Movies

Well, Tomorrow’s One Better, Isn’t it?

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Every year there’s a magic number date that the numerological treat special because completely by accident the calendar did something interesting. Most of the time I couldn’t care less and silently root for the passing of this magical day so that I don’t have to hear about it again for another hundred years. But this year is different, this year actually IS special? Why? What makes this year’s coincidental chrono peculiarity more special than previous years? Simple: I care about it. And that makes all the difference in the world.

Tomorrow is the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the eleventh year of this twenty first century. The century does nothing to help this holiday, so it was scarcely worth mentioning, but I did it anyway because I have no control over the things that my brain tells my fingers to clickity clack. The important thing is that, if you’ve been listening to my points between the pointless, tomorrow is 11/11/11.

These etherial whisps just want to show you a good time. Now let's shimmy out of those pants, mortal.
These etherial whisps just want to show you a good time. Now let’s shimmy out of those pants, mortal.

Believers in new age mysticism and synchronicity will no doubt have their crystals all shiny and at the ready tomorrow, primed to the optimus for the opening of an intradimensional gateway at the stroke of 11:11:11 am when all 1,111 “fun loving” Spirit Guardians will pour into our plane of existence handing out puppies and chocolate to all the good little boys and girls and giving hand jobs to the less fortunate. No shaky oldling will go unhelped across the street and everyone will win the lottery! Twice! And if you don’t believe that the world around you is flooded with billions of highly trained invisible Celestial beings here to assist you with all of your every day needs, then you’re missin’ out Jack! I haven’t had to blend my own iced cocktail in years because they just love doin’ it for me, I feel like a dick any time I do anything for myself!

But that’s not why I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s accidentidate, not that I don’t enjoy a good chocolate hand job, because I do, it’s two great tastes that taste great together. For me, tomorrow is important because of one 1984 film which was brave enough to ask the question, “How much more black could this be?” and wise enough to answer, “None, none more black.”

For tomorrow, the eleventh day of November in the year of our lost something eleven; is Nigel Tufnel day.

For those of you that don’t know and love “This is Spinal Tap”, shut up. Shut up and never speak to me about anything you deem important ever again because you have forfeit your right to be taken seriously for the rest of what you charitably call your life. For those that do honor and obey the film, thank you for your service to your country, you’re a true patriot and may the sound track of your life always be in doubly.

Tonight we're gonna rock you, tonight!
Tonight we’re gonna rock you, tonight!

You may say that you’ve never seen, never heard of, and never liked Spinal Tap, but I’ll bet dollars to other, rounder dollars, that at some point in your life you have heard, or even used yourself, the term or slight variation of, “This one goes to eleven.” In which case, you are worshiping at the altar of Nigel Tufnel and the almighty Tap, which is why tomorrow will be, for me and millions like me, a celebration of the Majesty of Rock, and to a slightly lesser extent, the mystery of roll. My only regret for tomorrow is in not having the forethought when I began working on ‘staching my visage for the month of Movember, to grow a magnificent “Derek Smalls”, and now I feel like an idiot… AND I have a mustache…

But celebrate I shall and persevere I must, for tomorrow is quite possibly the single most important day in the history of all of… history… not to put it in too much fucking perspective now. Unfortunately it looks like too few others put it in the proper perspective as a quick Fandango search revealed no showings of “This is Spinal Tap” in the Los Angeles area tomorrow so it’s up to me to plan my own little celebration and recognition of this holy of holies, which I’m sharing with you in the hopes that you will adopt it as your own.

I will be spending the day in my favorite t-shirt depicting a 100% accurate reproduction of my skeleton, doing everything as hard, loud and dumb as I can, and when I get home and settle in with some appropriately proportioned sandwiches and properly stuffed olives, I am going to back time my “This is Spinal Tap” DVD so that at exactly 11:11 pm tomorrow night the famous dialogue exchange in question will announce to every Midwayer standing imperceptibly by my side at the ready to assist in anything I may need, that everything will be all right. Because when others are all the way up with no where else to go, I know that when ever I need that extra push over the cliff, I can just reach down for that one louder, on this day more than any other.

But if that doesn’t work, I could always use a chocolate handy to brighten up my day…

Maybe these new age folks are on to something with this thing that I just invented that they believe in…

Happy Nigel Tufnel Day everybody!

Well, Tomorrow's One Better, Isn't it?

Posted on

Every year there’s a magic number date that the numerological treat special because completely by accident the calendar did something interesting. Most of the time I couldn’t care less and silently root for the passing of this magical day so that I don’t have to hear about it again for another hundred years. But this year is different, this year actually IS special? Why? What makes this year’s coincidental chrono peculiarity more special than previous years? Simple: I care about it. And that makes all the difference in the world.

Tomorrow is the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the eleventh year of this twenty first century. The century does nothing to help this holiday, so it was scarcely worth mentioning, but I did it anyway because I have no control over the things that my brain tells my fingers to clickity clack. The important thing is that, if you’ve been listening to my points between the pointless, tomorrow is 11/11/11.

These etherial whisps just want to show you a good time. Now let's shimmy out of those pants, mortal.
These etherial whisps just want to show you a good time. Now let’s shimmy out of those pants, mortal.

Believers in new age mysticism and synchronicity will no doubt have their crystals all shiny and at the ready tomorrow, primed to the optimus for the opening of an intradimensional gateway at the stroke of 11:11:11 am when all 1,111 “fun loving” Spirit Guardians will pour into our plane of existence handing out puppies and chocolate to all the good little boys and girls and giving hand jobs to the less fortunate. No shaky oldling will go unhelped across the street and everyone will win the lottery! Twice! And if you don’t believe that the world around you is flooded with billions of highly trained invisible Celestial beings here to assist you with all of your every day needs, then you’re missin’ out Jack! I haven’t had to blend my own iced cocktail in years because they just love doin’ it for me, I feel like a dick any time I do anything for myself!

But that’s not why I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s accidentidate, not that I don’t enjoy a good chocolate hand job, because I do, it’s two great tastes that taste great together. For me, tomorrow is important because of one 1984 film which was brave enough to ask the question, “How much more black could this be?” and wise enough to answer, “None, none more black.”

For tomorrow, the eleventh day of November in the year of our lost something eleven; is Nigel Tufnel day.

For those of you that don’t know and love “This is Spinal Tap”, shut up. Shut up and never speak to me about anything you deem important ever again because you have forfeit your right to be taken seriously for the rest of what you charitably call your life. For those that do honor and obey the film, thank you for your service to your country, you’re a true patriot and may the sound track of your life always be in doubly.

Tonight we're gonna rock you, tonight!
Tonight we’re gonna rock you, tonight!

You may say that you’ve never seen, never heard of, and never liked Spinal Tap, but I’ll bet dollars to other, rounder dollars, that at some point in your life you have heard, or even used yourself, the term or slight variation of, “This one goes to eleven.” In which case, you are worshiping at the altar of Nigel Tufnel and the almighty Tap, which is why tomorrow will be, for me and millions like me, a celebration of the Majesty of Rock, and to a slightly lesser extent, the mystery of roll. My only regret for tomorrow is in not having the forethought when I began working on ‘staching my visage for the month of Movember, to grow a magnificent “Derek Smalls”, and now I feel like an idiot… AND I have a mustache…

But celebrate I shall and persevere I must, for tomorrow is quite possibly the single most important day in the history of all of… history… not to put it in too much fucking perspective now. Unfortunately it looks like too few others put it in the proper perspective as a quick Fandango search revealed no showings of “This is Spinal Tap” in the Los Angeles area tomorrow so it’s up to me to plan my own little celebration and recognition of this holy of holies, which I’m sharing with you in the hopes that you will adopt it as your own.

I will be spending the day in my favorite t-shirt depicting a 100% accurate reproduction of my skeleton, doing everything as hard, loud and dumb as I can, and when I get home and settle in with some appropriately proportioned sandwiches and properly stuffed olives, I am going to back time my “This is Spinal Tap” DVD so that at exactly 11:11 pm tomorrow night the famous dialogue exchange in question will announce to every Midwayer standing imperceptibly by my side at the ready to assist in anything I may need, that everything will be all right. Because when others are all the way up with no where else to go, I know that when ever I need that extra push over the cliff, I can just reach down for that one louder, on this day more than any other.

But if that doesn’t work, I could always use a chocolate handy to brighten up my day…

Maybe these new age folks are on to something with this thing that I just invented that they believe in…

Happy Nigel Tufnel Day everybody!

Pornflix … I Mean … Netflix !!

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"I should'a listened to those assholes at Van Full of Candy"

You like Netflix? I like Netflix. All I know is that they need a new “genre” in their schtick, and that’s the one that would have kept them from losing 800,000 subscribers. For reals. Remember when you were a kid and you’d go to the movie rental store? In my case it was a furniture rental store that had videos for rent, don’t ask, and there was the Action section, the Family section, the Sci-Fi section and that section in the back, with dim lights and a black velvet curtain or even Old Western style saloon doors with a laminated hot pink printout labeled “18+ Only”, “Adults Only”, “No Kids Allowed”. Yeah … that section. The one that the dirty old men would hang out in and when they walked out, you would look at them in awe and wonder how they’d get their mustache to smell like salmon Marlboro’s. That secret place that you would peak in with virgin eyes and see covers of VHS movies that had baby oil’d body parts of all different sizes and different colors, except for the BIG parts that were a SPECIFIC color, but am I jealous now? Well sure, yeah. But did I get over it? No. So fuck your stupid judgement about my little white boy junk.

Just do it already ... FUCK !!!

I guess what I’m getting at is that Netflix should have the dirty section so I can watch an entire skin-flick without having to hunch over my smartphone for 20 secsonds at a time and watch little bits of dirty’ness with one hand while I mix pancake batter with the other and try to keep my back from tightening up during the whole ordeal. Regardless if it’s daily or not all I want is the naughty place for guys like me … guys like you … hell, girls like you. Oh and for the 800,000 people who decided that Netflix wasn’t for them anymore. Hey Netflix, sex sells, dirty, filthy, hardcore-porn sex sells, so get with the fucking program bitches. For now, I’ll watch Prince of Persia and pretend that some good shit’s about to happen.

Van Full of Candy’s Celebrity Sex Tape Auditions

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Pamela likes our van candy ... so should you !!

First it was Pamela & Tommy, then Paris, and then that one Kardashian chick. Rock stars, television stars, and others who ride the coattails of their father and become reality TV stars. Two glaring things stick out like a sore thumb … that I’m assuming have been smashed by a hammer, because how else would a thumb be sore? Well, there’s always the explanation that you were sitting around with your thumb up your ass and you were startled when somebody actually asked you to do something, and you moved too fast and broke your thumb causing it to stick out like a sore thumb. So there’s two idioms for you to enjoy for the price of one. You’re welcome. Now, speaking of things in one’s ass, lets get back to the main gist of this talk, Sex Tapes, and the two things that stick out like … god I hate repeating myself !!

#1. Not one of the stars of any of the celebrity sex tapes are comedic blog writers/sketch comedy performers … and …

#2. All of the aforementioned “accidental” porn stars have only BENEFITED their careers from having their sex taped “accidentally” leaked … so …

In an effort to level the playing field and get this celebrity porn industry into other aspects of the entertainment world, Van Full of Candy does hereby declare that we will be holding auditions for hot starlet types who are looking to take their career to a whole new level, which level that might be is still yet to be determined but please know it will be a WHOLE NEW ONE !!

We have the perfect props and the perfect premise. We have the piece de resistance first of all … a goddamn van full of candy, and then the story line just writes itself, not that there’ll be much story if you know what I’m sayin’. So … if you’d like to be one of the lucky chosen ones to star in our celebrity sex tape, then you’ll need to leave us a comment on this blog letting us know how to get in touch with you so we can meet in person and … well … rehearse a little. That’s just part of the process, the dirty, metal smelling, why is this gas can next to me tedious process. Now don’t get discouraged if you don’t make it … we will have literally thousands of applicants and it takes a long long LONG time to “interview” each and every one of you, but please know … we won’t NOT interview a single one of you soon to be starlets. And remember, first come … first served.

Van Full of Candy's Celebrity Sex Tape Auditions

Posted on

Pamela likes our van candy ... so should you !!

First it was Pamela & Tommy, then Paris, and then that one Kardashian chick. Rock stars, television stars, and others who ride the coattails of their father and become reality TV stars. Two glaring things stick out like a sore thumb … that I’m assuming have been smashed by a hammer, because how else would a thumb be sore? Well, there’s always the explanation that you were sitting around with your thumb up your ass and you were startled when somebody actually asked you to do something, and you moved too fast and broke your thumb causing it to stick out like a sore thumb. So there’s two idioms for you to enjoy for the price of one. You’re welcome. Now, speaking of things in one’s ass, lets get back to the main gist of this talk, Sex Tapes, and the two things that stick out like … god I hate repeating myself !!

#1. Not one of the stars of any of the celebrity sex tapes are comedic blog writers/sketch comedy performers … and …

#2. All of the aforementioned “accidental” porn stars have only BENEFITED their careers from having their sex taped “accidentally” leaked … so …

In an effort to level the playing field and get this celebrity porn industry into other aspects of the entertainment world, Van Full of Candy does hereby declare that we will be holding auditions for hot starlet types who are looking to take their career to a whole new level, which level that might be is still yet to be determined but please know it will be a WHOLE NEW ONE !!

We have the perfect props and the perfect premise. We have the piece de resistance first of all … a goddamn van full of candy, and then the story line just writes itself, not that there’ll be much story if you know what I’m sayin’. So … if you’d like to be one of the lucky chosen ones to star in our celebrity sex tape, then you’ll need to leave us a comment on this blog letting us know how to get in touch with you so we can meet in person and … well … rehearse a little. That’s just part of the process, the dirty, metal smelling, why is this gas can next to me tedious process. Now don’t get discouraged if you don’t make it … we will have literally thousands of applicants and it takes a long long LONG time to “interview” each and every one of you, but please know … we won’t NOT interview a single one of you soon to be starlets. And remember, first come … first served.

When Horror Movies Go Porn (Netflix Style)

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Hey kids, sorry about not posting anything for your junkie fix on Friday … here’s a little orgasmic Van Full of Candy teaser for ya !!

Brad Pitt : The Movie … Right?

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In our many drives up and down this country’s most awesome state of Californyeaye (no offense NY in lieu of the 10 year) we see many great things , and being that half of the van is based GawdDammHollywood bitches we see a lot of movie-stars and boring shit like that. Yeah boring, I said it … it’s like seeing a crack addict when  you live in Oakland, it’s not unusual, you just get used to it, and in a number of cases it’s your own family if not yourself, but if you’re visiting from Montana and you see a crack addict, you bust out your camera phone and show all of your family when you get back because you don’t know how to upload to YouTube or Facebook yet, not will you ever, if you even have a phone with a camera, or a cell phone, or … well … even a camera, but I digress Montanians.

As the van made its way through the LA, it stumbled upon a billboard that could only be described as a documentary or biopic or something along the lines of a movie about somebody that has to do with something biographically filmy. The billboard is titled “Brad Pitt” in bold beautiful white letters, and then underneath his hot handsome name is a picture of Hotty McHotterson with a beautiful green baseball field background, his luxurious light brown hair kissed by the sun giving highlights that women would kill for, or spend $180 dollars for at a beeeeuty salon, looking back with his look of confidence and a slight smirk of “yeah, I belong here” that makes us all slow our cars down and puppy dog eye a little at his marvel and hit the brakes just in time to avoid that completely annoying fender bender that would get us to our destination 30 minutes later than normal and hope that douchebag has insurance … and then there’s some other words underneath it which really don’t matter much, blah blah blah, Moneyball, blah, other names, blah blah.

I'd watch that movie all day ... whatever the fuck it is !!

What’s the point of wasting all that billboard space with more words that don’t mean anything more than they had to make a smaller picture of Brad-Brad? Why even put his name? We know who he is !! We don’t need to know anything more than his beautiful face, as big as possible on billboards and posters around the city, and we just know when to show up to drop our $12 to see his Academy Award winning performances over and over and … 12 Monkeys counts right? Anyway, what I’m getting at is I cannot WAIT to see the movie named “Brad Pitt” because it just HAS to be great !! And what the F is a moneyball? Besides the one that hangs a little lower than the other in his sack?