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!

Crisis in the Holy Land: Biebs vs. Heebs

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As regular readers know, we at Van Full of Candy have a love, hate, stab, caress relationship with a certain young pop super star whose name shall be mentioned many dozen times throughout this article. Whether it’s his disappointment in and hatred of rape victims, or his world shaking follicle styling decisions, we have been there every step of the way over the last three plus months of our official existence. Bieber gives us life, his floppy headed stupidity nourishes us, it feeds our machine so that we might feast upon him again.

And so, hearing the news that the Bieb was taking his healing message to the planet’s most picked at open sore, I couldn’t help but be intrigued at the potentially horrible possibilities. And as usual, when it comes to matters of tact and sense, JBiZzle doesn’t disappoint.

"Stop taking pictures of me! I just want my privacy, gosh!"
"Stop taking pictures of me! I just want my privacy, gosh!"

Justin apparently touched down in the promised land on Monday as part of his “My World” tour. The arrogance and ignorance makes me stronger! I can’t help but giggle at the gall of this little oblivious twat prancing through Perpetualwarslavia with his smoldering hot Canadianess and his utter lack of personal awareness as he takes a walk about across the face of His World. It truly makes me want to punch him in the face with the fist of a million holocaust ghosts. If only Justin had been around a little sooner, perhaps with the power of his disarming wink he could have shown that mean ol’ Adolph that his pursuits were pointless, this is Bieber’s world, and his alone.

A day doesn’t go by that we’re not reminded that America is a Christian Nation and as such, Jesus grew up in Bethlehem, Colorado, so I’m not sure where this beaver pelt wearing, igloo humping Canadian gets off trying to get all uppity that he’s being pestered by paparazzi while trying to visit our God’s explodey birthplace.

We of course know about every tiny perceived hardships that the Bieb is experiencing because of his personal telepathic link to the internets, Twitter. Through his twitter account he has shared his twelve trials, whining about the paparazzi that “They should be ashamed of themselves. Take pictures of me eating but not in a place of prayer, ridiculous ” and “You would think paparazzi would have some respect in holy places. All I wanted was the chance to walk where Jesus did here in Israel,” And Justin is absolutely right! Finally something I can agree with him completely on. Why can’t the paparazzi show the same level of respect for these holy places that Justin is tweeting that he has… from these holy places. Just because he’s walking in the footsteps of the Christ, doesn’t mean he has to put down his smart phone long enough to actually look around and be respectful of what and where it is that he is bitching about not being respected at. And of course there is no more divine expression of one’s respect and reverence than in the form of a 140 character kvetch. Twitter is the ultimate tool in circumventing damnation from the sin of Hubris, because while you are vainly boasting about your importance and value, you’re only doing it in bite sized portions, so clearly it doesn’t count.

Then you toss on top of all of this there’s the political theatre of snubbing and finger pointing. Justin, rightfully expected an audience with Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu, because he clearly has nothing better to do than to shake hands with a seventeen year old pop star with a delusional sense of self worth. Netanyahu wanted to bring in some kids that earlier in the week had been shot at by rockets and as we all know Justin is allergic to human tragedy and it all became a big kerfuffle and now everyone’s blaming everyone else for a pointless meeting between two people who have no business ever meeting in the first place never happening at all. And we’re all the lesser for it. Somehow.

Now, I know that Justin isn’t doing anything out of malice or with any sort of forethought. He’s a self absorbed child with more money than any of us will ever see if we lived to be three million, and no one telling him no. He’s being no more disrespectful and oblivious than any North American child his age would be. The only difference is that his inane bullshit is being heard by millions of followers. But naturally, we can’t stay mad at you Justin, you’re just too adorable and precocious. So here is a little something we whipped together in your honour (the extra “u” is for extra Canadian), celebrating our undying love of all things Bieber, combined with my unbridled insanity.

So I invite you all to enjoy the first installment of a potentially limitless part series. Van Full of Candy proudly presents: Bieber Shots!

Bieber Shots #1: Click to enjoy.
Bieber Shots #1: Click to enjoy.

Happy Birthday Twitter, You Bedwetter

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We didn’t get you a present

Hey everyone, want to hear something that nobody cares about? Twitter just turned 5 years old. Big F’ing deal, so did my dog and he still scrapes his ass on the floor. Five! You can’t even really color within the lines yet Twitter, or eat without spillin’ shit all over your shirt, or even wipe your ass by yourself yet. Whoopeee!! Twitter is 5!! Let’s all have a big social media party with a creepy ass clown so Twitter will run to mommy and cry.

Five! You go around acting all badass making other people feel important when they have a shitload of followers, big whippity doo! YOU’RE ONLY 5! You don’t even know what all that means yet. This is kind of like your really poorly done refrigerator art, and your parents are telling you how amazing it is patting you on your sweaty little Twitter head and magnet’ing it where everybody HAS to look at it! Five! You still wear Pull-Ups to bed and have a nightlight, but we’re all supposed to bow down to your uberness, your power, your Charlie Sheen record setting whatever that media handjob thing was; and what is it you really do? ANSWER THAT TWITTER! WHAT DO YOU DO? You sit there and you make people “popular” and feel special. Well you know what? The people who were already popular, are just more popular and those of us who were never popular, still aren’t. Thanks for that! And how the hell am I supposed to use you? And how did you like my overuse of the word “popular”? Oh you wouldn’t understand that because you’re FIVE!

Hey, let me “tweet” something. Yay! Well that was fun! Where in the hell did THAT go? Who got it? WTF?? And this hashtag bullshit? It’s like tic-tac-toe before a word and all of a sudden it’s that much more important? And if freakin’ Sheen puts one in front of anything it becomes the God damn word of … well … God. And now I’ve mentioned his name twice in this damn article even though he deliberately cut me from his internship. I’m not bitter, I already talked to him about it here. Five! You can’t even sit in the front seat yet, but you’re telling us who we need to follow and how amazing they are and even set up a NEW website that pimps out the chosen people even more, well fuck, why don’t you make a shitty website and pimp us nobody’s out? Huh? No! I guess we’ll just have to work our asses off and do all of that shit ourselves. GREAT! When do WE get to be cool? Never! That’s when! You just sit back there in your car-seat with your sippy-cup and act like a Prima Donna. FIVE! You still take naps, and suck your thumb and let all these people praise you, well not us! No sir! We will never promote you AT ALL! EVER! We won’t hyperlink anything back to you to show how much everybody needs you. FIVE! And you know what? Just for being the little runny nose prick that you are, I’m not gonna pick you up from daycare today!


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