Movember

Catching Up With Unfinished Van Tangents: Parte the First

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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…

I even still have a mock up of the letter head... Lazy ass...
I even still have a mock up of the letter head… Lazy ass…

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.”

What passes for esteem in the "Generation Waiting For Dad to Come Home"
What passes for esteem in the “Generation Waiting For Dad to Come Home”

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.

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!

Van Full of Mustache Rides [Movember Style]

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"Hi, is this Magnum P.I.? Movember called ... they want their mustache back."

Ahhhhh yes, the glorious moustache !! The Fu Manchu, the Dali, the Handlebars, the Copstache, the Creepy Van Guy … HEY WAIT !! We’ve all seen them, and we all LOVE them. They’ve been around far longer than anyone probably would dare to guess. The first documented ‘stache of lovliness was depicted, coincidentally enough, on a carpet from 300 B.C. But I digress. There is just something masculinely magical about this lip carpet that makes everyone stare in awe. Magical enough to make you want to give us money for growing one, right? RIGHT ?!?! Enter … MOVEMBER !!

We here at Van Full of Candy are always up for a good ol’ fashioned contest/shindig/fundraiser sort of deal where the end result is a hairy bush right under nose that’s long enough to lick the lunch nuggets out of without using a napkin, whilst raising some fun-money for cancer awareness. So … the way Movember works is …

1. On November 1st, we must shave our little baby-butt faces smooth.

2. Go by the name of Mo Bros

3. Groom, trim and wax our newly sprouted mooostaches into something fancy over the next 30 days

4. Get people to join our team and/or give a small donation to reach our goal of $200

5. Look awesome

So here we are at day 1 of Movember cleanshaven and ready for action, and here’s the proof:

To get my face Movember legal, I went home on my lunch break and chewed my own beard off!
I used an icepick.

Click Here To Join Our Moustache Team

Click Here To Donate One Measly Dollar