Stupid laws

Beer Drones Grounded By FAA, Dreams Of Airborne Brews On Hold

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It’s a pure science fact that we here at Van Full of Candy do love our alcohol yum-yums. The idea of having them air lifted to our waiting drinking arms seemed like an idea that we should have had. But apparently, the FAA doesn’t approve of our completely under control lifestyle!

Originally posted on Your Daily Media

America is always on the forefront of snack and alcohol technologies. Whether it be new ways to inject cheese into things, finding things which can be–nay, MUST be battered in beer, or the majesty of a food stuff called “Combos,” which actually manages to somehow combine two non-food stuffs into one “edible” cylinder. Americans have always lead the way in food and beverage-based technological advancements and by the Type-2 Diabetes God, we always will!

So it came as no surprise to hear that a small enterprising micro brew beer company out of Wisconsin had made their beer fly.

The noble, brilliant, merry makers at Lakemaid Beer had a simple vision. That vision was to make it possible for the hearty ice fishing men and other men, out in the frozen wilderness to satisfy their manly thirst without having to leave their chilly ice holes, and without risking delivery personnel’s footing on the treacherous frozen lakes. And personal drones were the answer to this question that we didn’t know we had until they existed.

Unfortunately, the killjoys at the FAA have grounded Lager Air, (if only temporarily) as they review their policies regarding the use of drones for commercial practices.

“They think it’s a great idea, though they’re telling me to stop.” said Lakemaid Beer company president, Jack Supple. And really, it is. I have no doubt that we’ll be seeing Pizza Hut and Budweiser drones buzzing through the skies Super Bowl Sunday, 2015. But until then, I’ll keep tinkering away at my Gran Legacy Vodka Dirigible and Long Island Ice Tea Missile. The booze arms race is on.

via: Your Daily Media

Sorry Folks, Internet's Closed. Moose Out Front Shoulda Told Ya

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It’s unfortunate, we had an incredible article planned for you today. It had dinosaurs, and robots and a bald eagle punching Hitler in the taint with a star spangled boxing glove.

We put together a video which showed the two of us hang gliding off of Mount Rushmore, shooting machine guns into the air and humming “America the Beautiful”. It was glorious.

And we would have loved to share it with you today, but NO. The internet’s on strike… or something. I don’t understand it all and I haven’t made an attempt to educate myself about the subject. All I know is that the internet is taking the day off in protest again soap. I have no idea why the internet is so adamantly against cleanliness, or what the people at Ivory may have done to wrong the World Wide Web, but it seems highly irrational and misplaced. And what ANY of it has to do with Kate Middleton’s sister, I can’t even begin to figure.

“What’s the big deal?” you might be asking us rhetorically. “So the internets are closed today, just post all of this majesty tomorrow and we can still have our faces be-rocked by your glory and patriotism then, when the protest is over.”

Well, I’m sorry dear reader, but it simply doesn’t work that way. You see, once we have produced a piece of content, if it is not used immediately, we must dispose of it humanely and scatter its ashes over our ornate altar to Dave Barry. We don’t make these rules. If we did, obviously we would want to share these things with you, but as they were finished and intended to be posted today, and will not be because of the internet’s love of filthy hands and hatred of the British crown, we will have to put today’s post down and never speak of it again.

Hopefully tomorrow the computing community will have made what ever point it is they are trying to make and we can get back to business as usual: pointing out how things and people are dumb and or have vaginas, and you can get back to enjoying it. But as for the spectacularity that we had planned for today, sorry, our hands are tied, blame SOPA and PIPA for forcing us to sacrifice it to the gods of displaced humor content. It’s entirely the fault of those two hand fulls of capital letters.

So, just what exactly am I supposed to do with all these American Flag flavored condoms now?

Can I get a Pack of Crusty Lung Light Menthol 100 Extra Slims Please?

Posted on Updated on

Good news everybody! It’s still legal to suck disease straight down your throat, and it just got a whole lot sexier!

Word came down today that the smooth, rich flavor that just makes life worth living is now going to come in new, “edgier” goth doom packaging. Adorned in “labels that depict in graphic detail the negative health effects of tobacco use… the corpse of a smoker, diseased lungs, and a mother holding her baby with smoke swirling around them” and hip new catch phrases like “Smoking can kill you” and “Cigarettes cause cancer”… Hooray?

No shit...
No shit...

This will of course do very little to curb smoking, likely as much as, say, distributing servings of heroin (that’s how they’re doled out, right? Serving sizes with nutritional information on the side? I haven’t caught up on my DVRed episodes of “The Oxycontin Express”, please, no spoilers) in mylar party balloons with the words “Don’t” scribbled on the side in the blood of your own children. See, we as Americans often do stupid shit, that’s kind of our thing. Not that smoking is strictly an American past time, ’cause it ain’t, but we know how to put our own particular child lock brand of insulting stupidity on it. It’s the American way.

There’s nothing in this latest move by the FDA about banning the sale of cigarettes or tobacco products. Nothing to remove from the shelves a product that is responsible for approximately 443,000 deaths a year. Their solution is simply to make the packs hard to look at and hope to scare smokers straight. By making half the pack look like a snuff film, telling them that “Eating poison will surely assassinate you” and giving them the 1-800 number to a stop smoking hot line, the FDA has done its job and made the world safe again. Smokers today are allowed to smoke legally only in a two foot square cabinet under their bathroom sink which upon moving must be shipped to a special cigarette nook disposal facility in North Dakota where it is then buried three miles deep under a thick protective layer of E.T. Atari 2600 game cartridges until Jesus can safely exorcise all of the inky black cancer vapors or the sun expands to the point of devouring the solar system and all life as we know it… Which ever comes first. Making the packs scary ain’t gonna stop smokers from smoking their smoke making smokes.

Debating whether or not cigarettes should be made illegal is pointless. They never will be. They’ll be $60 a pack and sold wrapped in photographs of the grandchildren that cancer will prevent you from ever meeting before they’re made illegal. Should they be? Well, the way I see it, the key to whether something should be illegal or not should be whether or not that something’s sale would be approved if it were presented as a brand new product today.

Chainsaw... it's what your face wants!
Chainsaw... it's what your face wants!

I personally have a product that has been proven to, if used properly, fucking murder you. When can I start selling this thing to children while telling anyone trying to arrest me that I am in no way trying to sell them to children? My new product is called “Chainsaw to the Face”. And just as the name suggests, it is the rich, refreshing taste of chainsaw, delivered conveniently and comfortably, directly to the god damned face. Chainsaws are legal, faces are most certainly still legal, despite all of big anti-face’s efforts to make them otherwise. Why couldn’t I sell boxes of “Chainsaw to the Face” in every gas station and drug store across God’s own free land. Go ahead FDA, slather it in warning labels if it’ll make you feel like you’re doing your job. Dip our boxes in pictures of the results of the use of our product: old people with their faces chainsawed off. “Chainsaw to the Face” is just too addictive, that’s why we secretly try to hook our customers when they’re young, to get the most possible “Chainsaw to the Face” years out of them before, inevitably, they are killed by the proper, clinical, only possible use of “Chainsaw to the Face”: a chainsaw to the face…

The only thing the FDA can think to do, or will be allowed to do, to a product that kills 1 in every 693 people in this country is to make half of the pack look like what will happen if you use what’s inside as directed. Nobody at this point in human history doesn’t know that cigarettes are bad for you. The last person born before packs of cigarette had to legally start telling people that they wanted to murder you for buying them, turned 56 this year. Seeing exactly how cigarettes plan on doing it every time you pick up your pack isn’t going to make many people suddenly realize that their sucking a dozen kinds of poison into their face might not be the best thing for them… They could start packaging cigarettes in people recently murdered by cigarettes and it would have little effect on their purchase power.

By the estimates of this article and of new studies 20% of Americans smoke: about 46 million Smokey-Americans. By implementing this new horrific labeling, the FDA, BY THEIR OWN ESTIMATES, believe they will reduce the number of smokers by 213,000 in 2013 “with smaller additional reductions through 2031”. So their big victory against tobacco is that by making half of the pack look like a cereal killer’s frigidaire, they are going to reduce the number of smokers in the United States by… wait for it… 0.46%! Twice as many people will still die in 2013 from smoking, as their new horror porn warning labels will save over the next 18 years…

The tobacco companies are laughing their tar covered balls off at you FDA. 

Cigarettes got in on the ground floor of murdering Americans with their products. tobacco products have been killing Americans as long as there’ve been Americans. And if one of our nation’s original biggest exports had been cocaine of heroin or Chainsaws to the Face, then they would be just as inexorably entrenched in American commerce as the tobacco industry.

So good for you tobacco, you made yourself too important to have to give a shit that you’re murdering your customers and too big to be stopped. Good for you.

Anarchgay in the USA

Posted on Updated on

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was I saying?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Defenders of Sexy Teachers

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I'm a little affraid of a teacher named "Miss Johnson"s potential "pop quiz".
I'm a little affraid of a teacher named "Miss Johnson"s potential "pop quiz".

It’s no secret that Van Full of Candy is a supporter of hot teachers.  It’s a brave, bold stance that we have long taken when ever a poor, misunderstood educator is arrested for doing things that we wish had been done to us in school. Of course we couldn’t possibly defend EVERY apple polishing head mistress every time we heard about another one getting carted away. That would become a full time job, a naughty, dirty, naughty, sexy, naughty full time job. Don’t get us wrong now, we fully understand that people being charged with the task of learnin’ yer kids should not be engaging in the befouling of the under aged. That’s wrong in almost every state, and to varying degrees depending on posted age limits in the other blue, orange and green shaded globe blobs that we are told are “other countries”. Which is why today’s attack on sexy teachers has us in such a tizzy.

Brittni Nicole Colleps is a small town Texas girl, a first year English teacher and coach of the Freshman girls’ basketball team– Hey! No silly, pull those pants back up, I didn’t just read that out of a letter to Penthouse, this is fer realzies. Not to imply that Penthouse letters’ authenticity should ever be questioned, I’m not saying that. Each and ever account of steamy escapades reported in that fine publication of note is rigorously fact checked by hand. That is my guarantee to you, the reader.

So Mrs. Colleps teaches Englishes and Basketballery at Kennedale High, a suburban North Texas school near Arlington. She is a mother of three and is married to a no doubt very brave fighting man serving over seas. And when she’s not stressing verb conjugation or an ankle crackin’ cross over, she likes to have as many students as she can count on one hand over for a nice, fun and informative “after school special”. Now before you get all indignant and finger pointy at us and our condoning of this horrible crime against children, let me tell YOU a little something. Each of these five students with which Mrs. Colleps is alleged to have simultaneously banged were all 18 years of age. So there, don’t you feel silly for assuming the worst in this story of teacher student group sexcapades!

Unfortunately her facebook profile seems to be down, otherwise we'd be besties.
Unfortunately her facebook profile seems to be down, otherwise we'd be besties.

So then the natural question is, “Crime wha huh?” That’s certainly what came to MY mind somewhere deep in the list of things that came to mind when first hearing about this story. Usually it goes without saying that a teacher/student romance is bound to somehow involve underagedy. But it seems that proper carding was done in this case and no harm no foul, you’re free to go Mrs. Colleps, we’ll just keep these texted pictures and the camera phone video footage we found on one of the boy’s pocket telephonic devices, you know, for safe keeping and we apologize for any misunderstanding. There was no crime committed here. This was simply good natured hi-jinx between six consenting adults. This is only a crime because the law says it’s a crime. Which I guess makes it a crime…

It seems in Texas, as well as probably a few other places that I’m too lazy to research, even if your students are all sumptuous and otherwise legal in the eyes of god and whom ever, if you’re teaching them either the fundamentals of the English language or of a sound bounce pass, you are not allowed to also guide them in the ways of love and the making thereof. So while I’m sure Mrs. Colleps thought she had all her bases covered, making extra special sure that all of her starting lineup of hot senior studs was all of legal humping age so as not to run into any potential snags that might result in her soldier husband or their three offspring learning of her need for a pentagon of dong, unfortunately Texas forbids teachers from taking home school supplies.

But let’s be fair to the lovely Mrs. Colleps, she’s teaching in a school in Kennedale, a town of 7300. The school itself has a sexy, orgy worthy student body of 3200. She’s new in a town where almost 40% of the population goes to where she works and her husband is off selfishly fighting in some kind of war or another. She has needs, she apparently has LOTS of needs. What is this poor woman supposed to do!?

Sadly, it seems that this love story ends as most do, in jealousy. You see, when you exchange dirty text messages and swap digital photography of your genitalia with another individual, you expect that you have a special connection with those genitals. That’s what Mrs. Colleps’ first boy seemed to believe. After what history books would no doubt declare the most romantic courtship in the history of recorded time, Mrs. Colleps allegedly invited her young, BUT NOT TOO YOUNG, suitor to her home where they got to see first hand, what the small screens of their phones had only hinted at. They made love, mad, passionate love, which in another text Brittni (I feel she would want me to call her Brittni, even if I hate that she spells it with an “i” at the end which, for an English teacher I feel hurts her credibility just a little) said they “had fun” and invited him back for another round of hide the ruler. But when her one and only shower up this time, he found that he was going to be waiting in line and apparently that hurt his little feelings. So rather than sharing, which all of us should have learned at some point in our lives, this sobbing little baby had to ruin it for everybody!

I feel like at this point I need to reiterate that I am in no way condoning anyone’s actions in this act of love, I am merely discondoning the selfish actions of one individual. And now this caring, GIVING, young lady is being charged with five counts of having an inappropriate relationship between a student and teacher, a second degree felony and is facing between two to twenty years per count! Is this really a punishment befitting this “crime”. Especially when this supposed crime is, in the opinion of this non-lawyer, fucking bullshit. The only crime here is loving too much, and if that’s a crime then you can lock me up in a cell with Mrs. Colleps, a camera phone and four of our best friends who have a better working understanding of what a good thing they’ve got and we can be criminals together.

The defense rests, in between sessions of committing more of these heinous “crimes”!

Beware: Exploding Babies

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

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

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

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

Did someone make a boom boom?
Did someone make a boom boom?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Secretary's Day : Who Says Sexism Is Dead?

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“Thank you for calling ACME typewriter company, this is Betty, how can I direct your call?” … How about you be a good girl and fetch me a nice hot cup of jo sweetie, and this time do it the way I like it … two sugars!! Thanks doll. Oh, and if Mr. Smith calls tell him I’m in a meeting! Can you handle all that?

Ahhh yes, the good ‘ol days when you could swat your secretary on her firm, plump, luscious ass and everybody would think you were a powerful man with great baby-making power and tabs at all the finest restaurants in town. A time when men were men and women knew their damn place, in the kitchen or answering the goddamn phone whilst transcribing my dictation to typewritten

I hope someday I'M pretty enough to have a private meeting in Mr. Brown's office

glorious’ness on my extremely expensive company letterhead. The days when coming home meant a warm meal cooking in the oven, a wife to take off your coat and hat, hand you your pipe and scotch (neat), and assist you with your slippers as the tension of a hard day at man’s-work eased off your shoulders as you sat in your handsome leather reading chair and packed in your favorite tobacco. Where have those days gone? Nowadays if a hard-working man even so much as keeps his hands in his pockets too long next thing you know he’s slapped with a sexual harassment suit for fondling himself in front of a subordinate and is taken for everything he and the team of men before him worked so hard to build. Well this women’s lib nonsense has just got to come to a halt, and we mean now! How can we make it look like we actually respect what they do in the workplace? Make them feel that their strides for

They sure don't make 'em like THAT anymore

equality have actually worked? I’VE GOT IT!! We’ll give them a new “respectful” holiday by’golly! We’ll let them feel like they’ve smashed the chains of inequality and have finally made it in our world, the man’s world. And we’ll call it … “Administrative Professional’s Day”! Yes! That’s it, and we will buy them flowers, perhaps a cake and take them out for a nice lunch and make them feel all pretty like. That’ll do it, that’ll make it all nice, see? Us men will still look like heroes, they’ll get the credit that they so deeply seek from us, and it’ll all be wrapped in a nice sexist package that nobody will even see coming.

What? You only used one sugar again? Well … don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, come on over here and sit on my lap and I’ll tell you just how I like it you pretty little gal.