry, the “Automated Semen Collector”. Said to be designed for “patients who have trouble getting erect, or feel uneasy with the traditional erotic magazine and plastic cup method of semen collection” and that “this new medical breakthrough may provide some welcome relief.”

I don’t pretend to understand Asian culture and anyone who does is just seeing how long you’ll believe all of the crazy things they’re making up on the spot. In my extensive research on the subject of Japanese sexuality I have discovered that they have a thing for plaid skirts, that no intercourse is consensual or free of tentacles and that their reproductive organs are a cruel jumble of blurry squares. I know very little about Chinese fornication specifically, but based on their development of penis fondling robots, I think it’s safe to say that they are of a similar mind.

"Prime Directive: Yanky Cranky. Secondary Directive: YANKY CRANKY!"

I get that the Asian culture is very repressed which causes such violently crazy sexual deviance to emerge when you peel back the surface, but I don’t understand how a jerk off machine in a doctor’s office could possibly be a more welcome, less uneasy experience than ogling pixellated school girls and depositing your communist goo in a cup the way America’s god intended it! But I also know that this is just sour grapes from a man who doesn’t have a robot to stroke me off while trying, and failing, to figure out what exactly to do with my hands the entire time. And it’s just made to sound all the hotter when I read the sensual copy that accompanies this Pleasure Nurse:

The patient stands before the machine and puts his penis, flaccid or erect, into the tube-shaped protrusion, whereupon it moves forward and back automatically like a piston. The inside of the tube is lined with a soft silicon material that provides gentle stimulation until ejaculation is reached.

And I know that I personally would be very disappointed if the machine itself did not recite this bit of text over and over until it’s mission had finally been accomplished or the subject tore itself from its grasp, unable to ever stop screaming again. Which ever punned first.

But bigger than national pride or the future of our nation’s economic independence, news of this kind is, I think, the most important reason we need to pay back our debt to China as soon as possible. Just imagine for a second that you had the technology to make robots to jerk you off and someone else had the money you could be spending to make them. Me, in that situation; I’d be super pissed.

So the sooner we get China their money back, the sooner we can get to work on trying to close the gap in this substitute arms race. We’re America damn it, we can do anything we put our minds to and I say to you here and now that by 2021, we can, we will, we MUST put an American made suck bot on every red white and blue penis in this great land of ours! Our time has not yet passed, you hear us China?! Our robots have not yet BEGUN to suck! USA! USA! USA!

Answering CNN’s Questions

It almost looks like a question mark if you kinda squint and cock your head and don't know what a question mark looks like...

Ya know, that CNN seems like a nice kid. They try to play it down the middle as much as they can, which unfortunately makes them less popular than their more opinionated, shouty news brothers. You don’t want to hang out with the guy who can listen, hear and understand both sides of the argument and attempt to offer you more information so that you can then make up your own mind based on the facts given to you. You want someone to yell in your face how the other guys want to murder your grandparents, using your children as weapons or how those guys over there are fucking idiots and want to give all of your money to big corporations so that they can buy the children of the poor with which to beat your grandparents to death.

CNN just wants you to know what’s going on.

But sometimes CNN doesn’t have all the answers. And it’s kind of a dick move for you to always expect them to. Any time you check in on the CNN website you’ll no doubt find the columns littered with headlines ending in a squiggly little “huh” period. So I thought I would help a brutha out. It was kind of a crazy news weekend, so I thought I would give something back and answer some of the questions they have on their home page.

Now, I’m a pretty busy guy myself. I’ve got… You know… That one thing that I said I should be doing. I probably won’t do it, but I might. I mean I could. So while I’m going to answer the questions on CNN’s home page, I’m not actually going to read any more of the article. Clearly CNN is just asking me these questions, expecting I should have some sort of fore knowledge, and I don’t want to look like a fucking idiot in front of CNN. So as I am asked, I will simply answer to the best of my ability and hope it’s what CNN was looking for. If not why ask me in the first fucking place?

So let’s sit right down CNN, have a little chitty chat, talk talk, ask me anything, don’t be shy. Tell me what’s on your mind.

Will bin Laden photos be released?

Well, there’ve been a lot of bin Laden photos released over the years. In fact your face is covered in ‘em right now. But I assume that’s not what you meant. You’re trying to seem somewhat respectable when you ask me if the administration is going to show you Osama B’s ventilated cranium. I really couldn’t say if there’ll be any assassination porn handed our to any journo who can type with one hand, but probably. Hell, it didn’t take a day for people to already start calling bullshit on the whole thing and kicking up the conspiracy theories, asking where the body is like it’s up to Obama to hit a forty-eight state tent tour offering anyone who’s got the constitution and the steely resolve a chance to see the body of the terror man for one, measly, solitary quarter. That’s right folks, one quarter of a dollar gets you a peek at the tower toppler himself, laid out for all your approvalry! Toss in another two bits and Barry’ll prop ‘im up and take your picture with him lookin’ like he’s suckin’ you off in his stars and stripes head wrap! Step right up!

Bin Laden celebrations ‘overboard’?

Well, we are partyin’ for those who can not be here with us to party down. So how much is overboard? But speaking of “overboard”, I thought that sounded like a “Weekend at Bernie’s” sequel title, upon a google search it seems that I’m mistaken, but clearly, a missed opportunity, both for the movie making industry, and the Navy SEALs. Though, who knows how many camera phones are going to be locked away in time capsules by a group of brave soldiers who actually know how to keep their mouths shut? I’m sorry, that was a question, go on CNN, you were asking…

Will the Taliban make peace now?

Oh CNN, sweet, stupid CNN. Yes, the Taliban will most certainly make peace, so long as “peace” is the name of the next crudely assembled suppository bomb the next crazy air traveling attempted martyr will inexplicably ask their row mate to light for them as they scoot their dirty sweat pants down in their aisle seat.

Debt ceiling: Are you freaking out yet?

Am I- what? Should I be? What am I not freaking out about that I should be!? What’s going on!? I just had my debt floor refinished, now you’re telling me I need to shit my pants about my dept ceiling already!? What about my debt roof? Is my debt roof leaking too? Well at least I find out in spring when it’ll be cheaper. Try getting your debt roof fixed in a fucking rain storm and then see how much your debt furniture suffers.

Can the U.S. trust Pakistan?

What? Come on, the most wanted man in the entire known universe was just hiding out 40 miles from their nation’s capital and only 1000 yards from their military’s most venerable training institution. Clearly… what was your question again?

Should moms post kids’ pix online?

You know what CNN? This shit sounds like entrapment and I really don’t fucking appreciate it! Asking a guy in a Van Full of Candy if mothers should post “pix” (a clear code word if I’ve ever heard one) of not just their kids, but kids in general online. Shame on you CNN, shame on you for knowing me so well.

Is this the host of ‘X Factor’?

Who? Me? Oh, come now, now you’re just being silly CNN. I mean, I’m honored, really I am, but I couldn’t. Between, you know, that thing, the one that I should be doing instead of answering your inane questions, and… that other… something. Where would I find the time? I appreciate the thought though CNN, it’s good to know I still haven’t lost it.

Child asks: Are the wars over?

Aww, look at you. You adorable little thing. Of course the wars are over. All the wars in the world, everywhere. And you know what’s also over? Sunshine and breathing. That’s right. We killed the one person in the world who’s ever wanted to war with anyone over anything. It’s all patty cake and ice cream from here on out! Unless of course someone decides that they and only they were promised the ice cream and that anyone else’s presence in this bowl is a direct attack on their ability to ever enjoy that ice cream ever again or any of the other ice cream promised to them after the end of this bowl. In which case, it’s fuckin’ awn!

What’s next for the Royal Couple?

I imagine the new Duke and Duchess are probably taking turns fucking each other with enormous piles of money… Get back to them in June, things should calm down by then.

Ugly / Rich x Powerful = Worth it?

If we’ve learned one thing from this morning’s Royal Wedding gala extravaganza hullabaloo, it’s that British parades are kinda sucky. If we’ve learned two things from this morning’s et al, it’s that if your pre-printed near future stationary and business cards read “Mutha fuckin’ KING y’all” you can get away with being more or less homely and borderline fugly, and still get to stick your scepter in a pretty smokin’ commoner. No one’s really out of your league when your stock pick up line is “Wanna be a fer rillz princess? And before you ask, yes, I do in fact own a courtesy hood for your completely understandable gag reflex to my visage.”

This naturally got us to thinking. just how powerful would a person have to be to out weigh the horrifically cruel joke the God of their own personal beliefs played on their face, laughing all the while from their fluffy cloud work bench. So we at Van Full of Candy would like to present our highly scientific Repulsion Negation Calculation Sensation! Or the ”Rich Enough to Make it Worth it-atron 94,000″!

Here we have our control subject. And I just  came three times in writing those last 6 words. He is truly a dream muffin wrapped in a sex cookie, slathered in kissable icing. This example of peak human male somehow managed to escape from the laboratory where secret hansom scientists were hard at work developing the world’s most perfect orgasm machine. We use this example of heretofore unknowable human hunkitude to calibrate our REtMiWi 94000, to ensure it is set at the proper levels to most accurately grade all lesser “men” that come after. And to give the REtMiWi 94000 a little thrill, it’s genitals may be robotic, but they still work.

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =- 
Primary Employment: Chief Sewage Taster
Assets: $80,000 in outstanding student loans to a central Wisconsin Clown College/Bartending School and seven bankrupcies.

Mmmmmmm, well hello there healthy man. Your dark baggy eyes, that lickable moostache, that … hair. I can just hear the ladies lining up around the building to get a taste of that turkey neck. I guess with a mug like that, you had better have the best summer sausage in town, or at least a large one to feed the multitudes.

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =-
Primary Employment: Generalissimo of an Oil Dripping Island Republic
Assets: A standing national army of black ops trained ring tailed lemurs. $9 Billion in hoarded humanitarian aid.

Ancient peoples used to raise the “fire headed child” as a special being, a gift from god, handed down directly from his box of “extra good” children. They would pamper it, giving to it all of their tribe’s finest things: the freshest of the kill, the ripest of the gathering. Each morning the fire headed child would be roused from it’s slumber by the gentle rubbings of a smoothed stone across its cheek, and would be lulled to sleep by the hummings of the entire gathered village. Then, upon the dawning of its thirteenth year, or the sprouting of the first orange pube, each of the members of the tribe would gather up the rock that they had collected the day of the special one’s birth and rain the stones down upon the sun set locks of the cursed one, sacrificing the demon to their sky monster for the promise of good harvest for the coming season… And this dude kinda looks like a scary stalker chick…

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =-
Primary Employment: Actual Wizard
Assets: The eye of a newt, wing of a bat, a private castle in a non-rainy yet constantly thunderous hillside and all of the gold he can spin from the foolish townfolks’ foolishly discarded lead.

Howdy cowboy. Lets rustle up some pretty women, store them in your beehive-fro-velcro-patch and head on out on the dusty trail of love. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me, you can hear a gnat shit at a rock concert two states away Dumbo. I guess with all the extra money you’re earning sniffing out fugitives in the backwoods for the FBI, it’s no wonder the ladies are riding that underbite into the sunset.

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =-
Primary Employment: First Astronaut on Venus
Assets: A 300 pound, solid platinum Venus rock, secreted home from his self named continent summer home on the shore of the liquid nitrogen sea where he rules all he surveys.

You think you should have any self worth what so ever? Well shut the fuck up stupid, because you’re fuckin’ wrong as usual! This fuckin’ guy will tell you just exactly what the fuck is wrong with you, and your car, and that fucking bullshit matted pile of cum speckled brittle stringy knotted straw bale shit fuck you call a god damned hair do! It’s not his fucking fault that you can’t handle the god damned truth when it’s shouting right in your stupid, fucking, idiot, dumb fuck FACE! God you piss him off so much sometimes. And by sometimes he means all the fucking time.

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =-
Primary Employment: The Inventer of Money
Assets: A teddy bear from his stolen, and constantly longed for child hood. It is around this bear that any shred of human decency is ever seen in the gentle, innocent interactions he has with it when he thinks no one is watching. And a pile of cash that pokes the moon in the fucking eye.

Nothing smells more like the back of a windowless white creepy van than this guy, holy shit. Hey! Wait a minute! Nevermind. Uncle creepy drives up with offers of puppies and candy and a safe return home to mommy and daddy but you’re only left with Rorschach tests where everything looks like duct-tape, and crying fits whenever anyone mentions a Jolly Rancher. But hey it was worth it because powerful jawlines, red circled eyes and breath of wet kitty food is muy muy SEXXXY!

-= REtMiTi 94000 Value =-
Primary Employment: Time Traveler Bearing the Cures to all known disease.
Assets: A cache of future technology which every year he releases one piece of onto the home electronics market. A seven speed bionic tongue.

The Things We Do For Love

Love. It’ll make you do crazy things. Like, spell out your crush’s name in alphabet soup and text them a picture of it. Maybe hide little love notes in the Sunday classifieds. Or, if you’re really in love, cut off your beloved’s head in front of a school full of people fully not intending to be covered in neck juices today.

I read a lot of headlines when trying to come up with what I’m going to write about in a given day. Here at Van Full of Candy we do an article a day, rain or shine, every week day, without fail. That’s our promise, to you, the viewer. Sometimes the news is boring and it’s difficult to choose what to write about. I personally can only scream about my distrust of space and my legally frowned upon love of Justin Bieber so many times before I start attracting unwanted attention from swarthy, beautiful, Bieber Saucers from beyond the stars. And not again I say.

But scanning the news this afternoon I came upon this story: apparently a man in India beheaded a woman as she was leaving her classroom Wednesday.

"I am GOD here, my cud is final!"

Now, before we get into this, let me just say that I am in no way making light of the loss of life here. This is a horrible thing, without question and this lunatic should be dealt with in the most severe way that Indian courts allow. Which I assume is to feed him to a cow, if I understand my Indian culture correctly, which I almost certainly do not. Now with that out of the way, let me get back to the hahas.

The headline calls this man “lovesick”, which I can only assume is the nicest possible way the AP copy editor can phrase “batshit insane”. Apparently his main, discernible motivation, according to the police was that he so loved this woman that he had by now brutally murdered in one of the most violent and deliberate ways which one can murder another individual, but her parents would not allow them to marry. So naturally, he had to Highlander her. I don’t think you can in good conscience call a guy who bisects his love interest’s head from their body “lovesick” unless while in prison he is clinically diagnosed with a love sickness which causes the infected individual to believe that the removal of vital segments of the human body is the ultimate expression of emotional love for another not long living individual. So how about we not cutesy it up, ay Associated Press?

When flowers just won't do, say "I love you" with a Khykri.

Elsewhere in the brief article the “writer” goes on to say that the swordsman was arrested “on suspicion” of killing the victim and that he “allegedly” attacked her with a ceremonial curved weapon called a khykri. Now, I understand that in America we have to use certain words when describing the actions and perpetrator of said actions because of how our news media and justice system like to fuck with each other. But when you have a gentleman, holding a sword, next to a body with a now detached head that, in all likely hood, did not have that as a standard feature moments before, surrounded by blood soaked students, holding onto this lunatic until police could arrive, and who is now explaining to the police that he had ALSO intended to kill himself, I think it’s fairly safe to drop any sort of lingering suspicion as to whether or not he’s responsible for the untimely weight loss of the student at our feet.

But along with these questions I have of the lax hiring practices at the Associated Press, when I read something like this, I can’t help but have dozens of other, admittedly sort of morbid, but still I think valid questions, come to mind. How, for instance, this guy was just able to waltz onto this campus, what ever size it was, with a ceremonial knife and slicin’ on his mind. I realize this isn’t metal detector high school like we have here in America, but still, a guy with a special blade should draw some kind of attention. Or how this guy running around the halls with a commemorative sword was able to walk right up to this woman and just take her head for a ride BEFORE anyone thought it might be a good idea to make sure she was expecting a meeting between her throat and his simitar. OR, and this is the biggie, as the story simply says “Authorities say the blade sliced her head off and she died instantly” how the fuck the particulars of this case exactly went down. When I think beheading I think of a long drawn out process involving a sawing like motion. I don’t generally think Kill Bill style, slow motion mid air head flipping following one swift, dramatic stroke. Granted, I haven’t seen a lot of beheadings lately, so maybe I’m not the expect on how tenaciously the spine clings to the brain stem, but I expected those bones in our neck were there for more than just show.

You know what, I don’t know what to think about any of this or even why I think it. I just know that clearly, I’ve never truly loved in what I generously call my “life” because not once have I ever entertained the thought of making something six inches shorter because I was told I couldn’t have it… Maybe I just don’t know how to love hard enough.