Since the debut of “The Van Full of Candy Show” (LIVE Wednesday nights at 8 pm on BlogTalkRadio.com), we’ve continually gotten one comparison over and over again. People are making the natural and very realistic comparison between our new live podcast or “livecast” show and the single most watched program in the history of program watching, “The Super Bowl”. And when you think about it, it makes more sense than any thought that’s ever been pondered by human philosophers.
Both involve strapping, manly gentlemen at the peak of their game, doing what science God accidentally evolved them on this big scary world to do. Over there, it’s something as trivial as running around after an oblong sporting utensil, while in this neck of the woods it’s the much more important business of discussing the merits of pork and celophane based foreplay and plugging upcoming shows.
But the biggest parallel between “The Van Full of Candy Show” and the Super Bowl is often said that the best part of both is the commercials. I find that to be hurtful and insulting and almost universally true. So we’ve decided to scoop out our beloved radio commercial parodies from our DEEP archive of two whole episodes and share them as easily digestible audio chunks that you ears can lazily chew to their drum’s delight… Or something…
Check out our radio commercial parodies below, all sorted by episode. You’ll also be able to find the new ones as they are produced on the “Podcasts” page, under the show player widget-ma-bob-thingy… It’s all very technical and complicated. How about you just sit back, relax and take a soothing listen to radio commercials so authentic, you’ll wonder when the hell we’re going to get back and play more rock blocks… After all, it’s Two-fer Tuesday SOMEWHERE…
Our parody radio commercials from previous episodes of
“The Van Full of Candy Show”
If we are to believe everything we see on our Le Tube d’Boob these days, then we are supposed to now be scared shitless that the beds we sleep in are slowly trying to kill us and/or end your marraige, not particularly in that order, and not that either is a bad thing for most people, but let’s continue.
It’s not a quick, overnight, magical killing, no, it’s a long, slow, torturous, water dripping on forehead kind of insanity, not to be CONFUSED with marraige, but the one that could possibly end it. Because our beds are so horrifically uncomfortable and in most cases filled with quicksand, jagged boulders, and the moaning spirits of insomniacs from Xmas past, there is no way that a good night’s sleep will ever be in any of our immediate futures. First the insomnia kicks in, then your back goes, tossing and turning creates the need for your partner to sleep in a different bed, then the snoring, which then escalates into sleeping in seperate rooms, the arguing the bickering and the the complete decomposition of any sort of “makin’ whoopie”. And in that, the obvious demographic targeted for such an utter waste of money has been selected. Let the credit card annihilation begin.
Now that was some convincing theatre. Doesn’t that make you wanna run out and drop $4k on a miracle bed? It sure does for me. But you know who that commercial didn’t fool? The late Osama Bin Laden. That’s right folks, this man knew a thing or four about slumber comfort. He had his sleep number down pat. He is the one sole person that completely debunks any claims that Sleep Number Beds make. Osama spent the last 10 years frolicking in the desserts, hiding out from one cave to the next, then moved up to shacks, and ended up in a million dollar fortress, but did he have a Sleep Number Bed? NO! Could he afford one? Yes! Now granted he didn’t have electricity to run the damn thing, but that’s a moot point. If anyone needed this cushion cloud to sleep on, I’d bet my beat-up futon mattress that it would be Osama, but he didn’t. He didn’t have back pain, his love life didn’t digress, in fact this sleep discomfort avoider had approximately four wives with up to twenty-five offspring with them. There was no mattress getting in his libido’s way, no sir! And up until the very bitter end, his wife, who slept with him on their cardboard mattress defended him to the death, no snoring or tossing and turning was going to “force” her to sleep in another room.
Maybe we overprivileged Americans should go spend a week in the forest, sleep on the ground, cook over a fire, bathe in a lake and realize how fucking good we actually have it, and when we return to our “regular” murderous bed, we should give it a big hug and give Sleep Number the finger.