Celebrity Treatment

Van Full of Candy has been going strong now for well over a week which basically means, I’m pretty much famous now, and as such I expect you to treat me as if I am constructed entirely of deli sliced porcelain egg shells.

Stop it! Stop looking at me!
Stop it! Stop looking at me!

I am a delicate artiste. I pull from my painful, tragic history to shape and texturalize my performance. I mine feelings and emotions from experiences, sometimes beautiful, most times horrific, to deliver unto you, my adoring public, the most personal and honest portrayal I can deliver. But don’t you ever talk about my past! Don’t you dare! How dare you!? DON’T YOU DARE!

I give and I give and I give, and all I ask for in return is that piles of money be left on my doorstep by an individual that I never see and whom must never see me, and that anything that I have done in the past, present or near future that might be embarrassing to me or could potentially impact the size and quality of my miraculously appearing cash stacks must never be brought back to light once I have courageously been forgiven of them by the easily distracted public.

Every day Van Full of Candy is viewed by tens of people, making it one of the most online web sites in the long storied history of the world-wide internet! I have a personal responsibility to these near score of people to never have any of my gross, childish, irresponsible misdeeds held against me as if I were to be somehow accountable for my actions and their repercussions. As a celebrity I understand that if I were to do something untoward like, say, karate chop an escort in the thorax for calling me by the assumed name that I forgot I told her to refer to me by, that I will have to face the consequence of prolonged television exposure and late night ridicule which will in today’s backward society somehow result in my being even more marketable and desirable, rather than the cautionary tale of unchecked ego and irresponsible enabling by those supposedly charged with protecting my best interests, that it should be. But once I have courageously triumphed over my brief period of ridicule I expect those past misdeeds to never be brought up again in any capacity because it might hurt my ‘iddle feelings. And I think I’ve earned the right to have everyone pretend that they don’t remember that they’ve seen my penis in places society says that it shouldn’t!

I deserve this, I REALLY deserve this!
I deserve this, I REALLY deserve this!

So when I see my fellow celebrities, coming together for a free meal, to be given awards for pretending to have feelings, only to be ambushed by reminders of their selfish over indulgence, well, it just makes me want to vomit on a Thai prostitute who’s age I continue to refuse to be told! We go to these things (my celebrity brethren and sisthren) to receive trophies from one another for our portrayals of flawed human beings, not to be pointed at and laughed about for things that we have made very careful to erase from the memory of the ticket buying, or link clicking public. Many of us have been forced to do horrible, unspeakable things: family comedies, bullshit fantasy cgi nonsense, to make people forget how much we love hitchhiking lady dudes, or to pay back taxes that we just assumed stopped applying to us once we started being asked for autographs.

If I’d known that I was going to be so outraged by a globally televised stroke session, I would have prepared something. As it is I would just like to thank anyone who would in the future, like to present me with something shiny for something that I did, and to all of those that stood beside me and made this all possible, you will be forgotten and all credit scroungeable will be claimed as my own. Because the second I made it, you all became dead to me. And to the creator for without whom none of this is possible: BOO-YA-KA!

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