The latest installment of VBS.TV’s Shot by Kern is an in-depth, behind-the-scenes look at how the master coaxes seemingly shy girls-next-door like Amelia here out of their underwear and onto green velour couches, where he gets up close and personal with their crotches and areolas. It’s also about the double voyeuristic irony of having someone shoot Kern while he’s shooting Shot by Kern. Think about that while you watch the newest episode.
Bernard Kerik, a man once called an American hero, is in the news again today. In addition to serving as police chief at the time of 9/11, Kerik trained the Iraqi police-force following the 2003 invasion, and was once nominated by President Bush for the job of Homeland Security Secretary. This nomination, which would have been the highlight of any career in public service, ultimately served to cause his downfall. During the vetting process, a proverbial shit-ton of skeletons came out of his closet. Among them: Kerik employed an illegal nanny (who doesn’t?), had extramarital affairs, and took hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of bribes. Apparently, these things are frowned upon.
Someone just told me that John and Edward are doing a set at tonight’s GASH! at the Macbeth. Apparently the girl who organises it knows the guy who drives them and met them or something. It’s probably bullshit, but are you going to take that chance? Are you going to miss the opportunity to cheer ironically at this pair of virgins? Also, if John and Edward don’t show up, you can watch Sharks and Loverman, who are both much better anyway. To win a pair of tickets, email us and tell me what my favourite movie is. Closest guess wins. Read more »
Last night, on the way to Catch for my usual Thursday night of averageness, I spotted an animal-made monument that will surely go down in the annals of Hackney past – a perfectly vertical log of dog shit. Check it out up there. Look at it! It’s Hackney’s very own Stonehenge. Stoolhenge, if you will. The local council should put a perspex box around it to protect it, like they’d do with a grotesque Banksy creation. Go and check it out for yourself. It’s a little over half way up Goldsmith’s Row, towards Broadway Market.
PRANCEHALL
I’ve come six times today. Whatever. No big deal. My vagina currently feels like a piece of five-week-old deli meat and I’m finding it slightly difficult to walk, but it was totally worth it for those beautiful, magical, short bursts of ecstasy. God, I love porn. Read more »
Magners Pear Cider and Viceland.com have teamed up for two nights with some of the best UK-based breakthrough comedians at The Roundhouse, London on the 11th November and The Glee Club, Birmingham on the 18th November. We’ve got five pairs of tickets to giveaway for this invite-only gig at both venues. Read more »
I was watching Conan O’Brien the other night, trying to fall asleep, when these two girls with $200 haircuts that looked like designer swim caps started playing guitars and chirping some awful tweeish indie rock. No big deal, I thought, it’s just another pair of dolts with a gimmick who both play the exact same chords throughout the entire song because they’re not really musicians. I asked my girlfriend if she knew who they were and she said, “Oh yeah, that’s Tegan and Sara.” To which I replied: “Where are the tap shoes?” She just looked at me like she normally does when I say something completely inappropriate. I just turned off the TV and went to bed. The next morning I woke up with sleep in my eyes and those two nu-dykes stuck in my head. WHERE ARE THE TAP SHOES? I was certain I was correct, but a quick Wikipedia search had nary a mention of Gregory Hines or Ann Miller’s influence on their awful music. I’m still confused by it all. I mean, Tegan and Sara? It sounds like they should be doing fucking cramprolls and shuffle hops to an audience of severely wrinkled people. Am I the only person who thinks this? Please tell me someone out there made the same mistake. And yes, I now realize I was confusing them with Tilly & the Wall. Whatever. Same shit, different emo hairdresser.
I used to think that on the crazy-assed-with-giant-big-ass-brave-balls spectrum, comedians owned the crown and deserved the mega-prize for roundest most engorged with triumph jumbo nutz. Attending enough open-mic nights of wusses telling jokes to a silent death crowd of hate, I had to admit that I would never fucking even attempt that shit and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to maintain any crumble of pride afterward.
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Have you ever been to The Griffin? It’s great. The floor dissolved a decade ago, last month one of the buttresses feel off, they’ve got a hot Northern Irish barmaid, a pool table, a jukebox with Oasis on it, funny crisps you’ve never eaten before and (kind of) clean toilets. It’s next to our office and today, for some reason, Stringer Bell from The Wire was there filming some hot new shit. Lots of people in our office with DVD players at home were very excited, and none more so than our handsome new intern Rhys, who ran out to meet a man who’s easily one of his top 1,000 heroes on HBO. They did this sweet-ass interview. Read more »
Pablo Tregebov and Alejandra Nuñez are two hardcore kids from Barcelona with the kind of tattoos that at first baffle, and then make you simmer with jealousy that you didn’t have the imagination or the balls to pull off. Like what? Like a kid’s drawing of a pair of boobs on your upper arm. Moving forward, they also have a thing about dogs. In Dog We Trust is the ripe fruit plucked from the tree of their mutual interests, which are hardcore and dogs, in case you haven’t been paying attention. It’s 40 full-color pages of canine photos, interspersed with interviews with a few people you should already know about (Jenna from Mika Miko, Patrick O’Dell, and Lewis Chaplin, among others), discussing their quadroped buddies.
Here is a tasty leftover from our great lost issue from 1994. It is an interview with British national, Livingstone Fagan, who was one of the Branch Davidians who wound up in jail after the Waco siege that occurred in February 1993. We caught up with him to find out what happened in Texas, as well as his thoughts on David Koresh. He’s the guy in the glasses up there, in case you aren’t into things like the news.
Anabolic steroids will make you big, ravage your liver, shrink your balls, and, god forbid, help you grow a magnificent set of bitch tits. They won’t, however, make you stab proof. My buddy Julian learned this the hard way.
It’s a sad week for children and fat people of Iceland because McDonalds have dumped them, hamburgling happiness from the nation by removing all of its branches from the land of Bjork. It’s just the latest humiliation for the credit-crunched country and just another thing for Alison, our half-Icelandic VBS producer, to feel ashamed about. I took her out for four McDonald’s meals to commiserate her and watched her eat them through her tears. Read more »
“I can’t believe this invisible spray actually works! We can do whatever we want wherever we want. It’s like the world is our living room.” Shut up and piss on me, Meghan.
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If you’re not in the mood to slut it out and get all stiletto on our ass, please feel free to go nautical circa Built by Wendy 2001. It’s the lust of Meatballs with the laughs of Caddyshack and the femininity of Little Darlings.
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