It’s been a crazy couple months for Van Full of Candy as you may or may not have noticed. Both members are now freshly moved from their previous addresses, having relocated a total of nearly 400 miles. We’re both on the tale end of transitioning from a bullshit existence, to a slightly different bullshit existence. But the point of this is change, moving forward, letting go of the past and scarring the future with our poison infused projectile bile and razor sharp laser tipped talons… Metaphorically.
Since starting this business almost a year and a half ago we’ve posted nearly 300 articles. Over that time often I’ve started an article, found a story that I wanted to explore, but for one reason or another abandoned, fully meaning to go back to it and revisit it, but never getting around to it. So in the spirit of burying the past in a shallow, road side grave and moving onto the quivering future, frightened of the legend of our power which precedes us, I have decided to dig up all of my half finished thoughts and unrealized articles, spill them all out here and start fresh moving forward. So, let’s do that then, I suppose, since I just said I would…
My first abandoned post from 4/12/11 is simply titled “UFOs”. Most of my draft articles are untitled, sort of making this one special. What also makes this one special is that aside from the title, there is nothing else in the post. There’s usually a link reminding me what I wanted to talk about for when I DO get back to it. In this case, I apparently thought I would have no problem remembering what random UFO topic I was so excited about two Aprils ago. But as often as I write about space and the people that live there wanting to kill us, that seems irresponsible of me. I believe it had something to do with the anniversary of Roswell, and I was going to do a mock up of the newly released documents celebrating said anniversary… I think. Needless to say, it would have been hilarious… Delete.
Next, last edited August 4th 2011: “A Generation Waiting For Dad to Come Home”. I remember this one. I was very angry with you for some reason. Probably not YOU specifically, but the royal “you”. Including me apparently. This rant went a little something like this:
“I don’t mean any of this personally, I’m not here to point out anything that I don’t also know applies as much, if not more so, to myself. I’m part of the generation waiting for dad to come home. I’m the poster boy for a decade or two of men and women who are now in their quarter to mid life and are still drifting, waiting, praying, screaming for someone to tell them what to do, where to go, how to be, when to act and when to just shut the fuck up and go away. We are not the most irresponsible generation. We are the product of the most irresponsible generation. And we’re making the next one. And if that doesn’t scare the shit out of you, I’m not surprised.”
Now, I’m not sure what you did to upset me so much, but I was clearly unhappy about something. The next piece gives me a little more insight on the source of my rage though:
“Maybe it’s where I grew up, maybe it’s where I am now. Maybe I’m just seeing a concentrated sample of something that isn’t nearly as prevalent as I fear it is. I doubt it. I know this doesn’t apply to everyone in this demographic, but it applies to the great many of us that I’ve observed. I look around me and I see a sea of dudes and bros, chicks and babes and people who have never really known want or hardship, yet know a boundless sense of self importance and entitlement. A great many of you are reading this right now on a box of magic that fits comfortably in the palm of your hand. Technology that our very recent ancestors could never have dreamed of. But it’s not enough for us. For some reason, we’ve been handed everything that the greatest thinkers of all of human creation could ever be laughed at for imagining, and it’s not good enough, we somehow feel entitled to more, without having earned even a fraction of what we have already.”
This seems to be pretty clearly influenced by my level of hatred for, but not limited to, the hollow, empty, entitled, worthless denizens of Hollywood California USA. One of the reasons I’ve found myself back in Sacramento now is my fear that if I were to remain in Hollywood for much longer I would simply implode in a brilliant flash of purple light, opening a tear in space time which would almost instantaneously swallow the whole of the universe. And while I wouldn’t normally have a problem with that, saying it out loud just makes it sound selfish.
“We are a developmentally stunted narcissistic gaggle of preening assholes.”
I do believe this about the generations adjacent me. I say adjacent, as in my research, I’ve found that I somehow fall in a gap between Gen X and Gen Y, an empty sliver of time that classification seems to have forgot. I guess that’s what makes it easy for me to lob hate grenades as willy nilly as I do, looking in from the outside at all the stupidity while probably deep down inside just wishing I could belong to anything, no matter how stupid…
“And the problem with a vacuum of power and leadership, is how easily those without direction are steered and controlled.”
And here it looks like I was about to get into the political implications of a Generation Waiting For Dad to Come Home. The need for a father figure leading us to blind, lazy destruction at the hands of anyone who will scare us enough to get us to follow them. Oh, what a glorious, indignant, pointless rant on the lazy ineptitude of me and my peers it would have been… I’m glad I didn’t do more, I’m depressed just reading what I have here… Deleted.
And finally, for part 1:
“It takes a special man to wear a mustache, a brave man.”
This piece from September 22, 2011, was apparently going to be some sort of backhanded tribute to the American Mustache Institute’s “Robert Goulet Award”, which celebrates great achievements in mustachery and mustachioed Americans. My guess is that seemed to be too much of a one note joke for me to do an article on, which is probably why just 5 weeks later we embarked on Movember: an entire month dedicated to the celebration of the face shrub… Makes sense.
So, as this has gone longer than I expected, I will have to pick this up again later, continuing to do some spring cleaning here at VFoC as we return to the grind that IS online humorism. Hope you all find your way back here, we’ve got some fun things on the horizon.
We can name more Jersey Shore cast members than our state’s Senators. We have commercials telling our kids to go outside and play. We are steaming into the twenty first century, powered by wheezing, poisonous 19th century technology. And the little pocket sized super computer that we bought six months ago, that tiny little thing that would have been considered nothing short of wizard class magic ten short years ago, we can’t wait to throw that worthless piece of shit away the split second they let us buy the new version that’s 3% slimmer and has TWO cameras in six months.
In a time when the goal is no longer to achieve anything laudable, or to contribute anything to the betterment of mankind for future generations, when to excel and be exceptional is seen as being kind of a dick move, when dignity and self respect are quaint and adorable notions of the past and the most sought after personal goal is to have one’s own reality show, who better to represent this failed generation than Donald Trump?
We all know that he’s probably not going to win. It seems like that would be a given. But just because he’s probably not, and that he never should, and to even think about it makes the brain wet its little brain pants, doesn’t mean that he couldn’t. My Governor killed invisible aliens and was Danny DeVito’s hilariously implausible twin for 90 minutes… So, don’t talk to me about won’t and shouldn’t.
This is a man who builds giant, forty story, gold plated failure penises and wallpapers them with his name. This is a man who brags about supposedly fucking over a dictator in a land deal like he’s waiting for you to high five him. This is a man who feuds with Rosie O’Donnell and has gotten backing from such great political titans as Bret Michaels and Gary Busey.
There was a time, I assume, when we as a people wanted to be represented in the highest halls of power by those that we believed were the best of us. When we wanted people smarter than us to be in charge of important things like, making sure the French didn’t try to fondle our balls a second longer than we wanted them to, or to tell the Germans to cut it out already. The idea of choosing a leader because you think it might be cool to hang out with them and tell squirrel stompin’ storries over a couple Old’ Milwaukees, or because you think he might flip off the King of Arabistan, call Russia a fag and punch the United Nations in the taint, is all fucking insane.
If Donald Ulysses Trump were elected President of these God’s United States, sure, it would be hilarious. I’m not about to question the entertainment value of it. The country would finally complete its transformation into one giant reality show, issuing a flip camera and a web domain to every citizen within its borders. Camera crews would follow the Trump at all times, he would have a confessional room built into the oval office, and we would no doubt all be murdered by the outrageously inappropriate actions of Secretary of State Omarosa.
But… what was I saying? I’m not sure really. The more I talk about it, the more I wonder why I was even thinking of fighting this at all. I’m sure Vice President Gene Simmons couldn’t possibly be worse than Biden, and that’s a man that knows how to brand a marginal franchise into, pathetic, yet unquestionable profitability. And personal pride is over rated anymore anyway.
Let’s just face the facts that Abraham Lincoln isn’t going to show up again. And besides, we wouldn’t let him. Why would we want to? It’s not about what’s best for us anymore, it’s about what’s most ironically hilarious. This is what we get, this is what we deserve.