A few nights back I was having dinner with the wife and a few of her friends at a foreign restaurant and the topic of douching came up. I believe that I referred to a friend of theirs as a "douche bag" and the table stared at me in utter confusion. I thought for a moment that I'd upset the tide of the conversation by slandering a friend of theirs, but no. Much to my chagrin, the females at the table (except for my wife because she lives with me and has had this conversation with me before) were, for the most part, completely in the dark to the wonderful world of pre-bagged vaginal showers. I quickly explained myself and the product to the fullest of my ability and was then surrounded by shocked and somewhat engrossed females. Not in their foggiest dreams would they have thought up such a contraption. But, seriously though, who the fuck doesn't know what a douche bag is in 2009? Obviously most Aussie broads, that's who! Since the birds around here need some learning, please allow me to satiate your thirst for knowledge with a little crass commercialism.
We used to party with this guy about ten years ago in Melbourne. He was the kind of friend who, when everyone started to fade at 5am, would suddenly appear with a crash helmut wrapped in foil on his head or something, and make sure the party didn’t slip. He facebooked us the other day and we asked him what he was doing with himself. His response was, "living the American dream and attempting to get a black man elected president." Turns out he works for a firm which consults to the Democratic Party and has been living in Washington on and off for the last 8 years. So we asked him to write us something about this election thing. Here’s what he had to say.
Thats right, screw-heads, Crispin Glover's coming to town! We here at VICE along with the people at IN-TENSE touring are proud to give you his first ever Australian appearance. He's coming down to spend two nights in each city and to show his "Big Slide Show" where he reads from one of his books accompanied by a slide show, a screening of one of film's Crispin has funded and the first two installments of his "It"trilogy, What Is It? and "It's Fine, Everything Is Fine This will be proceeded by an intimate Q&A session with the audience. If that's not enough to tickle your River's Edge worshiping ass, he will be hanging around after each performance to sign books and talk with fans!! Get your dorky quotes memorized! Here's a old classic I like to dig up every now and again to make me feel better and hate David Letterman even more!
Today we’ve got a new episode of Hi Shredabillity, VBS’s very own surf show. If you missed last week’s premiere with Alex Knost, it’s there waiting for you in the show archives, just to the top of this little text here. If not though, by all means plow forward with this week’s episode, featuring Ry Craike.
We’re also continuing our journey to Baalbeck, Lebanon’s Drug Valley, where we attempt to meet up with a meth and crack pusher. As for our music offerings, we delve into the second part of our conversation with one of the founding fathers of rap on VBS Meets… Big Daddy Kane and revisit the third part of Ian Svenonius’s chat with Will Oldham on Soft Focus as we ramp up for our new UK-based season.
The Sugar Bush Squirrel has been making the office rounds today. The
poor girl who does the Cute Show on VBS says she’s gotten it sent to
her like 20 times already, which is almost as many times as she’s been sent
links to Planet Unicorn and icanhascheezburger.com. Anyhoo, it’s a gloomy, rainy day around these here parts, so why not
let “the world’s most photographed squirrel” cheer you up if for but a
moment. Feel free to supplement your viewing with this article from a
Florida paper which settles the “Taxidermy or Alive?” controversy once
and for all, and has some excellent quotes from Sugar Bush’s
firecracker mom Kelly Foxton, like: “Just about every day, I can count
on getting an email from somebody asking why I don't free that poor
little thing… Most of the time, I'll answer as if Sugar Bush is writing
it. I'm sure that infuriates them even more."
These lovely ladies from the Philippine island of Cebu are named Ping Ping, Booba, Paige, Nicksie, and Candy. They are performers in the "Amazing Philippine Show," a hugely popular theatrical variety revue full of all kinds of razzle-dazzle, including folk dances, lip sync numbers, comedy acts and really loud techno. Oh and Ping Ping, Booba, Paige, Nicksie, and Candy are also what is known as Kakaibang Eba, which in Tagalog means "another kind of Eve" and which in the universal language of Duh means "they are dudes."
This is a page by and for Neds. They are essentially Glaswegian Chavs but about 20 times more violent. I got to this page after seeing VICE UK’s "Wee Man" post which is a funny parody of Neds (I hope) but the true highlight of this link is entitled "The Catman of Greenock" about halfway down. This man crawls around the cozy fishing village of Greenock on his belly eating rats and whatever else he can find. His face is black with soot and garbage residue. One can't help but ask, "Here Catman hoo dud you end up l'
this?" Update: He's on MySpace.
It goes like this: The first man in the world was dismembered into four parts. Brahmins, the priest caste, came from his mouth. The Kshatriya, or warriors, came from his arms. The Vaisya, or merchants, came from his loins, and the Shudra, or laboring caste, came from his feet. This is how it is in India. And then there are the Untouchables, who are apparently real dickhead losers.
Seriously, this shit is still going on. No offense, India, but isn’t it about time you got that whole foundation-of-your-civilization thing sorted? No? OK. So tell us all about it. One caste at a time.
A Jesus Lizard DVD, Jim Goad’s new book, and a Peter Bagge comic. These three items magically appeared on our desk today as if to say “The 90s! Mayhaps they are back, no?” And indeed it would appear so. Let’s review these three items and see how the 90s have held up, shall we?
Fortunately—unless you’ve got a massive hate-on for Mother Nature and her ursine friends—this isn’t an entry about the systematic extermination of the few black bears left foraging for half-eaten twinkies and rancid quarter pounders on the farthest edges of Toronto. Instead we’re talking about taking stock of the flourishing downtown population of the fuzzy yet friendly, gay human variety that counts some of its most GRRR-worthy specimens among The Bears of Toronto.
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