MySpace Shook The Music Industry To Its Core™. Facebook Was An Orwellian Craze Which Dismantled Basic Privacy™. Twitter Fed A Self Obsessed Generation Itself™. Bebo… I think that’s the one where teenagers have cyber sex. Anyway, all these social networking tools that have been upsetting parents whose children have never seen a blade of grass that wasn’t pixilated all look like a pan-racial youth-group trip out horse riding in the Cotswolds compared to Omegle.
Archive for March, 2009
What’s up with Wales?
The other day Kasper, Vice Belgium’s handsome editor sent us an email called “What’s up with Wales?” In it was a gallery of drunk Welsh people bleeding and spitting on each other. While I was giggling our Welsh intern Eleri looked over my shoulder and shrugged, five minutes on Facebook later and she’d made her own gallery of lager nightmares. All her nights out seem to look like the gay Garbage Pail Kids doing the Vietnam war with piss instead of napalm, at the risk of losing her mates she let us put up the gallery and told us what a night out where she comes from is like… Read more »
Bollocks to the Hippocratic Oath: What not to do for an erection
Welcome once again to our grimly insightful and honest column from a young British doctor. This week, Dr Moore remembers some chillingly stupid attempts to maintain a hard-on.
Edible wench’s true aims revealed
You may remember some time ago we wrote a witty blog post about PETA Vice President Ingrid Newkirk, the crazy lady who wanted to have her body cut into little pieces and sent all over the world in order to shock us callous humans into thinking twice before we buy a pet leopard off a website and keep it in a big Muji tupaware. Well we have a shocking UPDATE… Read more »
Recycling of the highest order
We went to a surprise birthday party last night. As there is no such thing as a successful surprise party without little hats, balloons, and those things you blow into that screech and unroll, our friend Pegah went to a pound shop in Dalston, well, actually a 98p shop, to stock up. It turns out that 98p shops employ the most resourceful recyclers in the world. Read more »
A night in Glasgow: Avant-garde cello art and the violent collapse of society
A Good Thing To Lose #6: Instal 09 by Aidan Moffat
On the screen there are one hundred almost identical black and white video shots of Nikos Veliotis (that naked guy isn’t him, he’s just another perverse cellist) playing his cello. They differ in only one way: he is playing a different tone in each little square so that we can hear the entire one hundred possible tones of the instrument all at the same time. It’s an ominous, hellish drone but it sounds fantastic. On stage, in the flesh, Nikos and his partner begin to dismantle and destroy said cello, chopping it up with an axe and dropping the pieces into a wood-chipper, then transferring the chips into what looks like a common kitchen blender where they are reduced to sawdust. What the point of it is, I’m not entirely sure. Read more »
Top Ten: Colonial Villains
Ah, the British Empire. I miss it. I miss being able to walk into Australia and tell them to iron my flag. Ok, so we can still fly around the world spreading cricket and freedom, but it’s not how it once was. No and why’s that? Because of some blaggards who ruined the concept for the rest of us by being such psychos we had to give all the countries back. What a shame. Here are the worst imperialist bastards of all time.
Uncle Carl’s shitty B-day
So my dad pretty much hates everyone and doesn’t have many friends outside of the staff at a bar he frequents on the weekends. His brother Carl is the polar opposite—a really amicable and gregarious guy who loves to chat with anyone and everyone about anything. They run a business together, so you can easily imagine the weird dynamic they have as partners. On top of their unholy union, every time one of them has a birthday, my grandmother buys the same horrid cologne for them year after year because they lie to her and say they like it (still, Carl probably likes it more than what my dad actually got him this year). This cologne though, it smells like mothballs that have been fermenting in a vat full of a year’s worth of John Madden’s leftover Tinactin scraped from his toe cleavage. Last year she made the mistake of giving her annual bottle of cologne to my uncle, who preceded to squirt three-quarters of its contents all over my dad’s office effects with the door closed after he had left for the night. Needless to say, my father refused to work inside his office the next day. Today was my uncle’s birthday and my dad, being the enterprising guy that he is, decided a special treat was in order: a kiddy pool full of fresh horse shit collected from a buddy’s ranch. It had been sitting in there for a good 12 hours before my uncle opened the door this morning, and next to it he found a shovel and a brand-new bottle of the aforementioned cologne. No word as of yet on how he got it out of there, but I have to say: Good one, old man. I didn’t think you still had it in you.
ROCCO CASTORO
Russians are mad. Trains are deadly.
I don’t know if you speak fluent Russian, or have ever studied their national anthem, but the chorus goes like this:
Hey Dmitri, you popped out in the morning for a glass of fish’s milk, came home and your whole family had starved to death, so you shrugged it off and make a new one from plutonium. Hey ho, let’s go to war.
When we saw this on that amazing English Russia blog, it confirmed every stereotype we had about Russian people being spookily unphased by death. I guess once you’ve seen a billion soldiers freeze to death on your doorstep and had Stalin forcing you to eat your children, the only craze that’s going to get you high is a variation on train surfing that makes Teen Wolf look like a pussy. Ok, maybe Russian trains have bigger wheels than English ones, but these people still don’t look like they’re taking their mortality seriously enough. I know thousands of dead people who’d happily swap.
Religious Rumble: There can be only one winner. Or disappointingly, none.
In our hippy-dippy flippity-floppity liberal society, we’re taught to believe that all religions are somehow equal. You know, like how everyone’s just as spiritual as everyone else. Whether it’s Buddha, my man Muhammad or Jesus too, there’s no top dog, it’s all one big party in the sky, yeah? This is obviously lies. It stands to reason that if I set an essay competition between all the major faiths, the winner must be the one that produces the best nugget of profundity, ergo the one that has the greatest connection to the Godhead. This is the scientific approach.
Couchsurfer Ted
I have to assume anybody who uses couchsurfing.com approaches their transactions with a modicum of trepidation, or at least I hope they do, but I also would be remiss if I did not alert everybody to the fact that there is at least one confirmed super weirdo in the mix. His name is Ted.
Meet the Nieratkos, part 6: Nieratko down under
Hello, my name is Chris Nieratko. You might know me from such films as Skinema: Love on the Rocks or My Wife’s Mouth Will Not Get Pregnant. Or you may not. Either way, Vice has found me, my wife of the same name (Cris), our dog Benny and my wife’s retarded (literally) Uncle Lonnie interesting enough (maybe stupid is a better word) to share our life with you on a weekly basis. I hope you enjoy. But I know you won’t because you’re so tragically hip that you can’t enjoy the comedy of domesticity. Oh well. Tough titty. Read more »
Are you really bored at work?
If you are, we may have the answer. We have one level of the MyMiTo Rally driving game hosted in the murky depths of Viceland. We have found it to be an excellent way of wasting away a few minutes of the working day. Go here if you want to feel like you are getting paid for doing nothing all day.
