Hans OFF Tainted Candy Made in the Netherlands

Got a Snickers or Mars bar made in the Netherlands? HANS may have gotten his HANS on it!

The story is absolutely true.

The headline was changed to un-protect the guilty one. This was no mere accident. The piece of plastic was deliberately put in the candy by a disgruntled ex-employee. And here's the Q&A proof!

DBA: Thanks to help from BREIN, I've reached the Windmill of Hans, the notorious malcontent with an Ayatollah-like vengeance streak. So, you big fat baby walrus, you're at it again!

HDV: (smiling) And you're...DOING BUSINESS AS...

DBA: No, I'm DISGUSTED BY AMUSEMENT. I'm reporting for my blog. I have a blog.

HDV: Only one? I've had thousands! Hee hee hee! Look at this. It's a Photoshopped picture of Laura Bush! I just HAD to show you. I know she hasn't been First Lady in decades, but vaginal hair makes me giggle!

DBA: I noticed you seem very happy.

HDV: Yes, I'm disgruntled. I no longer grunt. Making other people miserable gives me great pleasure! That's why I keep giving away shitty music. People WISH I gave away something worth hearing, but I'm still...oh, pardon me...I've uploaded a SUNSET to my latest blog. I've just deleted all my links. Oh yes, and I made sure to leave a message in Zinfart's shoutbox that the FBI is after me. "Blogging is not for me." Not until tomorrow! Hee hee!

DBA: Look, you bearded Douche Bag, what's the idea of putting plastic in a chocolate bar?

HDV: It wasn't plastic. It was vinyl. It was a chip of vinyl from an album I stole with my very own fat thieving hands, from a music office in the Brill Building. PS, it wasn't a chocolate bar till I shoved it up my ass.

DBA: That was a shitty thing to do.

HDV: Dangerous, too. I put a Mars bar up my moon the other day, and it slipped up my colon and twisted around and diverted to the left, and then to the right, and my wife had to stick her arm in my anus, almost all the way to her shoulder, to get it out. You see, I have Diverticulitis! If I put things up my ass they can end up anywhere, even popping out my mouth. People are so cruel to say "Shove it up your ass, Hans," when I can't be sure what will happen.

DBA: You have one green nostril and one red nostril.

HDV: See? I shoved two M&M's up my ass and they finally turned up! I have a turned-up nose!

DBA: Please, your sense of humor is like your farts. STINKY. Smelling you is bad enough but looking at your face is making me ill. So despite being on the government teat, you found work at a milk chocolate company? WHY?

HDV: I needed money to buy a gigantic fan. My windmill doesn't turn fast enough to banish the smell of my farts. Have I mentioned I have diverticulitis? It causes the gas to stay trapped in my layers of anal blubber and turn really rotten. Then at night while my sphincter is snoring, a brown cloud begins to emerge. I call it a Snicker Ghost.

DBA: Because it's like a giant brown candy bar?

HDV: No, like a giant brown person. Oh, I really do NOT like Snickers. That's my name for You Know What.

DBA: Your wife's shit-stained underpants?

HDV: Hmmm...Snickers. I get it! That's almost as funny as Laura Bush. Or planes hitting the World Trade Center. Anyhoo, Snickers have invaded Holland too much, and there were too many working at the factory. I complained, and they fired my ass.

DBA: They fired your ass?

HDV: Yes, they pushed me backward into a kiln. For a month, my big fat ass had a hard shiny shell. Sort of like a turdle.

DBA: Please, your puns are horrible.

HDV: I'll tell you what's horrible. Snickers! Black people! I love SOFT music, which is just like soft WHITE BREAD. I love white surfer boys and country music stars. Those Snickers don't like soft music. One of those Snickers took my wallet, and ripped up the photo in it of me blowing Curt Boettcher. That's when I vowed revenge. I take full responsibility for tossing bits of vinyl into the candy at the Netherlands plant. I also hacked their website leaving the message "SAY SOMETHING NICE ABOUT ME."

DBA: Enough. I'm not wasting my bandwidth on you, you idiotic Hans-been.

HDV: Boo hoo hoo. Now you made me cry. You see these three dark, chocolate-brown tear drops? It's backed up diarrhea from my diverticulitis, seeping out my eyes!

DBA: OK, and what do you call them?

HDV: Three Musky Tears!

DBA: I think that joke has to be ill-ustrated. Does the Mars company even MAKE that fucking candy bar for international sale?

HDV: My own favorite isn't made by Mars. It's the YORKIE. First off, because it actually IS the size of my dick, and second because "it's not for girls." Or women.

DBA: Oh shut the fuck up you fat homo. Zab was right. You really ARE irrelevant. Next time I want to talk to a fat moron I'll dial up Bill Hoobastank. At least he has silly pictures of himself with D-list celebrities. YOU don't even have a photo anymore of yourself blowing Curt Boettcher!

HDV: Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! OOOOOOP! POOOOOOO! Uhhhh, do you suppose Bill's diaper holds more shit to the pound than mine?