Food

South Korean Woman Earns Big On Her Webcam: Just Eating, Not The Other Thing

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When you think of ladies and webcam financial success, you would not be wrong to imagine it involving lewd conduct upon themselves: it’s the internet after all. But in South Korea, mok-bang, or “eating broadcast” is an actual thing that some make actual money doing.

Originally posted on Your Daily Media

Americans love food. We also love exhibitionism, and God and food, and technology and eating. So why is it that when I hear about a woman making $9000 a month eating in front of a webcam for hours on end, it’s coming out of South Korea? Wait, that sort of answers itself…

Don’t try to understand, just watch the yum!

“Mok-bang” (roughly translated to “Eating Broadcast”) super-star: Park Seo-yeon, does things you wouldn’t BELIEVE on her webcam: like get paid to eat elaborate home made meals. I didn’t know that was a thing, but apparently it’s a six figure income kind of thing in South Korea. And before we start throwing our American filth minds at this whole thing, she does it fully clothed, with no hint of depravity (I mean, besides gluttony, which certainly does it for some). But while, (like American webcam watchers) she’s watched by lonely shut-ins, the South Koreans watch partly if not mostly to alleviate the loneliness of the apparently “extremely common” one-person households prevalent in the country.

“People enjoy the vicarious pleasure of my online show,” Seo-yeon told reporters between lucrative bites. “When they can’t eat that much, don’t want to eat food at night, or are on a diet.”

Seo-yeon, seen not dieting: for her fans.

Seo-yeon earns those big voyeuristic mastication bucks on Afreeca TV, where viewers tip her using “Star Balloons” a virtual currency sold in denominations ranging from $1 to $50.

So while I might initially suggest “mok-bang” as an appetizing way for out-of-work Americans to start their own weird online business, I just know that, being Americans, we would ruin it somehow and… Wait, I’m sorry Internet, what’s that? “Feeder porn” you say? What is this “feeder porn”? — Aww, damn it America! Can you not have already ruined EVERYTHING long before I even knew it existed?! Well, there goes my appetite…

Nom-nom-cha-ching!

via: Your Daily Media

From Rage Oranges To Shame Milk — Family: Who Needs It?

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“If I wanted to see mammals feeding their young with their own self producing lactic fluids I’d go to a god damned zoo and “Awww” at its adorable quaintness on the other side of plexiglass where it belongs! Now feed my wife this god damned hand pealed citrus or I’ll murder every last one of us!”

Has this ever happened to you? If you have a family this kind of scene plays out to your horror each and every day until you’re finally murdered for feeding someone the wrong produce. I’ve never trusted family. I have always seen them as challengers to my resources and an attachment to any one of them as a liability waiting to be exploited. But that’s just how I was raised.

Breasts are a thing to be ashamed of. We all know this. This is accepted as science fact Alpha 0. The feeding of a child in public, especially those that are not your own, is also recognized accepted as a wholly embarrassing and reprehensible act. When you combine the two you are left with the single biggest assault on the senses of those that have every opportunity to not witness it by the simple turn of their head.

You should be ASHAMED of yourself!
You should be ASHAMED of yourself!

For some reason breasts and the feeding from thereof has a very polarizing effect on otherwise crazily irrational people or “people” as they’re more commonly known. And once again “Sesame Street” is in the middle of another divider of the masses. Just like Muppets to stick their bulbous, brightly colored felt noses on another hot button and stir the shit. Except for the fact that they’re actually not, but that’s beside the point.

Like a couple months ago when busy bodies started circulating a petition trying to encourage the Sesames to out Bert and Ernie, the public broadcasting children’s show is being dragged into another issue by people who should really have better things to do with their time. This time it’s a petition asking “Sesame Street” to promote breast feeding, as they apparently had in the 70s and 80s with two separate segments involving teat suckling and the supposed “normalcy” and “naturality” of the clearly despicable act.

The squeamish, who recognize boobies and their practical use as the abomination that they are, are uncomfortable with children being exposed to such depravity. They understand the slippery slope that nourishing titty sucking is. First you ingest sustenance from your mother as your kind have since you’ve had a kind, then before you know it you’ve moved on to sucking off terrorist in welfare parking lots for crack drugs! Or something.

I personally don’t care for either side of the issue. If you want your children to be taught that nip sips are okay, then, you know, why not tell them yourself. You’re already asking the TV box to teach them to read and count and bright flashy colors loud noise buy this toy! Why not take a role in letting them know that you’re not a sex offender for feeding their baby brother.

And to those that are so mesmerized by the disgusting act of a mother keeping their child alive with the very liquid provided by their biology to do just that thing, that they can’t stop staring at it in disgust whenever it’s never happening all the time right not in front of their faces; I simply want to say: calm down. It’s not “gross”, it isn’t effecting your existence in any way what so ever, and even if the images of an oblong blanket being held to a woman’s chest were broadcast through space and into your living room, you are still entitled to decide for your own self whether or not to watch it intently, seething at its appearance on your baby sitter, or to change the channel and seethe at the fact that it could be appearancing on someone else’s picture tube somewhere else in the world. Or maybe you could settle the fuck down for half a god damned second and realize that you’re wasting your entire life hating things that are none of your fucking business.

Meanwhile: Orange you glad I shot your sisters?!

Police in Ohio believe that a family murder-suicide was the result of a dispute over an orange, peeled specifically to be fed to a dying wife and sister, that went un-served.

Now who will eat my delicious fruit!?
Now who will eat my delicious fruit!?

I’m willing to bet that there was probably more leading up to this that more directly related to the killing spree than the waste of a juicy mandarin, but in this story it seems to be the only factor involved, so I’m just going to assume that this Paul David Gilkey, a man who served a ten year prison sentence for “beating a man to death with a fence post in 1974” and in 1986 “allegedly stabbed his own father” was an otherwise well-adjusted individual who simply could not abide the disuse of a perfectly edible piece of fruit which he himself delicately peeled in anticipation of its imminent ingestion.

“They had given Darlene a meal, toast and I believe a banana, toast and tea prior and when [Paul] already had an orange peeled for her and that seemed to be the issue that spurred [Paul] to his rampage,” said Hocking County Sheriff Lanny North.

An Orange dispute is clearly the only explanation. And the only answer to this injustice is the assassination of his terminal wife’s two sisters, their son and himself. I mean, that goes without saying I would think.

Gilkey’s cousin told reporters that Paul had been “showing signs of instability” but NATURALLY thought that that would only manifest “after his wife had passes” and would NATURALLY only be “self-inflicted”. Because an instable individual with a history of fence post murdering and the stabbing of family members, MUCH more immediate than in-laws, will NATURALLY not be a danger to anyone but themselves if a vexing fruit dispute were to arise.

Family: you can’t squeeze milk from their torso sacks without enraging someone with full control of their necks and you can’t shoot them all because they selfishly didn’t cram the food you prepared for one of them into the intended face.

US Army Vet Un-invites Cameron Diaz to “Fondue Fun Night”, Invites Zach Galifianakis

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The Marines are bringin' sexy back

Holy crap !! When I read today that Justin Timberlake had attended the Marine Corps Ball over the weekend, I thought “Oh my GAWD, did I accidentally stand up Cameron Diaz?”. For whatever crazy reason, I forgot to put the Fondue Fun Night at The Melting Pot in my calendar, but in a fortunate scheduling miracle, I had made the occasion on the same night as the OTHER Marine Corps Ball, the one where Mila Kunis will be attending on November 18th. Phhhhhhhhhhhhew !! I read that JT had an incredible time with his YouTube date even going so far as saying, “Last night changed my life, and I will never forget it!”, just as Fondue Fun Night will change your life Cameron, I swear it !!

Now, granted, I acknowledge the fact that Cam-Cam hasn’t “replied” to my video invite “officially” yet via YouTube or/and an email, a phone call, a comment in these posts, a middle finger, ANYTHING, etc., but I know how busy these celebrity types are with their movies, and their interviews, and their money, all that fucking money. I’m sure it was just an accidental oversight on her part, or her assistant’s part, or her publicist’s part, or maybe her camera phone hasn’t been working lately. It’s ok … I don’t mind waiting around for a reply, I’ll just sit here and … hmmmmmm … you know what? Forget her !! Now that I look back to see when the initial invite went out, it’s been over four months now !! That’s just DAMN RUDE CAMERON DIAZ !! So as of right this minute on today’s date, I am retracting my invitation to you Cameron, sorry, but I’m also a entertainment professional, and I just cant be strung on like this, so, it’s off. I’m very sorry.

So, I’m going to change my invite to somebody who won’t act so unprofessional by toying with one’s emotions. Here’s my NEW video invite …

VFoC Video — "US Army Vet Un-invites Cameron Diaz to "Fondue Fun Night", Invites Zach Galifianakis"

Posted on

The Marines are bringin' sexy back

Holy crap !! When I read today that Justin Timberlake had attended the Marine Corps Ball over the weekend, I thought “Oh my GAWD, did I accidentally stand up Cameron Diaz?”. For whatever crazy reason, I forgot to put the Fondue Fun Night at The Melting Pot in my calendar, but in a fortunate scheduling miracle, I had made the occasion on the same night as the OTHER Marine Corps Ball, the one where Mila Kunis will be attending on November 18th. Phhhhhhhhhhhhew !! I read that JT had an incredible time with his YouTube date even going so far as saying, “Last night changed my life, and I will never forget it!”, just as Fondue Fun Night will change your life Cameron, I swear it !!

Now, granted, I acknowledge the fact that Cam-Cam hasn’t “replied” to my video invite “officially” yet via YouTube or/and an email, a phone call, a comment in these posts, a middle finger, ANYTHING, etc., but I know how busy these celebrity types are with their movies, and their interviews, and their money, all that fucking money. I’m sure it was just an accidental oversight on her part, or her assistant’s part, or her publicist’s part, or maybe her camera phone hasn’t been working lately. It’s ok … I don’t mind waiting around for a reply, I’ll just sit here and … hmmmmmm … you know what? Forget her !! Now that I look back to see when the initial invite went out, it’s been over four months now !! That’s just DAMN RUDE CAMERON DIAZ !! So as of right this minute on today’s date, I am retracting my invitation to you Cameron, sorry, but I’m also a entertainment professional, and I just cant be strung on like this, so, it’s off. I’m very sorry.

So, I’m going to change my invite to somebody who won’t act so unprofessional by toying with one’s emotions. Here’s my NEW video invite …

Not Even Melon Sex is Safe Anymore

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Fresh from your grocer's aisle !!

Gone are the days of a good ‘ol fashion melon pounding thanks to this latest punishment to the people, bestowed upon us by a spiteful and vengeful god. You know, I really don’t understand how a melon STD outbreak is even possible, let alone fair. I mean, what the hell is ‘listeria’ anyway? It’s not like I’m out coveting my neighbor’s wife, or out killing people for no apparent reason. All I’m doing is taking a succulent, juicy, perfectly round, sexy melon and making sweet sweet love to it, and for that I’m gonna be treated like a scene out of Magnolia? Well isn’t THAT some bullshit ??

Lets start this from the beginning shall we? Many years ago as I found myself with several hours of nothing to do alone in my house, I stumbled upon a website that gave many “fresh ideas” on how to pleasure one’s self. There were many, many, MANY ideas to try, so being the dedicated researcher that I am, I had to at least test a FEW of them out, you know … for science.

I ventured out on an exciting and naughty “melon-quest” and after several hours of pickyness, I purchased a fine melon from my local grocer. Sex-melons need to be the correct size to one’s anatomy, as to not bottom out on the old gal and cheating yourself out of the full experience. So for those of you taking notes, the bigger the better (you could go as big as a watermelon but those things get a little out of control once you start making out). I then took my new “girlfriend” home and placed her out in the sun for a couple hours to let her get nice and hot on the inside (it’s not a necessary step, but it’s so worth it, trust me). You then carefully take your paring knife and carve a hole right on the … Oh wait? What??!!

Well this is awkward, I was just told that people are getting sick and dying from EATING melons that are infected with ‘listeria’, so yeah, go ahead and forget all that other stuff that I was talking about, that was all just a little fun-time joke for the blog.

HOLY BASTARD! It’s American Cheese Month!

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I love two things in this sad mockery of an existence that I do charitably call a life. One is the sound a human soul makes when a person finally realizes that none of their life’s ambiti0ns will ever be met and that their entire being has been one long string of lies to themselves promising a better day in some mythical “tomorrow” that will not only never come, but had never even been in the first place. And the other is cheese.

So why the shit am I just now finding out that October, THIS October, the one that we’re in right the fuck now, has been declared by no lesser body than the American Cheese Society to be the first annual “American Cheese Month”!? Huh? HUH?! Oh yes it is. You look that shit up!

Where? Where might you look up information on American Cheese Month you ask? Where might news and information about this most wondrous of celebrations be hidden on the internets? So difficult, nigh impossible to find, buried in all of the complexities of cryptic URLs? Well, only at AMERICANCHEESEMONTHDOTMUTHAFUCKIN’ORG! It’s been right there the whole damned time and nobody even bothered to tell me!? Fuckers!

You know who loves cheese more than me? Do you have a guess? Go on, guess. No, go on, I’ll give you one guess. You know what, I’ll give you a million guesses. I’ll give you 7 billion guesses. You could name every other human being on this planet, living or undead and each and every guess would be the fuck wrong! Because NOBODY is the answer! Nobody loves cheese more than I do. No ten men combined love cheese even a hundredth as much as I do! If you took the next hundred men who love cheese less than me, and stacked them all, one after another on top of each others shoulders, I would punch them in the fucking nuts and yell “I LOVE CHEESE!” in their stupid non-cheese loving faces!

You know how much you love breathing? That’s ALMOST as much as I love cheese!

I love cheese like diabetics hate feet!

This is the most adorably small of my cheese pantries...
This is the most adorably small of my cheese pantries...

So here I am, over a third of the way through this glorious month of cheese celebration, I have all of this lost cheese time to make up and by god, I’m going to attack cheese with a fury unmatched by any of my previous innumerous cheese gorging sessions on record. I already eat an unreasonable amount of cheese. Give me a REASON to do so without limit and I will do dangerous things to my colon. Tell me that I’ve MISSED almost two weeks of cheesy self abuse and there is no hope for me and in lieu of flowers you should send gifts of cheese to my grave because I will still be cramming cheese down my eat hole a full 96 hours after I’ve been declared clinically, legally and in all other ways deceased.

And like I, this grotesque cheese monster that I am, need any sort of guidance on how I should abuse my innards with cheese, the article that informed me of the existence of this month long Cheesebration offers some suggestions of how to worship this most holy of milk based food stuffs.

1. Visit a local cheese maker and watch how cheese is made.

Doom says “Pah!” I don’t need to sit outside a plexiglass room in a paper surgical mask while some high falutin’ Cheeseologist punches a cow in the teets until a springer spaniel dressed like a garden gnome scares itself with its own fart — I KNOW how cheese is made!

2. Find out if you’re local grocery store carries any local cheeses. If they do, buy one instead of your normal block of cheddar from the dairy aisle.

You son of a bitch. Are you trying to tell me how to buy cheese? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? I’ve had cheeses that could kill a man like you, don’t you presume, City Jim, that a sniveling hamster turd like you could ever lecture me on cheese selection! Don’t you DARE!

3. Follow the cheese trail. Like a wine trail, a cheese trail takes you from one cheese producer to the next — all located close to each other.

Clearly this list is being put together for babies, because if you think I haven’t stalked every cheese maker within’ driving distance to the point of physical expulsion and permanent banishment from their premises already, then you just don’t understand a passion for cheese which has resulted in multiple bullet riddled misunderstandings.

4. Make your own cheese. Mozzarella cheese is considered one of the easiest cheeses for beginners to make.

You want me to make a what? Mozzarella? You’re telling me to make a mozzarella?! Fuck a mozzarella! I made my first mozzarella in my first trimester! You know what I want to make? I wanna make a Fahlshmacher! Without question THE single most difficult cheese to master. And do you know what makes a Fahlshmacher so difficult to make? The fact that it doesn’t even exist since I just made it the fuck up! Mozzarella?! I’ll barbeque my entire taint before I waste your time and MINE on a god damned mozzarella!

And the rest of the list just goes on like that with suggestions like ordering cheese for desert, trying goat cheese, “Attend or host a wine and cheese tasting” AND “Attend or host a beer and cheese tasting” as two separate suggestions because this fraud couldn’t even come up with ten cheese related things to do without just changing one word and calling it journalism! He even suggests following a cheese blog. Sir, I AM a cheese blog.

But it was his final suggestion that nearly led to the deaths of all of those around me by the sheer power of my radiated anger.

10. Build a better grilled cheese sandwich.

Uuuh-UH--GGUHHH! ... Okay, gonna need fresh pants...
Uuuh-UH--GGUHHH! ... Okay, gonna need fresh pants...

You sir, come to my home, slap around my wife, urinate on my children and violate my furniture in ways that it was not expressly built to be inserted, and you have the gall to not only tell me to build a better grilled chee, but to then include ANOTHER link to a list of ten grilled cheese sammiches. The spontaneous explosion of a Queensland Primary school class egret named “Falkland” went largely unreported this afternoon, but I know it happened, since I spent the next sixty-eight minutes after reading this suggestion concentrating all of my rage and anger unto that poor animal. And in it’s final moments, it knew, it understood and it high fived me through the astral plane knowing that it’s explosion would not be in vain.

Don’t you talk to me about grilled chee creation. I AM grilled chee creation! I invent more grilled chee variations before my morning grunt and splash than all of the rest of the greatest minds in the grilled chee sciences have since the invention of fired sandwiches!

I’m sorry. This was not how I wanted to begin my celebration of cheese in all of its splendiferous forms. I simply wanted to inform you that you should be taking this opportunity to embrace this wonder food in its specially designated block of time. Expand your cheesy horizons. Savor its goodness. I did not intend to launch my observance of the thirty one days of cheese by psychically detonating a beloved school room mascot. But I am that fucking serious about this.

I love cheese…

HOLY BASTARD! It's American Cheese Month!

Posted on

I love two things in this sad mockery of an existence that I do charitably call a life. One is the sound a human soul makes when a person finally realizes that none of their life’s ambiti0ns will ever be met and that their entire being has been one long string of lies to themselves promising a better day in some mythical “tomorrow” that will not only never come, but had never even been in the first place. And the other is cheese.

So why the shit am I just now finding out that October, THIS October, the one that we’re in right the fuck now, has been declared by no lesser body than the American Cheese Society to be the first annual “American Cheese Month”!? Huh? HUH?! Oh yes it is. You look that shit up!

Where? Where might you look up information on American Cheese Month you ask? Where might news and information about this most wondrous of celebrations be hidden on the internets? So difficult, nigh impossible to find, buried in all of the complexities of cryptic URLs? Well, only at AMERICANCHEESEMONTHDOTMUTHAFUCKIN’ORG! It’s been right there the whole damned time and nobody even bothered to tell me!? Fuckers!

You know who loves cheese more than me? Do you have a guess? Go on, guess. No, go on, I’ll give you one guess. You know what, I’ll give you a million guesses. I’ll give you 7 billion guesses. You could name every other human being on this planet, living or undead and each and every guess would be the fuck wrong! Because NOBODY is the answer! Nobody loves cheese more than I do. No ten men combined love cheese even a hundredth as much as I do! If you took the next hundred men who love cheese less than me, and stacked them all, one after another on top of each others shoulders, I would punch them in the fucking nuts and yell “I LOVE CHEESE!” in their stupid non-cheese loving faces!

You know how much you love breathing? That’s ALMOST as much as I love cheese!

I love cheese like diabetics hate feet!

This is the most adorably small of my cheese pantries...
This is the most adorably small of my cheese pantries...

So here I am, over a third of the way through this glorious month of cheese celebration, I have all of this lost cheese time to make up and by god, I’m going to attack cheese with a fury unmatched by any of my previous innumerous cheese gorging sessions on record. I already eat an unreasonable amount of cheese. Give me a REASON to do so without limit and I will do dangerous things to my colon. Tell me that I’ve MISSED almost two weeks of cheesy self abuse and there is no hope for me and in lieu of flowers you should send gifts of cheese to my grave because I will still be cramming cheese down my eat hole a full 96 hours after I’ve been declared clinically, legally and in all other ways deceased.

And like I, this grotesque cheese monster that I am, need any sort of guidance on how I should abuse my innards with cheese, the article that informed me of the existence of this month long Cheesebration offers some suggestions of how to worship this most holy of milk based food stuffs.

1. Visit a local cheese maker and watch how cheese is made.

Doom says “Pah!” I don’t need to sit outside a plexiglass room in a paper surgical mask while some high falutin’ Cheeseologist punches a cow in the teets until a springer spaniel dressed like a garden gnome scares itself with its own fart — I KNOW how cheese is made!

2. Find out if you’re local grocery store carries any local cheeses. If they do, buy one instead of your normal block of cheddar from the dairy aisle.

You son of a bitch. Are you trying to tell me how to buy cheese? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? I’ve had cheeses that could kill a man like you, don’t you presume, City Jim, that a sniveling hamster turd like you could ever lecture me on cheese selection! Don’t you DARE!

3. Follow the cheese trail. Like a wine trail, a cheese trail takes you from one cheese producer to the next — all located close to each other.

Clearly this list is being put together for babies, because if you think I haven’t stalked every cheese maker within’ driving distance to the point of physical expulsion and permanent banishment from their premises already, then you just don’t understand a passion for cheese which has resulted in multiple bullet riddled misunderstandings.

4. Make your own cheese. Mozzarella cheese is considered one of the easiest cheeses for beginners to make.

You want me to make a what? Mozzarella? You’re telling me to make a mozzarella?! Fuck a mozzarella! I made my first mozzarella in my first trimester! You know what I want to make? I wanna make a Fahlshmacher! Without question THE single most difficult cheese to master. And do you know what makes a Fahlshmacher so difficult to make? The fact that it doesn’t even exist since I just made it the fuck up! Mozzarella?! I’ll barbeque my entire taint before I waste your time and MINE on a god damned mozzarella!

And the rest of the list just goes on like that with suggestions like ordering cheese for desert, trying goat cheese, “Attend or host a wine and cheese tasting” AND “Attend or host a beer and cheese tasting” as two separate suggestions because this fraud couldn’t even come up with ten cheese related things to do without just changing one word and calling it journalism! He even suggests following a cheese blog. Sir, I AM a cheese blog.

But it was his final suggestion that nearly led to the deaths of all of those around me by the sheer power of my radiated anger.

10. Build a better grilled cheese sandwich.

Uuuh-UH--GGUHHH! ... Okay, gonna need fresh pants...
Uuuh-UH--GGUHHH! ... Okay, gonna need fresh pants...

You sir, come to my home, slap around my wife, urinate on my children and violate my furniture in ways that it was not expressly built to be inserted, and you have the gall to not only tell me to build a better grilled chee, but to then include ANOTHER link to a list of ten grilled cheese sammiches. The spontaneous explosion of a Queensland Primary school class egret named “Falkland” went largely unreported this afternoon, but I know it happened, since I spent the next sixty-eight minutes after reading this suggestion concentrating all of my rage and anger unto that poor animal. And in it’s final moments, it knew, it understood and it high fived me through the astral plane knowing that it’s explosion would not be in vain.

Don’t you talk to me about grilled chee creation. I AM grilled chee creation! I invent more grilled chee variations before my morning grunt and splash than all of the rest of the greatest minds in the grilled chee sciences have since the invention of fired sandwiches!

I’m sorry. This was not how I wanted to begin my celebration of cheese in all of its splendiferous forms. I simply wanted to inform you that you should be taking this opportunity to embrace this wonder food in its specially designated block of time. Expand your cheesy horizons. Savor its goodness. I did not intend to launch my observance of the thirty one days of cheese by psychically detonating a beloved school room mascot. But I am that fucking serious about this.

I love cheese…

A Priest, A Rabbi and an iPhone 5 Walk Into a Bar …

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Ahhh, just have one more ... what's it gonna hurt ??

… the bartender says, “What’ll it be fellas?”. The iPhone says, “I don’t know about these two stiffs, but I wanna tie one on and go home with a stranger.”.

Ok, so WTF Apple employees? This is beginning to be some sort of alcohol induced habit. You get your prototype, you go out drinking, and you leave that shit on the bar? Come on !!

For those of you who haven’t heard yet, an iPhone 5 prototype was left in a Tequila bar in the Mission District of San Francisco, Cava 22. After researching this bar, only for the purposes of this story obviously, I’ve uncovered that the place is alive with Mariachi bands and margaritas, so I guess I could see how one would “lose” their top secret, priceless, iPhone 5 prototype in the midst of happy hour (from 4-7pm), tequila shots, music, laughing and the occasional fiesta induced shoulder shimmy with the cute stranger next to you. The phone was then sold on Craigslist for a measly $200 to an unknown party. The phone was electronically tracked down to a residence in San Francisco, but the person living there denies knowing anything about the phone. Yeah right!

And our next song is called "El Stupido Engineero"

Now lets shift our focus on the abundant conspiracies that emerge from this “mistake”.

1. “The Obvious” – In an attempt to create another iPhone release frenzy (since this happened with the iPhone 4 last year), Steve Jobs (or maybe even me now), gives one of his engineers a prototype iPhone, a crisp $100 bill, and then tells this patsy to go out on the town, have a little fun and, whoopsie, accidentally leave it on the bar before he takes his drunk ass home in a cab.

2. “The Over Your Limit” – In an attempt to get some free advertising for their restaurant, an opportunistic Cava 22 manager overhears the engineer bragging about how he has the new iPhone 5 prototype on his person. Said manager then secretly tells the bartender to make this Apple geek’s drinks a little bit stronger than usual, and offering him the occasional celebratory shot of tequila until he can’t stand on his own. The manager calls a cab for the drunkard engineer and pick-pockets him as he helps him towards the cab outside.

3. “The Whore Theory” – The iPhone 5, always playing second fiddle to it’s hot sister the iPhone 4, decides in a fit of rage, and body image issues, to turn to a life of harlotry. She jumps from the pocket of the drunk engineer, lands on the bar, and sells herself for $200 on Craigslist for a USB insertion fix of being charged to 100%. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, that’ll take the edge off.

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

Posted on Updated on

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 2011 Van Haiku Prizeocalypse!

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Hey! Remember the Haiku contest? Oh, those were the days, we were all so young.

Well, for those that don’t and don’t care enough to look through the archives to find it. We had a contest in which participants submitted their best Van themed Haiku. And after weeks of heated competition and literally ten of entries, on April 11th, we crowned Debapom Saha’s stirring #FriendsForever, the winner of the Van Full of Candy 2011 Van Haiku Contest!

And there was much celebration. Promises were made. We inserted Debapom’s winning Haiku into all of our web presences, our home page, our twitterer our book of faces, et al, etc, chicka boom. Of course we also promised a candy prize to both him and either of the runners ups who felt comfortable giving us their addresses.

Well, finally after months of deliberation and careful, painstaking sifting through the back of our van in search of candies not already open and half eaten we found the least sticky and mysterious of our stock, boxed it up and sent it through the United States Postal Service to Debapom Saha and runner up Scott Petty.

Yesterday, they arrived.

Crammed tightly inside a medium sized Priority Mail flat rate box and addressed to Debapom was THIS diabetes grenade:

The grand prize winner's haul!
The grand prize winner's haul!

 So delicious, it pained me to send it all away, but a promise is a promise… And two days later…

A gracious winner after our own heart...
A gracious winner after our own heart...

Recognising exactly what he had on his hands; a candy van started kit, it seemed Debapom had fully embraced his new life’s path…

Uh-huh... Thou doth protest too much...
Uh-huh... Thou doth protest too much...

A wink is as good as a nod to a blind man Debapom…

Meanwhile, almost simultaneously, runner up Scott Petty received his prize…

That's right ladies, come 'n get me!
That's right ladies, come 'n get me!

 … and immediately put one half of the team what rewarded him, in mortal danger of having all of his beautiful lady fans send him sexy packages full of sexyness and yum. Then upon tearing open his consolation prize what to his wondering eyes did appear?

Yea verily! Have at thee dental work!
Yea verily! Have at thee dental work!

But the God of Thunder with an extendable throat full of Odin’s Treats and a seemingly endless supply of Asgardian Power Rectangle refills!

And our promise was fulfilled. Sure, it took a little while, but we made it happen, because we at Van Full of Candy are as good as our word!

We’re looking forward to putting together another ridiculous contest in the possibly near future. What it’ll be, we have no idea, but we’ll take any excuse to interact with you, our loyal fans. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to drop us a line, either here, or facebook or twitter, where ever you find us.

Anyway, thanks again for your participation and your patience Debapom and Scott and thanks to everybody for reading and watching, we really do appreciate it. Things are just going to continue to get bigger and better, so stick around and tell everyone you meet!

The Van’s a comin’! And we’re bringin’ Candy with us! Ya hear me!? We’re bringin’ Candy with us!