sex

Sink Your Love Sub In That Someone Special In The Sinking Love Sub of “Lovers Deep”

Posted on

It’s been said that “Darlin’ it’s better, down where it’s wetter” and “that’s why it’s hotter, under the water.” It may be possible that the singing crab to which those words of wisdom are generally attributed to wasn’t exactly referring to a submersible fuck sub, but there’s no proof that he wasn’t either.

Originally posted on Your Daily Media

So, you’ve punished that pie way up in the sky. Well why not conquer that “C” down under the sea! Because the “Mile-High” club is SO Wright Brothers, a new travel company is offering you the chance to join the “Mile-Low” club.

Your love sub awaits you to embark on your very own “Hunt for Red October”

Money, and the having of it must be nice. To be able to just decide one day “I have a minimum of $284,000 that I VERY don’t need, and an aching desire to stick my parts into another someone’s near a sunken battleship” and then make that a reality must be a hell of a life to have.

Those fish are TOTALLY gonna watch you fuck.

In a press conference announcing this luxury aquatic bang bus, Oliver Bell, co-founder of Oliver’s Travels told the common note scratching clods: “All of our handpicked, luxury properties have something unique and quirky about them, but Lovers Deep really stands out as one of our quirkiest yet.” And by quirky I assume Mr. Oliver’s doesn’t so much mean “wearing your own handmade clothes and noodling around on a ukulele” as “fucking in a submarine”.

Share a relaxing drink in the lounge with your fellow travelers, all knowing you spent almost 300 grand each to hump underwater.

And for those quirk seeking, high lifers, the UK based Oliver’s Travel has just the package to give to you and your temporary life mate’s packages. Aboard these “Lovers Deep” love subs the rich and pampered will have all of their wildest unnecessary dreams catered to, including oyster dishes, caviar, “chocolate fondant with essence of pomegranate”, all the way down to a “petal-scattering service” for those who are unable, or unwilling to lay hands upon the unplucked petals of flowers or the below their station act of “scattering” anything but the finest Colombian nostril dust across the lower back of their underwater frolic bunny. All to be followed, of course, by a champagne breakfast in bed. Natch.

via: Your Daily Media

New Study Confirms Drinking Linked to Sex, Sun Linked to Daylight

Posted on Updated on

Alright every body, hold on to your things which are easily ejected from your person by sudden shock from wholly unbelievable news! Socks, hats, balls and all other comically loose items secured? Alright, you can’t say I didn’t warn you. Here goes…

Drinking booze, makes people want to fuck, stupidly!

What the HUH?!
What the HUH?!

I know. I lost nine good pair of work socks when I heard that news and I wasn’t even wearing half of them, they were just blown clean out of my sock drawer by the power of that revelation.

A new Canadian study says specifically that “how much alcohol a person drinks directly affects how likely they are to have unsafe sex”. Now sure, this research is based on twelve vague studies with no real numbers or “facts” backing up anything, and all of these findings are based on the participants of these studies (how ever many there might have been) self reporting their theoretical likelihood of partaking in raw intercourse after tipping back a couple adult beverages. And of course, their loosely assembled findings say that the effect of alcohol on one’s possible knowing abandonment of a baby shield disease prevention sack might be somewhere in the neighborhood of a 3 to 5 percent increase in “I don’t give a fuckitude”, which they immediately tie to how “the role of alcohol consumption and risky sex intentions can be applied to better understanding important public health issues such as the transmission of HIV.”

Now, I’m not a Doctor of Science, and I don’t claim to be. Sure, I like to run around in the lab coat I bought at the flea market and nothing else screaming about how a single injection from my flesh needle will cure what ails ya, but that should never be taken as intended to treat or diagnose any potential illness. I mention the last sentence about “understanding public health issues” almost exclusively because I love the term “risky sex intentions” and for no other reason. The writing in the article in which I found this information is piss poor and mockable on its own, regardless of the content, but every time I see the phrase “risky sex intentions” I can’t help but giggle and take another drink.

The biggest “revelation” in this “research” is the ground breaking finding that “the more alcohol participants consumed, the higher their willingness to engage in unsafe sex”.

Uh-huh…

I don't know, he seems like a responsible enough Warrior of the Realm.
I don't know, he seems like a responsible enough Warrior of the Realm.

“Alcohol is influencing their decision processes,” said a no doubt stunned Jürgen Rehm, director of the Really Long Sciencey Title at, I can only assume, Canada’s Centre for Things We All Pretty Much Already Know.

So let me get this straight. A substance that loosens inhibitions and impares cognitive ability somehow effects how much you think squeezing your reproductive organs into a tight latex sock is a good and important idea? I was unaware that this sort of thing needed researched, but fine, papers have to be written, research budgets have to be spent.

The dumbfounded doctor of the well known later went on to say that:

“Drinking has a causal effect on the likelihood to engage in unsafe  sex, and thus should be included as a major factor in preventive efforts for HIV.”

And it’s at this point that I think we need to settle down just a little bit. Now alcohol awareness is a “major factor” in preventing HIV? Really? This study of yours Canadian Umlaut, based on little more than what drunk people say they might do with their drunken parts, is what you’re going to hang your science hat on and call a “major factor in preventative efforts for HIV”? Now, I don’t have HIV (Ladies…) but I know people who do, and I’m pretty certain that a couple drinks isn’t going to make them forget that their dicks are poison. People with a virus as potentially dangerous as this one, if they know they are carrying it, are generally pretty careful about what they put on their appendages and into whom they place them. Of course, I suppose part of the argument could be that it increases the likelihood of those who are unaware that they are infected might pass it unknowingly because booze told them to, but I think this study is being a lot more irresponsible than most infected individuals will be.

I freely admit that there’s probably more to this study than this article, apparently scribbled by a ninth grade english student being chased around his school newspaper class, has shared, so I’m not entirely sure whether I should be blaming poor reporting or poor research for screaming AIDS in a crowded bar. So I guess all I’m saying is this: Booze isn’t the bad guy. The bad guy is the bad guy. Be careful who you insert a part of your body into and vicey versey. Stranger danger extends to the inside of the pants of your new friend. You may have just shared a drink or nine with this nice person, but you don’t know where their moving pieces have been. You’re just meeting them for the first time now, so don’t assume they’ve always been on their best behavior.

Van Full of Candy says, PYP: Protect Your Parts! Because if you don’t, who will?

World’s Slowest Yet Most Expensive Female Pleaser

Posted on

One for every outfit and occasion

Women like it slow, but if this is the kind of slow that they mean, then I’m gonna go grab a sandwich and I’ll be back when you’re good and worked up, in say, oh … two hours. The porn industry is a multi-ka-trillbion dollar industry. It’s everywhere you look and everywhere you don’t want it to be when you’re looking at it at work and cant get the fuckin’ window to close fast enough when someone walks up behind you at your desk … CLICK CLICK CLICK FUCKING CLOSE GODDAMMIT … hey, oh that, that was just … cute kittehs, so what can I help you with?

At Van Full of Candy Research Labs, we spend a LOT of our R&D funds on finding the next best plastic love toy that makes you feel not alone while being, well, totally alone … night after night after lubed up melon-sex night. And melons aren’t cheap these days, you know with global warming and crops dying and all that, so … anyway, I lost track of … oh yeah … sad masturbation gimmicks. We spend 70% of our budget on these devices so we can personally test them, make sure they’re up to snuff and then let you, our loyal fans, which items should be on your naughty Xmas list.

Not too long ago, Jesse did a great article on, which I’d like to call “My Favorite Friend Thusfar”, a wonderful little toy called handjob bot that took China by storm, not to mention my millions of children. But we have now uncovered a new playmate for women who like to be teased and foreplay’d for a while, and for people who have a pension for Gumby. We have a couple of volunteers right now testing the device as we speak, but since it’s still 6″ away from touching them, well, we’ll probably need to report our findings next month.

Without further ado, Van Full of Candy presents … X Marks the Spot

World's Slowest Yet Most Expensive Female Pleaser

Posted on

One for every outfit and occasion

Women like it slow, but if this is the kind of slow that they mean, then I’m gonna go grab a sandwich and I’ll be back when you’re good and worked up, in say, oh … two hours. The porn industry is a multi-ka-trillbion dollar industry. It’s everywhere you look and everywhere you don’t want it to be when you’re looking at it at work and cant get the fuckin’ window to close fast enough when someone walks up behind you at your desk … CLICK CLICK CLICK FUCKING CLOSE GODDAMMIT … hey, oh that, that was just … cute kittehs, so what can I help you with?

At Van Full of Candy Research Labs, we spend a LOT of our R&D funds on finding the next best plastic love toy that makes you feel not alone while being, well, totally alone … night after night after lubed up melon-sex night. And melons aren’t cheap these days, you know with global warming and crops dying and all that, so … anyway, I lost track of … oh yeah … sad masturbation gimmicks. We spend 70% of our budget on these devices so we can personally test them, make sure they’re up to snuff and then let you, our loyal fans, which items should be on your naughty Xmas list.

Not too long ago, Jesse did a great article on, which I’d like to call “My Favorite Friend Thusfar”, a wonderful little toy called handjob bot that took China by storm, not to mention my millions of children. But we have now uncovered a new playmate for women who like to be teased and foreplay’d for a while, and for people who have a pension for Gumby. We have a couple of volunteers right now testing the device as we speak, but since it’s still 6″ away from touching them, well, we’ll probably need to report our findings next month.

Without further ado, Van Full of Candy presents … X Marks the Spot

Pornflix … I Mean … Netflix !!

Posted on

"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.

Not Even Melon Sex is Safe Anymore

Posted on

Fresh from your grocer's aisle !!

Gone are the days of a good ‘ol fashion melon pounding thanks to this latest punishment to the people, bestowed upon us by a spiteful and vengeful god. You know, I really don’t understand how a melon STD outbreak is even possible, let alone fair. I mean, what the hell is ‘listeria’ anyway? It’s not like I’m out coveting my neighbor’s wife, or out killing people for no apparent reason. All I’m doing is taking a succulent, juicy, perfectly round, sexy melon and making sweet sweet love to it, and for that I’m gonna be treated like a scene out of Magnolia? Well isn’t THAT some bullshit ??

Lets start this from the beginning shall we? Many years ago as I found myself with several hours of nothing to do alone in my house, I stumbled upon a website that gave many “fresh ideas” on how to pleasure one’s self. There were many, many, MANY ideas to try, so being the dedicated researcher that I am, I had to at least test a FEW of them out, you know … for science.

I ventured out on an exciting and naughty “melon-quest” and after several hours of pickyness, I purchased a fine melon from my local grocer. Sex-melons need to be the correct size to one’s anatomy, as to not bottom out on the old gal and cheating yourself out of the full experience. So for those of you taking notes, the bigger the better (you could go as big as a watermelon but those things get a little out of control once you start making out). I then took my new “girlfriend” home and placed her out in the sun for a couple hours to let her get nice and hot on the inside (it’s not a necessary step, but it’s so worth it, trust me). You then carefully take your paring knife and carve a hole right on the … Oh wait? What??!!

Well this is awkward, I was just told that people are getting sick and dying from EATING melons that are infected with ‘listeria’, so yeah, go ahead and forget all that other stuff that I was talking about, that was all just a little fun-time joke for the blog.

World's First Phone Call … Only $.99/Minute

Posted on

{EAV_BLOG_VER:0a00d1208e838f76}

2 Second Hef ?? Ouch !!

Posted on

Good ol’ Heff, still pullin’ 25 year old strange at 85 years old. Hats off to ya old boy. But a little bit of the ugly truth was leaked recently by aforementioned strange. Crystal Harris, Hugh’s latest name added to his novel length list of ass-tap, called him out on Howard Stern saying that his lasting power in the sack “lasted like two seconds”. Well Christ almighty, that’s not really that bad considering the parties involved: She’s a hot 25 year old tart with Playboy body, he’s a raisin. I guess I’m shocked that he can get it up at all, so for him to even get to that point and THEN last two seconds, that’s bonus Crystal, quit hate’n !!
Yep, I would've lasted about 2 seconds as well

Hugh Marston Heffner retaliated to his ex-fiance’s accusations by posting the following Twitter things …

I don’t which one confuses me more … the fact that Hugh Hefner can get his hands on ripeness like that or that he actually uses Twitter. I mean let’s think about it … here’s a list of the things that were around when HH was born in 1926.

Walt Disney Studios forms
Air Mail begins in the US
1st transatlantic telephone call (London-NY)
Mussolini’s wife breaks his nose
30th Boston Marathon – Now at 115th
52nd Kentucky Derby – Now at 137th
Thomas Edison says Americans prefer silent movies over talkies
Houdini stays in a coffin under water for 1½ hrs before escaping
Weather map televised for 1st time
Jerry Lewis, Don Rickles and Soupy Sales born
Henry Ford announces 8 hour, 5-day work week
Babe Ruth hits 3 HRs in a World Series game
NBC (National Broadcasting Corporation) forms
U.S. Route 66 is established
2nd part of Hitler’s Mein Kampf published

Hey Crystal, how about givin' Daddy a little of that Boom-Boom

So for you, Crystal the bitch, to bag on Hugh’s fornication stopwatch, well all I have to say is F YOU with a capital F !! That dude was around when Babe Ruth was still hitting homeruns, like he was doin’ with you … for 2 seconds at a time !! BAMMM !!

Charlie Sheen: Guru of the new Winning

Posted on Updated on

This is an honest to god open letter to Charlie Sheen. If anyone reading this knows how to get it in front of Guru Sheen, I beg of you, please do. I will do anything, ANYthing, to have this make it into the hands of my new hero so that we can hang all night in our aura of epic that only we two truly understand… Seriously, anything…

I’ve heard a lot of guff lately about the mental state and health of star of stage and screen, one Mr. Charles Sheen. The man has been hounded by questions of his sanity and his sobriety. People think he’s lost it, that the man is rocketing down a road of self destruction on his way to utter collapse and personal, professional and physical ruin. People are talking about how sorry they feel for Charlie Sheen.

"I've got tiger blood and Adonis DNA" - Actual quote.
"I've got tiger blood and Adonis DNA" - Actual quote.

But, see, you don’t get it: Charlie Sheen feels sorry for YOU.

Can you honestly say that you feel sorry for a man who can walk away from a job that pays him two million dollars an episode to play a toned down version of himself and then without batting a fucking eye say that, sure, he’ll come back, but now you’ve gotta pay him three? And know that he means every fucking breath of it. You think that’s losing? Charlie Sheen will tell you to your simple little face that that’s winning. And I for one believe him. I would be foolish not to. 

See, for too long, the exceptional have had to hide their superiority, to be humble and quiet in their personal knowledge of their uniqueness. The special have been forced to pretend that they’re just like everyone else to sell the normal people the idea that they could ever be special too. But once in a great while, a special person will throw off the guise of normal, relatable, humble every man and show you exactly how wrong you are to think that you could ever be like them. And that scares the shit out of the general public. They call that person crazy and narcissistic and dangerously addicted to drugs, alcohol and sex. I call those people jealous of seeing someone capable of owning the life that they all secretly wish could be theirs.

You see Charlie, I get it. We’re kindred spirits, you and I. In the old days two people such as us would meet on a mountain top and do battle with lightning and magic and the Earth would quake, knowing that it was witnessing the only thing greater than itself and that it’s continued existence was predicated entirely upon our whims at that moment. And the people would fear us, as much for what we do as for what we did not do.

But how do I, you may ask? How do I get it? How is it possible for my normal brain to ever claim to understand someone like Charlie Sheen? Someone utterly incomprehensible to those lower life forms? Because I’m not a sad normal brain like the rest of them Charlie. I am, in point of fact, a certified DOUBLE GENIUS. Shit yeah that’s what I said. But, certified by who you might ask. By myself of course, because how could I expect any of these normals to even begin to comprehend this?

We’re like two super sonic sub marines, tearin’ ass through the sky at a thousand miles an hour and people see us and they don’t comprehend how something so awesome and impossible could even exist. Then it dawns on them bro, they suddenly see clearly for the first time in their sad existence and see us for the bright bolt of light that we are and through their tears they wonder how they lived so long without knowing something like this could even exist. And it’s because they’ve been told that mediocrity is something to be sought after. A goal to be achieved. Nothing makes me sadder than seeing mediocrity being striven for, except maybe for a plate full of uneaten prostitute.

"It could never work Aphrodite, I've got Charlie Sheen DNA." - assumed quote
"It could never work Aphrodite, I've got Charlie Sheen DNA." - assumed quote

I understand that what you are putting out now is not anger, but passionate. I didn’t get it before. I didn’t understand that that was what was boiling over in my own samurai eagle heart. I thought I was angry, but that wasn’t it. If I was angry at anything it was with the world for not living up to our own personally standards. But now I understand that this pit of poison tipped rat vampires is only here to keep me from flying like the rocket propelled, birthday cake scented power monkey that I truly am!

You see, I woke up this morning with a helicopter hovering over my building. I go outside for my morning jog, look up in the sky and give the pilot the high sign and when I get back, it’s fuckin’ gone. Coincidence? There’s no such thing as coincidence man. They were there to make sure I was still alive, that’s it. Because the world needs me. I can’t even say any of my ideas out loud anymore bro, because when I do, the next day somebody’s making a million dollars on the easy little shit I say before my morning tea. So now I keep my genius locked away in a box labeled “not genius” and they’re not looking there because really, what that comes from me could ever not be genius, right? See it doesn’t make sense, and that’s what I’m counting on!

I want to hang with you Charlie. Beyond the fire and lightning that our meeting would call down from the halls of the gods of exceptionalism, I’m also selfishly thinking of my own self preservation. When I would put on my medical forms that my blood type was “Tiger Positive” the doctors would look at me with their stupid little questions in their eyes. But now I know that if something were ever to happen to me that there’s someone I can go to for a blood transfusion who would be able to handle it without my own blood kicking back into their body and devouring what was left of their unused soul. But until it becomes imperative for our unique physiology to preserve the last of our kind, we can just get together some Tuesday afternoon, each draw a little blood and have it fight, we can put that shit on Pay Per View and solve world hunger brother.

In closing, I want to make sure you know that I am absolutely serious right now when I say that if this somehow gets back to you Charlie, I want to hang with you. I want to finally feel free around someone who gets it! Give me a call Charlie, let’s be besties, because I am not mocking you, I get you, more than anyone else, I recognize your specialness and I fucking love it bro.