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VOLUME 18 NUMBER 5
Two massive steel frames more than 50 feet high closed on the stage like
sliding track doors, then ignited an epic light show thats certainly one of,
if not the, most ambitious spectacles in the fests 12-year-history. Spin
Coachella Main Stage design by United Visual Artists
The Creators Project: Coachella 2011
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10 VICE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
FOR MY DEAD HOMIES
Los Santos Malandros Are the Hottest Saints in Venezuela . . 20
PLEASURE TO MEET YOU, RAINBOW GUY
Now Tell Us About Your Underground Tunnel to Nowhere . . . . 22
WE ANALYZED KEITH MORRISS DREADLOCK
It Contained Uranium and Arsenic . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
ROSEMARYS BABIES
Satanic Cults and Their Hapless Victims . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
PLAYING IT STRAIGHT
A Month of Giving Up Everything Gay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
ALLAHU AKBAR IN A PARKING LOT
European Muslim Fundamentalists
Hate Burka Bans but Love French Fries . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
PSYCHICK CHIC
A Lovely Day of Shopping With Genesis P-Orridge . . . . . . . . 40
TOO MANY TUNISIANS, NOT ENOUGH TOILETS
The Realities of Lampedusas Refugee Crisis . . . . . . . . . . . 74
A PRAYER AND TWO PARABLES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
TOUGH QUESTIONS
Ukrainian Police Officers Can Be Very Unpleasant . . . . . . . 86
THE OFFENSIVE REVIEW
In 1965, Horseshit Magazine Launched a Full-Frontal
Assault on Everyone. So Why Has No One Heard of It? . . . . . . 94
LIFE IS A COSMIC GIGGLE ON THE BREATH OF THE UNIVERSE
A Tour of Gordon Todd Skinners Subterranean LSD Palace . . 102
VOLUME 18 NUMBER 5
Cover by Maggie Lee
These psychedelic images were made by Krystle Cole. She told us they were inspired by an entheogenic experience. See page 102 to get the full story.
12 VICE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Masthead . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Employees . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
DOs & DONTs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Fashion: Dealers Delight . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
Fashion: Put It in Your Mouth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
Toupee: Dead Dick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
The Learnin Corner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
The Cute Show Page! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114
Skinema . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
Sheppards Video-Game Pie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
Reviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
Stockists . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
Bob Odenkirks Page . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
Johnny Ryans Page . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
14 VICE
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VICE 19
EMPLOYEES OF THE MONTH
GUIDO GAZZILLI
A sweet and lovable 27-year-old rapscallion, Guido Gazzilli is a photographer who was born in Rome.
His friends call him Guidini, because a) it sounds cute and b) it distinguishes him from all the orange-
skinned, steroid-and-silicone-filled meatballs who should be fixing our plumbing rather than roaming
New Jersey beaches. Guido documents both music-related happenings and heavier, geopolitical stories. He
trained under the preeminent Italian photojournalist Paolo Pellegrin, and his work has appeared in Italian
Rolling Stone, Vice Italy, Nero, Foto8, PRIVATE, and other magazines. For this issue, Guido traveled to
Lampedusaan island south of Sicily where tens of thousands of Tunisians fled following the revolution
and ousting of former president Zine El Abidine Ben Alito get the real scoop on the refugee crisis.
See TOO MANY TUNISIANS, NOT ENOUGH TOILETS, page 74
HANNAH BROOKS
This tall drink of water was born in Bowen, a small North Queensland town famous for its delicious mangoes.
At one time, Hannah was the music editor of our Australian edition, which is why you may know her from
VBS documentaries like Heavy Metal Gangs of Wadeye and Nimbin Mardi Grass. She is currently exiled in
the paradise that is Byron Bay, where her days consist of loafing around the beach, walking the fine line be-
tween burning and tanning, riding her bicycle, wearing black on principle (she says theres too much color in
Byron), getting calluses on her fingertips from playing guitar, avoiding bongo players, learning to drive (public
transport isnt an option up there), and conducting interviews with interesting people such as Rainbow Guy, the
mastermind behind Byrons Rainbow Temple and a deep, dark tunnel without a destination.
See PLEASURE TO MEET YOU, RAINBOW GUY, page 22
JAN VAN TIENEN
The first time we met Jan, we were a little baffled. He looked more like a young dot-com entrepreneur than
the editor of Vices Dutch edition. With our help, he experienced his first-ever Halloween. He showed up to
a Brooklyn bar in a black ski mask (tags still attached at the top), holding sparkly cheerleader pom-poms.
We werent exactly sure what he was supposed to be (we dont think he was, either), but we liked his gusto.
In spite of being from the rural backwater of Zeeland, he has adapted nicely to Amsterdams latte-stained
yuppie district, where he enjoys tending to his bangs, collecting zombie books, Maoam candy, and the
disco music. In this issue, youll find Jans account of tagging along with a bunch of young European
Muslims on their way to protest Frances burka ban.
See ALLAHU AKBAR IN A PARKING LOT, page 34
PAUL MALISZEWSKI
One of Pauls first short stories, written when he was a Tolkien-obsessed kid in Shreveport, Louisiana,
involved a character walking into a pub, draining a pint of mead, and conversing with a face that appears
at the bottom of the glass. He composes stories that alternate between painfully realistic examinations of
the human condition and dreamlike narratives that reveal as much as they bewilder. Paul has received all
sorts of well-deserved attention for his fiction and his essays, including two Pushcart Prizes and a book
blurb from editor extraordinaire Gordon Lish that says, Paul Maliszewski takes no crap, which is like
God saying someone is incapable of sin. Of course, were thrilled to be publishing three excerpts from his
brand-new fiction collection, Prayer and Parable, which will be released this month by Fence Books.
See A PRAYER AND TWO PARABLES, page 80
ULTRAVIOLET BLACK-LIGHT CALENDAR
This very special calendar came into our lives last Christmas during a Secret Santa gift-off. It features 13 classic
images from Ultraviolet, a book celebrating the out-there-ness of black-light posters. Despite our shock that
a publication dedicated to black-light posters actually exists, weve really been enjoying it here at the office; we
count on its groovy date boxes to keep us on track for deadline and inform us of important psychedelic histori-
cal dates like the FDAs approval of oral contraceptives (May 9) and the signing of the Anti-Ballistic Missile
Treaty (May 26). Theres also loads of cool imagery: pretty girls with flowing hair and boobs made of flowers,
mustached neon bikers, a naked couple making out in front of an enormous peace sign, outer space, and, of
course, an ode to Jimi Hendri x. Now all someone needs to do is send us a black light.
See THE BRICK WALL ABOVE OUR ASSOCIATE EDITORS DESK
20 VICE
W
e approach the Cementerio General del Sur
in Caracas in the back of a cab with darkly
tinted windows. Fourteen thousand people
were murdered in Venezuela in 2010, and Caracas
is widely regarded as one of the most violent cities
in the world. The cemetery, weve been warned, is
in a particularly rough neighborhood, a difficult
concept to wrap our heads around after seeing the
rest of town.
We enter the heavily guarded gates and pro-
ceed slowly past a few funerals in progress. Its a
Monday, which means the weekends departed are
being laid to rest. They are overwhelmingly young
and male, and forlorn relatives are scattered across
the graveyard.
The Cementerio General del Sur initially looks
like any Catholic cemetery: old graves interspersed
BY RYAN DUFFY
PHOTOS BY
SANTIAGO STELLEY
with overgrown greenery, fresh flowers left by recent
visitors dotting the landscape. But as you look closer
at the gatherings of people, elements of Santeria
pop out. Many visitors are dressed entirely in white.
Small statuettes of saints sit on top of graves, and
most people are carrying offerings.
Venezuela is, to put it simply, a deeply divided
society. The Chavez regime is a direct response to a
distrust of authority born through centuries of violent
dictatorships. This distrust is not limited to politics:
Venezuelans living without running water have a wee
bit of a difficult time connecting with the traditional
saints of the Roman Catholic Church. They opt in-
stead for more familiar, and flawed, figureheads.
The cemetery is surrounded on all sides by cascad-
ing hillside slums, like the upper decks of the worlds
worst football stadium. Its an imposing place to
spend an afternoon, and the gravity is palpable.
Until you see Ismael Sanchez.
Standing at about three feet tall, with a sideways
baseball hat and permanent cigarette dangling from
his bottom lip, Ismael is the leader of the Santos
Malandros (in English, the Holy Thugs)a col-
lection of dead saints with a shared history of
FOR MY DEAD HOMIES
Los Santos Malandros Are the Hottest
Saints in Venezuela
Three of the statues of Ismael Sanchez at his shrine in the Cementerio General del Sur in Caracas. That notch in his mouth is for cigarettes and joints.
VICE 21
criminal activity. Ismael is a dapper little fellow, sporting
wraparound sunglasses, bright accents on his shirt to com-
pliment his baggy pants, and shiny new Nike sneakers to
match the swoosh on his cap.
The idea of grown men worshipping at the feet of three-
foot Homie dolls is a bit odd, but we assure you, the
practice is even weirder.
We find seven different Ismael statues on the plot when
we arrive, along with numerous plaques, handwritten trib-
utes, and other donations. Each of the Ismael statues has
been built with a small nub between his lips, so followers
can wedge cigarettes and weed in their mouths as offerings.
Every day, hundreds of Venezuelans pour through the
cemetery gates to visit Ismael and his esses to ask for a vari-
ety of seemingly simple blessings: protection from theft, the
health of a loved one, or just not getting shot on the way
back from the market that evening.
The irony is that in life Ismael Sanchez was, by all ac-
counts, an unrepentant criminal. He made his living
robbing people, but his devotees are quick to point out he
favored a Robin Hood-style approach to holdups.
If he ever stole anything, it was for the people, for his
neighborhood, so everybody could eat, explains Ramon,
the de facto caretaker of Ismaels plot. With a Tampa Bay
Rays cap pulled tight over his eyes, he made sure we re-
corded Ismaels virtues. Now, people come here to bring
Ismael alcohol, cigarettes, fruits, and cake.
Ismael is the boss of the court, but the rest of the Holy
Thugs are held in similar reverence: Isabelita is helpful for
exacting justice, Tomasito for loyalty-related issues, and so
on down the line: Johnny, Elizabeth, Ratn, and Petroleo
Crudo (in English, Crude Oil. Yes, hes the black one).
As we were speaking with a group of kids visiting the
Malandros Court after getting off work for the day, a few
rounds of automatic-weapon fire erupted in the hillside
slums surrounding us. The kids promptly left, and we fol-
lowed closely behind.
Not far from the cemetery, we passed a storefront
selling statues of the Holy Thugs in all shapes and sizes.
Inside, we met a spiritualist named Clara who offered to
channel Ismael for us. We asked her if it seemed a bit
troubling that, in a country so violent, so many people
were praying to a crew of armed criminals. She told us
no, the thugs were just vessels for a larger good. Then she
and Ismael told me that I had a nice light and should visit
the Great Pyramid.
Watch The Vice Guide to Travel this month on VBS.TV for the further adventures
of Ismael Sanchez and his gang of saintly criminals/crimey saints.
Another popular shrine, a couple of feet away from Ismaels, contains statues of
other members of the Holy Thugs court like Freddy and Ratn (The Mouse).
Right outside Ismaels shrine, a smaller plot features a large statue of Miguelito, known as El Peln
(Baldy). One of Ismaels caretakers told us that he didnt know much about him, except that he used
to rob people too. After a pause, he added, I dont think he did anything good for humanity.
VICE 23
T
hirty years ago, Rainbow Guy (aka Guy Feldmann) was di-
vinely inspired to change his gypsy ways, settle down, and
complete two very important missions: build the Temple,
a nondenominational gathering place devoted to the pursuit of
truth, and burrow an underground tunnel without a destination.
Not one to question the synchronistic flow of the universe,
Guy soon secured a suitable patch of land in the hills behind
Byron Bay, Australia, and in 1981on the doubly auspicious
occasion of Easter Sunday and a full moon in Librabegan to
execute the consecrated tasks bestowed on him.
Since its inception, the Temple has grown in size and repu-
tation. By Guys estimate, it currently attracts approximately
300 visitors a year, mainly international travelers and spiritual
enthusiasts. It is a place of refuge where people can stay for as
long as they want without hassle.
Following the mantra As above, so below (were still un-
clear on what that means, but it sounds nice), Guy has no
plans to stop digging anytime soonor ever, for that mat-
ter. Guy told us that his tunnel, at 165 feet deep, is still in
its infancy. His ultimate goal is to create an ever-expanding
labyrinth that stretches for miles.
Wishing to pay our respects to the Temple, and of course
witness the intriguing tunnel for ourselves, I found Guy drink-
ing coffee amid a group of Israeli backpackers. As expected,
he was incredibly warm and welcoming but a little concerned
that our interview would cause him to miss the beginning of a
soccer match that was about to air on TV. Of course, I kept
asking questions so I could talk to him for as long as possible.
Wouldnt you? I mean, look at him. Hes fuckin Rainbow Guy!
Vice: So youve been working on this tunnel for how long?
Rainbow Guy: I had to finish the Temple first, so I didnt start
on the tunnel until about 15 years ago. If you actually add up
all of the work timeas in eight hours a day, five days a week
Ive probably only put in about six months of real labor.
Are you aiming for a certain length?
Theres no end to its journey. Miles, Id like to think, but obviously
this wont happen in my lifetime. Yet there should be no reason
to consider my death to be the end of the tunnelit should go on.
Does the tunnel represent a certain meaning or sentiment, or
are you just really into drilling through rock?
The tunnel complements the Temple. The idea is to build a
labyrinth with lots of interior tunnels and egg-shaped rooms
that we can use for singing, meditation, storage, retreats, wa-
ter containment, and sound and light deprivation. But mainly
its fun, a great adventure, and part of a health campaign. Im
65 years old, and you know the saying: If you dont use it, you
will lose it. Theres a lot of truth to that.
Have you ever considered joining a gym instead?
Yes, but then theres the joy of doing this. Every time I come
out after a strong session underground, I feel like I could go
in again; Ive got more energy than when I went in. Its some-
thing about being charged by the earth.
Right. How does that tie into sensory deprivation?
Ive heard that if you spend a period of time in darkness,
away from sound and light, that the brain goes through a
change to adjust to those circumstances. The left and right
brains will eventually meet because nothing separates them
anymoretheres no cause and no effect. Apparently, its
quite a valuable experience.
Youre not claustrophobic, are you?
Yes I am.
Does it impede your maximum tunnel-boring potential?
I made sure that the tunnel was big and wide enough that it
wouldnt be an issue, and I am not claustrophobic in that tun-
nel. In other places, yes, but not in there.
Have you experienced any problems with the local authorities?
I imagine itd be hard to get a permit for something like this.
I probably would have trouble if they were aware of the tun-
nel, but I dont because theyre not. Youll have problems with
the council if you pick your nose. You cant do anything.
I met your son earlier, and he told me that he sees the Temple
as the ultimate penis and the tunnel as its accommodating va-
gina. Is that a sound theory?
The Temple, being such a monolithic structure that reaches
upward, is, in a sense, a vertical penis. Its surrounded by a
stage, which is a big, beautiful receptive area, but yes, you
could say its phallic, tall, and proud. It hasnt been crowned
yet, and Im sure that it will bring about an orgasm of sorts
when its finally finished.
Then theres the tunnel itself, which, when Im in it, is like
being inside the womb of the earth because all I feel there is
love; I feel embraced by the earth when Im in there digging. I
get covered in clay and come out dripping sweat and feel like
Ive been through some sort of transformation or conscious
metamorphosis.
Any idea why you received this particular calling?
Scientologists have a question: If you find yourself sur-
rounded by chaos, how do you get out of chaos? I believe
the answer is: Take any point and start from there. This is the
point that I have started from, or that the universe has started
from through me, to work its way out of chaos.
PLEASURE TO MEET YOU, RAINBOW GUY
Now Tell Us About Your Underground Tunnel to Nowhere
INTERVIEW BY HANNAH BROOKS
PHOTO BY OLIVER PURSER
22 VICE
24 VICE
BRAYDEN OLSON
Brayden is a photographer with hair like Sideshow Bobs. Hes
also always up to no good (the day before we finished this ar-
ticle, he was stabbed by a cab driver in the arm for arguing over a
fare), so we thought hed make a great candidate for this project.
The lab reports confusing Nutritional Elements bar graph
showed that he has lots of minerals like calcium, manganese,
cobalt, and iron in his system. We thought that was good, but
then the following page told us that the calcium is not being
utilized properly, and this could lead to joint stiffness or low
energy levels. Even more troubling was the presence of excess
cobalt, which can be caused by exposure to paint or animal feed,
and manganese, which is present in gasoline and fertilizer. The
only explanation is that Brayden spends lots of time in a dung-
filled flophouse, getting high on fumes from gasoline-coated
rags. Clearly, this is not the ideal lifestyle in terms of balancing
ones vitamin and mineral intake. According to the report, he
should eat more oysters and pumpkin seeds but cut back on the
pickled herring. If Brayden continues his bad habits, hes at risk
for such ailments as fatigue, depression, and bradycardia, which
apparently is a condition where your heart rate slows to under
50 beats a minute. Not good.
T
hey say eyes are the windows to the soul, in which
case your hair is what? The roof? Like a roof, your
hair is important but something that most of us
hardly ever think about beyond its outward appear-
ance. If you dont take care of it, it will rapidly be
tangled with gunk and tennis balls and dead birds.
Take Keith Morris, former Black Flag vocalist and
frontman for the Circle Jerks and the recently formed
OFF! Hes been growing his dreadlocks in a variety
of configurations for almost 23 years, and they now
look like something that was snaked out of a gutter
after a particularly bad rainstorm.
This is why, after pondering the cornucopia of dis-
gusting junk that might be found in Keiths keratin
helmet, we asked him and his fellow OFF! bandmates
(who would serve as a control group, of course) to
send us at least three grams of their locks. The plan
was to mail the samples to a lab in Texas that specializes
in Hair Tissue Mineral Analysis. This not-exactly
medically approved hair test determines which vita-
mins and minerals an individual is lacking and how
many hazardous metals are constantly being pushed
through his or her scalp. We thought itd be a good
alternative to a normal music feature, because writing
about bands is usually about as interesting as taking a
shit in your shoe and walking around the block.
The next time we heard from them, they told us
that not everyone was into it. Initially, we figured
it was Keith who was uncomfortable with the idea
because he felt singled out due to the situation on
his head. But for the record, we must state that
Dimitri Coats, Steven Shane McDonald, and Mario
Rubalcabathree supposed punks who between
them were in Burning Brides, Redd Kross, and
Rocket From the Cryptwere, for whatever reason,
scared of having their precious manes inspected by
weirdo pseudoscientists in Texas. Keith, however,
was totally game and immediately FedExed us a
little furry cigar.
For sciences sake, and because the rest of the band
declined to participate, we tested three other samples
alongside Keiths: a black guys dread, some ginger
strands from one of our photographer buddies, and a
bunch of clippings we stole off the floor of a barber-
shop. After about a week, the lab sent us back pages
of charts and graphs that we did our best to process
and summarize into language that someone would
actually want to read.
BY VICE STAFF
WE ANALYZED
KEITH MORRISS
DREADLOCK
It Contained Uranium and Arsenic
VICE 25
KEITH MORRIS
The first thing we noticed about Keiths results was
that theres a ton of uranium in his hair. The report
said that this isnt the type of uranium that turns peo-
ple into superheroes or kills them, but were still a little
worried for him because its fucking uranium. He also
had a bunch of arsenic in his mane, but curiously the
report focused more on his apparent excess of cop-
per, which can have an antagonistic effect on zinc.
High concentrations of copper, the report warns,
have also been associated with hair loss. Maybe Keith
knows this, and thats why hes let his coiffure mat and
clump for maximum coverage. The 25-page analysis
also includes a chart marked Tendencies that lists
ailments Keith should expect to experience unless he
shifts his day-to-day habits toward metabolic optimi-
zation. In Keiths case, he could suffer from depression
and unnamed allergy symptoms, which doesnt sound
that bad considering hes walking around with the
Fukushima reactor on his head. In fact, Keiths hair
was probably the healthiest overall.
Catch OFF! live on our new music site Noisey.com.
A BLACK DUDES DREAD
Finally, someone who is actually in
pretty good shape! This dreadlock
came from a guy who told us that
he gave up drugs and alcohol years
ago, and his clean living is apparent
in the test results. His hair contained
more than the usual amount of alu-
minum, but this isnt an issue because
most food contains the substance. He
also had an excess of vanadium, but
thats not likely a cause for concern.
The lab report said he was at risk
for allergic reactions, itchy skin, and
headachesbut doesnt everyone
who lives in a large city have those
problems all the time anyway? Like
everyone else we tested, the report
also suggested that he buy a bunch of
nutritional supplements. In our pro-
fessional opinion, though, hes going
to be fine.
MYSTERY BARBERSHOP HAIR
What can you tell about a complete
stranger from analyzing his or her
hair? Not a whole lot. This dudes
hairwere assuming its not a ladys
because it looks like man-hair and we
got it from a barbershopis remark-
ably similar to Braydens in terms of
chemical composition. The big dif-
ference is that it contains a bunch of
cadmium, which is often caused by
either tobacco smoke or zinc smelt-
ers. He suffers from the same risks
of fatigue, allergies, and bradycardia
as Brayden (and, suspiciously, all of
our other participants) and received
the same sort of labyrinthine dietary
advice: Eat less cabbage and kale
but more rye bread, wheat germ,
and blackberries, which contain high
amounts of phytates (phytic acid in
salt form).
VICE 27 26 VICE
S
atanism typically conjures thoughts of dark-
cloaked figures in deeply wooded areas, where
they sacrifice livestock over a makeshift altar
and whisper mysterious incantations in hopes of
appeasing their dark lord. Maybe every once in a
while they get creative and throw a baby doll off an
overpass or vandalize a Catholic church with swas-
tika graffiti to garner a bit of attention. Chances
are, however, that anyone who participates in these
types of activities is also a regular at IHOP, works at
a mall, and thinks Marilyn Manson is a real person.
Truly terrifying entities dont advertise their
presence, which is the main reason traditional sa-
tanic cults have eluded the public and thrived in
every sector of our society. For hundreds of years,
these secret organizations have relied on the sim-
plest method to recruit and convert: fear. In fact,
the only reason we are certain satanism still poses a
danger is because it continues to produce victims of
severe ritualistic abuse.
Claudia Fliss is a therapist and Germanys lead-
ing expert on the aftereffects of ritualistic abuse.
She has helped rehabilitate former members of sa-
tanic cults for the past two decades. Claudia has
examined hundreds of correlating accounts from
cult members who strayed from the flock, and the
examples she gave me made the usual yarns seem
like bedtime stories. For starters, victims frequently
recount instances of cannibalization and the mur-
der and rape of children. Even more disturbing was
the way Claudia spoke of these events with a serene
familiarityshe hears these kinds of accounts on a
regular basis.
Just when I thought it couldnt possibly get any
worse, Claudia informed me that the majority of
her patients were born into satanic orders and pro-
grammed from an early age to obey their fiendish
parents and elders.
One of the initial stages of programming involves
locking a child in a box and sounding a correspond-
ing trigger, such as a mobile-phone ringtone or
whistle. The goal is for the child to associate the
noise with feelings of horror and dread, a method of
control that proves to be very effective once the child
is let out, which, by the way, doesnt happen until
he or she is moments away from total asphyxiation.
After the lid is opened, the child is immediately in-
structed to do something awful like kill an animal.
In most cases, the youngster refuses and is forced
back inside, where he or she must wait for even
longer before being hauled out again and given the
same instructions. If he or she puts up a fight, its
back in the box until the kids will is broken.
This process is so traumatic that the vic-
tims mind creates completely new and different
personae (often older children or even adults)
that can better cope with the agony. When the
ROSEMARYS BABIES
Satanic Cults and Their Hapless Victims
BY
TOM LITTLEWOOD
PHOTOS
BY ALEX BINDER
individual is finally released, he or she identifies
the box opener as his or her savior and, by ex-
tension, instantaneously becomes loyal to the cult.
Then, whenever senior cult members need the
victim to do their bidding, all they have to do is
repeat the trigger sound; the target will relive the
initial traumatic experience and revert to the state
he or she was in immediately after being let out
of the box.
Victims of satanic ritual abuse are primarily
women, and they often suffer from dissociative
identity disorder as a result. Its hard to fathom,
but the number of identities within a single indi-
vidual can exceed 100, and victims usually refer to
themselves in the first-person plural.
After my initial interview with Claudia, she called
to invite me to meet two victims and raise awareness
of their conditions. Claudia also warned me that
there was a large risk involved because the cult still
had contact with the subjects.
Three days later, we met in a Berlin flat. Claudia
introduced me to two girls who were both less than
25 years old. They were reserved and apprehensive,
and chain-smoked while drinking cup after cup of
coffee. We sat in a small bedroom and spoke for
an hour about their experiences with the cult. The
conversation would stall when my questions about
satanic cults, ritualistic abuse, and sound triggers
became too specific.
As they left the room, Claudia turned to me and
asked whether I was aware of whom I had been
speaking with. It was a weird question to be asked,
so I paused for a second before she went on to ex-
plain that between the girls she had recognized at
least ten distinct identities that had emerged during
our conversation. After months of treating the girls,
Claudia can easily recognize the nuances of differ-
ent personae: the 25-year-old hyperintelligent girl,
the moody 18-year-old, the mistrustful 45-year-old
conservative.
The gravity of the situation was lost on me un-
til I accompanied Claudia to the kitchen to speak
in private. When I passed the girls, I noticed that
they were slouched on the floor, literally saying,
Goo-goo, ga-ga. The childlike personaes inside of
them had grown tired of grown-up conversation and
wanted to play with crayons.
After this first encounter, I met up with the girls
on seven further occasions. During one visit, they ar-
ranged for me to meet more of the little onesthe
young children and toddlers within their systems.
We visited a Berlin park just after dawn to avoid par-
ents and their children. The mood was apprehensive,
and when they were in eyeshot of the playground
a remarkable transformation took place. Both girls
began speaking in childrens voices, sucking on their
thumbs as they discussed which swings were still
dry and safe to sit on. Over the next 45 minutes, I
met approximately eight different children. They
scaled walls, slid down slides, kicked a soccer ball,
fell off a swing, and thumped around in the sand.
As we were sitting in the sand, a whistle screeched.
One of the girls hid her head in her hands and be-
gan to cry. I have to see Mommy, she said. I
28 VICE
must see Mommy. Thats when things became very dark.
Calling for Mommy, of course, meant she was express-
ing a desire to return to a member of the very cult she was
now attempting to escape. Claudia later explained that the
whistle had triggered a persona in one of the girls.
Weve always been several [personae], said one of the
girls in a voice that apparently belonged to a different child
than the one I was speaking with just moments before. Her
friend sat there hugging herself and sobbing. The girl con-
tinued: Even if we dont agree on everything, were the
only company we have.
I asked Claudia what the girl meant. One goal of the
therapy is to establish certain personae who act as spokes-
people for others within the system, she explained. They
build up a certain trust and deal with everyday encounters.
When a new identity is thrown into everyday life, it is the
role of these more stable personae to calm them and ex-
plain what is going on.
This process, called sorting by the girls, took a couple
of minutes, and soon the small child had calmed down and
was replaced by another identity. Had the girls not been
capable of a staggering level of self-control, they would be
back in the order now, suffering the consequences. The fact
that they opened themselves up to me gave me hope that
one day others might follow suit in numbers that will force
the public to pay attention to their plight.
We cant just live our lives complaining that there is
nobody really there to help us without being willing to do
something about this ourselves, one of the girls said.
Even more than the torture, psychological program-
ming, infiltration of governmental offices, and blackmail,
the biggest factor contributing to the success of satanic
cults is our reluctance to believe in them in a realistic way.
The German police dont have a specific department that
deals with crimes relating to satanism or ritualistic abuse,
and the related crimes they do investigate are filed away
in different categories and quickly disappear from the
agenda. Many times, when victims make the incredible
step of breaking away from cult life, the public cant
help but question their legitimacy and look for a way to
discredit their stories.
As one of the girls said to me: People dont want to
believe us because then theyd have to do something about
it. I find that so cowardly.
Then she started talking about the tattoo she was
planning to get to cover the pentagram that was carved
across her back. She said she was thinking of getting a
dolphin.
VICE 31
AVERSION THERAPY
Even though I am a total baby when it comes to getting electrocuted, my initial plan was to self-administer
electroshock therapy. The thought of it scared the shit out of me, but using instructions I found (of course)
on the internet, I fashioned a disposable camera into a Taser and shocked myself while looking at gay porn.
Do not EVER fucking do this. It hurt incredibly badlylike I was simultaneously being punched in the face,
being hit by a car, and dry heaving while having cigarettes put out on my teeth. Aversion therapy is supposed
to be painful, but I genuinely thought I was going to die. I made an executive decision and downgraded my
punishment to self-flagellation. I read somewhere that this is how monks counter sexual urges. Belt at the
ready, I prepared a slide show containing a mixture of straight and gay porn. For each gay image I looked at,
I whipped myself with the belt. For each straight image, I ate a piece of candy. I did this for about 15 minutes
each morning and night for the duration of the month.
EFFECTIVENESS: 1 out of 10. Despite the fact that my left arm began to look like it was covered in rosacea, after
a couple days, I got used to the pain of the whipping and started to really enjoy my nightly porn-and-candy sessions.
Jamie looking at gay porn (left) and straight porn (right).
30 VICE
WORDS AND
PHOTOS BY
JAMIE LEE
CURTIS TAETE
PLAYING IT STRAIGHT
A Month of Giving Up Everything Gay
T
hanks to religion and the fact that certain people find butt sex totally gross, being
gay can sometimes be a huge bummer. Due to this, there are some who would like
to leave the lifestyle. But can this be done? Were we born this way, or do we
have a choice? I wanted to find out.
My original plan was to attend one of those Christian retreats where you stay in
the woods for a week and learn how to appreciate vaginas, but they all require super-
intense confidentiality agreements, so I wouldnt have been able to make fun of it in a
magazine. After doing some internet research, I (a 5 on the Kinsey scale, slightly less
gay than Elton John) decided to spend a month self-administering treatment instead.
Here are some popular conversion methods that I tested.
REGAINING MY MASCULINITY
According to Leanne Paynes 1985 classic Crisis in Masculinity, the main reason men become gay is be-
cause theyve lost touch with their masculinity. This causes a void in their souls, which they then attempt to
fill with other mens dicks. To rectify this situation, I gave my life a full heterosexual makeover: I started re-
ferring to my bedroom as my man cave, stopped keeping my clothes in a wardrobe and started throwing
them on my floor, replaced my Wii with an Xbox, tacked a poster of 50 Cent on my wall, abstained from
using conditioner, and replaced my iPods self-conscious mix of fragile indie songs and girly music with
white-people rap and soft rock. I also stopped ironically watching Lindsay Lohan flicks and started seri-
ously scrutinizing Matt Damon movies, refused to wash my towels or bedsheets, used my bookcase to store
empty liquor bottles, read Tracy Morgans autobiography, only ate meals that took less than 20 minutes
to cook in the microwave, drank protein shakes and beers, and took part in a soccer game with the lads.
EFFECTIVENESS: 4 out of 10. The depression that resulted from constantly fixating on every aspect of my
behavior served as a welcome distraction from my persistent homosexual thoughts (more on those later).
Jamies gay iPod (top) and straight iPod (bottom). Gay-to-straight bedroom conversion. The 50 Cent poster helped familiarize Jamie with male nudity in a nonsexual context.
32 VICE
OVERALL EFFECTIVENESS
Zip, obviously. I arranged a date with a young lady
from the internet to test my heterosexuality, but I
canceled at the last minute because leading the poor
girl on made me feel like the worst person on earth.
Also, I didnt need to test it. Pretending to not be gay
doesnt make you any less attracted to men. It just
makes you into a self-loathing homo. The only thing I
gained from this experiment was a newfound sense of
pity for people who stretch this process out over their
entire lives. Thats too awful to even think about. To
summarize: Baby, Im a fiiiiiiiiirework!
REPARATIVE THERAPY
Reparative therapy is based around the theory that gays
are spawned from a specific parental combination: an
overbearing mother and emotionally unavailable fa-
ther. This doesnt really apply to me, but thats cool
because there are a TON of other things that cause
homosexuality: loneliness, sexual abuse, low self-
esteem, artisticness, lack of confidence (anyone who
has ever been to a gay-pride parade can confirm that
queers lack confidence), repressed childhood trauma,
and platonic female friendships. Much like a horo-
scope, this applies to every single person on earth.
All of the reparative therapy I performed on my-
self was based on information given out by big ex-gay
organizations like Exodus International and the
National Association for Research and Therapy of
Homosexuality. It was a little difficult for me to find
specific instructions because almost every sentence on
their sites ends with for more information, buy this
$40 book. Still, I tried my best. The main areas I fo-
cused on were bioenergetics therapy (hitting a pillow
while screaming, WHY DAD?!?!), touch therapy
(no-homo spooning sessions with straight dudes), and
obsessing over every homosexual urge to work out why
I was having it (apparently its because Im trying to fill
gaps in my own personality by having sex with people
who possess the traits I want, like a charisma vampire).
EFFECTIVENESS: 0 out of 10. Its easy to be cynical
about the reparative-therapy movement and say that
its a giant scam that preys on the hopes of desperate
people, which is good because Im feeling lazy today.
ABSTINENCE
Due to pretty much every psychological group on earth claiming
that gay conversion doesnt work, most ex-gay groups have started
to focus on abstinence rather than curing gay people. I abstained
from sex and masturbation for the duration of my experiment.
Though I thought this would be totally ineffective, it actually had
a fairly large impact on my sexuality by making me about 10,000
percent gayer. Now I know why closeted old gay guys cruise under-
cover police officers in airport bathrooms and hire male prostitutes
to carry their luggage. I turned into a hypersexual monster. Im
usually a picky person, but by the end of the month I found myself
attracted to all adult males, which, when coupled with the fact that
I was thinking about sex ALL THE TIME, caused me to develop a
really intense and creepy staring problem.
At one point I got turned on while watching an argument be-
tween Meat Loaf and Gary Busey on Celebrity Apprentice. Ugh.
EFFECTIVENESS: -1,000 out of 10.
RELIGION
Because I live in England and not some developing country like
Nigeria, Iran, or the USA, I was unable to locate a church that
would perform a gay exorcism on me (lame), or even find one
with strong antihomosexual leanings. My best bet was an orga-
nization called the Christian Revival Church that, according to
their website, believes in heterosexual relationships between a
natural man and a natural woman within the confines of lawful
matrimony. Adherence to this stated principle of sexual behavior
is an inherent requirement of membership.
Its been a while since Ive attended a church service, and theyve
really upped their game since my last visit. For starters, it was held
inside a cinema with big La-Z-Boy seats and a Starbucks in the lobby.
Instead of the congregation singing hymnals from a book, a guy
with gelled hair and dog tags hanging around his neck led a band
that played MGMT and Arcade Fire rip-offs with religious lyrics
that scrolled across the movie screen like it was a karaoke party for
Jesus. The talking part was as boring as ever, but weirdly, the topic
of discussion in my final week was Sodom and Gomorrah. Was
this a sign from God?
I also started praying regularly, which Id never done before. At
first it was a total snoozefest, but eventually I got used to it and it
was kind of nice to have ten minutes of quiet time each night.
EFFECTIVENESS: 1 out of 10 again. I was going to burn in hell
forever, I guess.
Touch therapy worked about as well as treating alcoholism with beer bongs. Jamie discovered Christian indie rock was actually worse than the new music on his straight iPod.
Traditionally, wasabi is enjoyed in moderation as a palate-tingling complement
to sushi, not as a tear-jerking introduction to the wonderful world of Japanese
cuisine. Remember that as we invite you to try another Japanese tradition
Sapporo Beer. Since 1876, Sapporo has brewed a perfectly balanced beer
with a crisp taste and refined bitterness that translates well to any occasion.
ENJOY SAPPORO. NO TRANSLATION NEEDED.
FACEBOOK.COM/SAPPOROUSA
WASABI
NOT EVERY JAPANESE TRADITION TRANSLATES AS WELL AS SAPPORO
PLEASE SHARE SAPPORO RESPONSIBLY. | 2011 SAPPORO U.S.A., INC., NEW YORK, NY | SAPPOROBEER.COM
ALL OTHER MARKS ARE TRADEMARKS OR REGISTERED TRADEMARKS OF THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS.
34 VICE
O
n April 9 I stood in the parking lot of a Paris
gas station and watched while some 40 Euro-
pean fundamentalist Muslims prayed toward
Mecca. Afterward they chanted Allahu Akbar!
and in the process scared the piss out of bewildered
holidaying families who had pulled off the highway
to use the toilets.
The scene was a result of a canceled protest of
the French ban on wearing niqabs and burkas in
public, which came into effect on April 11. I was
BY JAN VAN TIENEN
PHOTOS BY
BOUDEWIJN
BOLLMANN
there to interview Abu Imran, the spokesperson
of Sharia4Belgium, one of a new wave of media-
friendly Muslim fundamentalist groups who believe
that Islamic law will ultimately rule over Europe.
A few weeks prior, both Imran and Sharia4UKs
Anjem Choudary (who was featured in VBS.TVs
Jihad Milkshakes and Royal Wedding documenta-
ries) announced the rally via YouTube and invited
supporters to join them. The day before the rally,
however, French authorities prohibited the demon-
stration and arrested 61 would-be protesters.
Earlier in the day I had called Imran to ask
where in Paris we should meet, and he informed
me that the police had detained him at the end of
the toll road just north of the city. My traveling
companions and Ia photographer and camera-
manimmediately hopped in our car and sped
toward Imrans location.
A bit later, we pulled up to the road where Imran
said he was being held and stopped at the tollbooth.
ALLAHU AKBAR
IN A PARKING LOT
European Muslim Fundamentalists
Hate Burka Bans but Love French Fries
Members of Sharia4UK and Sharia4Belgium pray toward Mecca and, incidentally, in front of a huge Carrefour sign.
36 VICE
We watched as two vans containing Imran and other
members of Sharia4Belgium sped away, surrounded
by a police escort with sirens blaring. Excited, we
told the toll attendant to keep the change and fol-
lowed the vans to a police station in an industrial
zone about 25 miles north of Paris.
After everyone parked their vehicles, about 20 men
with beards, djellabas, and head cloths stepped out of
their vans and onto the pavement. Policemen stood
around, MP5s hanging over their shoulders. When
we walked up to the lot, Imran was just being led
inside. Join the brothers outside, he said to me.
We will talk later. A bald, goateed police officer
wearing a pair of shades that belonged on a middle-
aged bodybuilder told us to wait by our car instead.
He assured us that, if we cooperated, we would be
able to speak to Imran later. Fifteen minutes later, we
asked the officer whether we could film some of the
Muslims who were sitting in the grass. He banged his
fist on his Kevlar-encased chest and told us that if he
had to tell us to leave again there would be prob-
lemes normment, colossal. We waited by the car
again, and an hour and a half later the police released
everyone except Imran.
Three of the Muslims walked up to us, wondering
what we were doing there. We explained to them
that we were journalists. One of the men told us that
Imran was still being detained. They gave us no
reason why, he said.
We asked them whether we could still cover the
demonstration even though Imran would not be
attending. They agreed, and soon we met Imrans
replacement: a modest and soft-spoken Belgian-
Moroccan man (he would not give us his name)
dressed in a white djellaba. It was 1:45 PM. The
demonstration had been scheduled to begin 15 min-
utes earlier.
In no time we were cruising down the highway,
wondering what would happen if and when the dem-
onstration took place. Fifteen minutes later, their vans
pulled into the parking lot of a gas station adjacent
to a Carrefour (the French equivalent of a Walmart
Supercenter) and we followed them. We later learned
that the police had canceled the demonstration, stat-
ing that it was clearly an incitement to violence and
racial hatred, and that Jewish groups and others
were planning to confront the Muslim protesters,
which could easily lead to public disorder.
We understand that every Muslim or everybody
with a beard is being arrested in Paris, Imrans re-
placement said. Were going to wait here until our
friends in the city call us to tell where we can meet
without police interference.
A 22-year-old Muslim from Antwerp added,
Our mothers and sisters have been forced to un-
dress themselves. Our basic rights of freedom of
religion have been taken from us.
Everyone turned to watch a bus with about 50
Muslims from the UK drive up to the parking lot.
The Belgians warmly greeted their British counter-
parts. With a couple of exceptions, all of them were
in their late teens to mid-20s. A 30-something bald
This is Abu Izzadeen, born Trevor Brooks. He told us Western society is corrupt beyond belief and
that the flag of Islam will soon fly over all of Europe. He also told us sperm banks are one of the most
depraved institutes imaginable. Despite all of this, he was quite eloquent and amiable even though
hed spent more than three years in a British prison on terrorism charges.
This pose was supposed to have been struck in the heart of Paris, but alas, the protest was banned.
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2011 H-D. HARLEY, HARLEY-DAVIDSON, DARK CUSTOM, BLACKLINE, AND THE DARK CUSTOMLOGO ARE AMONG
THE TRADEMARKS OF H-D MICHIGAN, LLC. ALL OTHER TRADEMARKS ARE PROPERTY OF THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS.
38 VICE
black guy seemed to be running the show. He intro-
duced himself as Abu Izzadeen. I asked him what
his deal was and why he and his crew were only
now arriving.
We left at two in the morning from the UK to-
day, Izzadeen said. In Calais, we were held, and
our beloved sheikh Anjem Choudary was barred
from entering the country. No reason was given.
And thats the arbitrary nature of democracy. When
laws are man-made instead of God-given, they can
be used to deny Muslims their basic rights. You
can change them as you see fit. It doesnt apply to
Muslims. The demonstration was forbidden because
the niqab is seen as a political symbol. Islam is the
fastest-growing religion in the world. There will
come a day when the flag of Islam will be flown over
all of EuropeRome, Paris, and 10 Downing Street.
It is inevitable. Whatever Sarkozy and his ex-model
wife do, Islam will conquer.
Never before have I heard the words ex-model
wife spoken with such disdain. Izzadeen also told
me that hed spent three and a half years in a British
prison on terrorism charges. While we spoke, young
Muslims gathered around us, holding up flags and
mugging for the camera.
A few of the guys bought french fries at the
Carrefour that they insisted on sharing with the
crew and me. As we munched on the grub, they tried
to convince us of the blessings of Islam. It was funny
to watch them go on about the pitfalls of Western
society as they stuffed one of the Wests most deli-
cious culinary treats into their mouths.
After some hours of happy bonhomie mixed with
more renunciations of man-made democracy, we
made preparations to follow the Muslim brothers to
Paris. The caravan made a pit stop on the outskirts of
the city, and our photographer tried to talk to some
women wearing niqabs. Of course, the mood went
sour. The Muslims dispersed and wandered off into
the city, and we decided to go home to Amsterdam.
The next day we learned that Imran was detained
until 8 PM, when a couple of Belgian police offi-
cers arrived to drive him back to Belgium, where
they released him without incident. He told us that
while he was in custody in France, Sarkozys secre-
tary allegedly called the station to inform the police
that the leader of Sharia4Belgium was barred from
entering France.
We also realized that Izzadeen (aka Trevor
Brooks, aka Sheikh Omar Brooks)the feisty older
gentleman we met in the Carrefour parking lot who
was not a fan of Mrs. Sarkozys pert and mostly
hairless bodywas a somewhat famous Muslim
extremist. And he definitely wasnt lying when he
claimed that he had served time in a British prison. In
fact, Izzadeen was arrested on charges of terrorism
and has been quoted by the Sunday Times as saying
that he wants to die a suicide bomber. Oh yeah, hes
also stated that the 7/7 bombings of London were
completely praiseworthy, according to the Daily
Mail. Hes just the type of role model impressionable
young Muslims need.
This sweet British lads soft blue eyes and velvety ginger beard made us want to cuddle him to within
an inch of his life. We almost cried tears of joy when he said that one day we might be Muslim
brothers, yeah, and meet in a mosque, yeah?
The boys happily shared their fries with us. After we accepted, they told us all about the glory of Islam
as they chowed down on the infidels most irresistible delicacy.
40 VICE
A
s the fashion editor of this very magazine, I
frequently have to schlep heavy garment bags
around New York City and leaf through look-
books of clothing Nathan Barley wouldnt use to
hang himself from a closet rod. Consequently, when
its time to shop for myself it sometimes feels like Im
working. Shopping with friends is also difficult be-
cause they dont understand that Ive already pored
over everything on the racks a dozen times over, so
Id rather not wander around SoHo for eight hours
while tourists step on the shoes I just bought.
About a month ago my situation got me to
thinking: If I could shop with anyone in the world
who would it be, and would I enjoy it for once? A
BY ANNETTE
LAMOTHE-RAMOS

PHOTOS BY
ALIYA NAUMOFF
few weeks later, a friend called to ask if I wanted
to help her pick out a new dress and I confessed
my dilemma. Somehow the conversation led to
Genesis P-Orridge, specifically the time she told Ian
Svenonius he could look just like her for $50. After
we hung up, I opened my laptop, googled around
until I found the contact info for Genesiss publicist,
and wrote an email asking whether she would like
to go on a shopping spree with me on Vices dime.
Later in the day I panicked. I had just asked the
pandrogynous, gold-toothed founding member of
Throbbing Gristle and Psychic TV to be my gal pal
while we spent a day buying crap we didnt need.
Would she get pissed and cast a hex on me with a
psychick cross?
Thankfully, I wasnt left in suspense for long. I re-
ceived an email from Genesis the next day: She was
very much into the idea. We corresponded through-
out the week, and she warned me that she had given
up on trying to appear fashionable after being diag-
nosed with diabetes (a side effect of contracting a
parasite during a visit to her beloved Nepal). But she
needed to get some biker patches made and could
use a new pair of boots, so we set a date.
A few days later, I was knocking on her door. It
swung open, and there she stood with a bleached
blond bob, denim vest, black t-shirt, raw washed
jeans, and Supra high-tops. Things were a bit awk-
ward at first (the photographer, two cameramen,
and producer in the room probably had something
to do with that), but we tried to make chitchat while
Genesis showed us her prized biker vests.
As we waited for the elevator, I could tell she was
uncomfortable, but she was still being polite. The
drive to a Brooklyn flea market would be the true
test of her tolerance.
I attempted some small talk as we walked to our
rental van. I asked her about her building, which I
had noticed was largely occupied by Hasidic Jews.
She told me that all the children were afraid of her,
and everyone had been nicer when she first moved
in because they thought she was a real woman. I
sensed a hint of sadness in her voice and couldnt
help but glare at everyone who gawked at us as we
exited the building and piled into the van.
Making our way toward Brooklyn, I casually
asked about one of her tattoosa leather glove
with a nurse on top. She told me it was a tribute
to her late wife, Lady Jaye, who worked as both a
nurse and a dominatrix. The vibe in the van quickly
snowballed into noticeable uneasiness as Genesis re-
counted the story of Lady Jayes funeral, specifically
her body drifting down the Bagmati River engulfed
in flames. I responded with, Thats a beautiful
send-off, which is easily the dumbest thing Ive
ever said. She ignored that remark and continued to
rehash the painful memories that my innocent ques-
tions brought flooding back. We were off to a really
great start.
As we parked outside the flea market in Fort
Greene, I slowly began to feel like Genesis was one
of my mothers best friends instead of someone no-
torious for jacking off onstage. We walked around
the market, digging through piles of 60s erotica nov-
els and discarded grade-school prize ribbons that
PSYCHICK CHIC
A Lovely Day of Shopping With Genesis P-Orridge
We bought Genesis this black shoulder cape at a flea market in Brooklyn. She plans to decorate the back with a
custom-made biker patch.
2011
WeAct i vi st s
SHOT BY
CHERYL DUNN
www. wesc. com
KR3WDENI M. COM
KR3W DENI M CO.
CHAD MUSKA
P
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O
T
O
S
: A
T
IB
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F
F
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S
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42 VICE
seemed to interest Genesis for whatever reason. Then she
saw the bear head. Gen (at this point I felt comfortable
enough to abbreviate her name) wanted it for an upcoming
museum exhibit. We tried haggling with the lumberjack-
looking asshole selling it, but the guy wouldnt budge.
Instead we settled for a Liberace-style velvet cape and
some 70s Penthouse mags. Happy with our treasures, we
decided to celebrate over some champagne.
We got a table at a nearby Italian restaurant and promptly
ordered two bottles of the bubbly. Finally, everyone seemed
to loosen up. I listened as Gen recounted some of her past:
There was her father, who rode motorcycles in the British
Armya man who never approved of her lifestyle. His last
words to Gen were, You disappoint me. Then there was
her mother, who passed away just last year. Although she
was more accepting, she wasnt exactly supportive, contact-
ing Genesis only once in the last 30-odd years.
Our conversation took a weird turn as she spoke about
her devotion to SanteriaGens an Olorisha, an official
priestess of the religion. She expounded on various rituals
and then explained to me the significance of the life-size
doll that once sat in my grandmothers apartment. I always
wondered about that thing because it scared the shit out of
me. It was decked out in expensive jewelry, and later she
mysteriously buried it fully clothed. Apparently, my sweet
Gran practiced Santeria as well. The burial was an offering
to a God named Oshun, affectionately known as the per-
fumed whore and the deity worshipped by Gen and Jaye.
Four hours had passed since we first set out, and there
was little to show for it except a good buzz and a stack of
nudie mags. We werent going to hit all the shops we wanted
to visit if we didnt leave soon, so we quickly paid our
bill and set off for Greenpoint to order some biker patches
from a weird sporting-goods store.
A group of Puerto Rican guys stared us down as we
walked into the shop. Gen ignored them, of course,
and casually mentioned that they were known as the
Lost Boysa gang shed frequently seen in Ridgewood,
Queens, where she lived with Lady Jaye before relocating
to Manhattan after her death. As she browsed the store,
Genesis with her favorite pillow.
We tried to haggle with the owner of this bear head, but he wasnt having it.
He wouldnt budge off his $350 price tag and kept saying, But hes such a
handsome guy! What a dick.
Genesis will always take first prize in our hearts.
44 VICE
she told us that she once owned a 1979 BSA and used
to hang out with the Hells Angels at their chapter in her
hometown of Manchester. Their New York branch is off-
limits to Gen because Jaye once dated an Angel, but at 61
years old she wants to ride again. I quickly glanced over
at her order form: She wanted a gross quantity of rectan-
gular patches in black and red that spelled FUCK EM ALL.
It was getting dark as we headed to Trash and Vaudeville,
our last stop whether we liked it or not since Gen needed to
be home by nine. Jimmy Webb, the store mascot and Gens
old friend, greeted us amicably. He rummaged through the
racks, and as he picked out clothes he looked over at Gen
and said, Isnt that the most beautiful face youve ever
seen? Later, when she told him that his ass was hanging
out of his pants, he shrugged and yelled, If I wouldve
known you were going to be here today I wouldnt have
worn any underwear! I can only imagine what he was
alluding to, but we were out of time so I bought Gen some
boots and we drove her home.
Before saying good-bye, I invited Gen to a movie the
next night. I was speechless when she agreed.
Without a video crew in tow, Sunday nights vibe was
much more intimate and friendly. We started our evening
at Employees Only, where Gen downed three fraise sau-
vages as I stuffed my face with bread in an attempt to keep
my rabid enthusiasm at bay. We talked about our dogs
and the serial killer whos recently been terrorizing Long
Island, and she told me my messy bun looked very chic.
Then we finished up and headed to the movie. She fell
asleep right after the opening credits and snored through
the rest of the flick. It was kind of sweet.
By the time the movie let out, it was pretty late, and she
was obviously ready to go back to sleep. As we walked out,
she claimed the film was just all right, but I knew better.
In the last few minutes I spent with her, I saw that shed
finally let her guard down and was having a pretty good
time. She thanked me for getting her out of the house and
told me to give her a call again soon. On the way home,
I thought, Am I now friends with Genesis P-Orridge? It
felt pretty awesome.
We taped our day with Genesis for an episode of From the Pages of Vice that
will air later this month on VBS.TV.
Jimmy Webb of Trash and Vaudeville helps Genesis try on a new pair of biker
boots. You shouldve seen how excited he was to kneel at her feet.
Genesis and Annette after a full day of gal-palling around town. Cheers to you, Genesis.
Presented by
Now playing on VBS.tv
Picture Perfect
VBS goes behind the lens with
our favorite documentary photographers.
Picture Perfect with Rob Hornstra
Location: Sochi, Russia
46 VICE
DOs
Youre pretty black when your weave also
has a weave.
That overlapping border zone between
traditional goth girls whore still pissed at
Valor for stealing Christian Death and East
LA cholitas who razor stripes into their
eyebrows and have 30 terrifying brothers
is like the DMZ of sexual minefields.
Look, ladies love guys who love to lick
gash, and the only way theyre going to
know this means you is if they see you
out there, licking whatever gash you can
find wherever and whenever possible. I
dont understand what it is about this
youre not getting.
I dont know, I still dont think you
should have taken the drink from that guy.
He keeps looking over at you anthere!
He just did it again. Did you see that,
Angie? Angie? Why are you laughing?
Hellooooo? Annnnngiiie? Whaaaaarts
soooooo fuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnneeeeeee?
Though the late 90s nearly killed it with the boot-cut jeans and JNCOs, girls have finally
reawakened to the full power of sock culture. It started with leg warmers as a joke, then
progressed to those gym socks with the stripes, then dark socks with shorts, then dark
socks with shorts with heels, and now men are being treated daily to exotic boner fruit
like horse socks in busted loafers that are physically impossible not to picture you naked
in. What a time to be alive.
48 VICE
A friend of mine just moved back East
from Southern California because he
was worried all the sun and outdoor
weather might be giving him skin cancer,
but personally Id be a lot more worried
about all the people and drugs giving you
brain dumbcer.
Rarely can one shirt-and-pant-and-face-
and-hairline ensemble capture the essence
of staying up till 8 AM doing horrible
cocaine and arguing about guitarists in a
first-floor LA apartment with no natural
lighting, but wow does this one and holy
shit did that night suck.
I guess youve got to do something to
compensate for that Cro-Magnon brow,
but reading Zola at a music festival is the
kind of misguided teen intellectualism that
only appeals to girls who like to cut their
wrists with razors and packs of guys who
like to punch your head with fists.
Your older sisters friends seem like the
coolest people in the world until they
take you out for your 14th birthday and
you suddenly realize that sitting at home
on Facebook is way more fun than doing
Jger bombs in Mikes basement and
pretending to be wasted in every photo.
Its easy to see a bunch of people at a steampunk meetup at your local bar and say, Ha
ha ha, look at those ridiculous, self-absorbed man-children, but if you ever had a phase
in middle school where you were really into anime I think its healthy to take a deep
look into these mono-goggled faces and say to yourself, Wow, there but for the grace
of God, taste, dignity, getting laid, work, drugs, friends wholl call me out on stupid shit,
self-awareness, a sense of humor, and not living at my parents house go I.
DONTs
50 VICE
While you have to dump him the second
you turn 30 or have anything that can be
described as a profession, dating a lazy
goofball version of yourself is a pretty
adorable option for attractive beta gals in
their 20s.
Fuck, do you remember the first time you
got really wasted and danced with the guy
(or girl) you secretly liked? Your brain was
like, I dont know where this place is,
but yall need me from here on out, this is
where Ill be.
Guess what? Santa finally heard your
prayers and brought you a little sister and
shes half-black and shes into Bad Brains.
Timing could be a little better, sure, but
if I were you Id quit the griping and get
some quality time in before she makes it
to Quickness.
Its fun to be a pretentious twat when
youre in college and come up with a
bunch of high-concept bullshit that
dialectically reorders the nexus of gender
and class, but more often than not the best
artwork comes from the simplest places.
Like having legs on your mind.
Thank you. We have spent the past ten years with our jaws in our collective lap at the
grown men like Kevin James sitting around a table and acting 100% seriously about
playing cards like its free hour at Camp Winnipesaukee. You have no clue what a relief
it is to see a pair of bros come clean and say, Youre right, this is kids shit. Not sure
how dude from the Cure got involved, but glad to have him on board nonetheless.
DOs
52 VICE
Guys, I had no idea Little Britain was
an actual documentary series about real
human beings in England. I thought the
whole thing was a comedy show. I am so,
so sorry for laughing at all those poor, sad,
brain-damaged wretches.
After two decades of complete strangers
coming up to him and slapping themselves
on the cheeks, Macaulay Culkin has
dedicated himself to convincing the world
hes grown up. He got engaged to Meg
Griffin and developed a beard and drug
habit, but this might be overdoing it a tad.
The only people more pathetic than that
bottom rung of actors they pull from to do
infomercials and red-carpet interviews are
the ones right below it, practice-laughing
in the bathroom mirror and salivating at
the thought of asking Chlo Moretz what
it was like working with Steve Zahn.
Momentarily sidestepping the crotch
shorts, public writing project, and twin
loneliness mascots, nothing says I know
less than three black people more than a
Coors Light hat that was pre-tattered at
the time of purchase.
Crime is up on the New York subways. And Im not talking about cool crime, like
assault or robbery or murder. Im talking about sound crime as perpetrated by packs of
olde-tyme, kazoo-wielding retards who steal the last shred of tranquility from your mind
and grind it against a washboard to the tune of Goober Peas.
DONTs
P
hoto: Vincent Skoglund
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56 VICE
P
u
m
a
ja
c
k
e
t, S
u
p
e
r s
u
n
g
la
s
s
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s
VICE 57
P
u
m
a
ja
c
k
e
t, S
to
le
n
G
irlfrie
n
d
s
C
lu
b
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u
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la
s
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, A
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c
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la
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VICE 59
S
to
le
n
G
irlfrie
n
d
s
C
lu
b
ja
c
k
e
t, T
o
p
s
h
o
p
b
ra
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e
le
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58 VICE
P
u
m
a
ja
c
k
e
t; v
in
ta
g
e
ja
c
k
e
t, M
o
te
l to
p
60 VICE
B
a
n
n
e
r B
a
rre
tt v
e
s
t, B
rix
to
n
t-s
h
irt
VICE 61
A
m
e
ric
a
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A
p
p
a
re
l o
n
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-p
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c
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a
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t, v
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a
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VICE 63
A
m
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A
p
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l b
o
d
y
s
u
it; A
e
s
a
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c
k
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62 VICE
64 VICE
PHOTOS BY BEN RITTER
STYLIST: ANNETTE LAMOTHE-RAMOS
Models: Sandy, Sara, Russell, Chelsea, Moki, Davi, and Jerry
PUT IT
IN YOUR
MOUTH
64 VICE
In
s
ig
h
t to
p
, A
e
s
a
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c
k
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, v
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; A
lta
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VICE 65
VICE 67
A
lta
m
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t t-s
h
irt, v
in
ta
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e
s
c
a
rf
66 VICE
V
a
n
s
ta
n
k
to
p
, M
in
k
a
n
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c
k
la
c
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68 VICE
V
o
lc
o
m
t-s
h
irt
VICE 69
W
e
S
C
ja
c
k
e
t
VICE 71
L
e
v
is
ja
c
k
e
t, A
m
e
ric
a
n
A
p
p
a
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l ta
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in
k
a
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a
rrin
g
s
, A
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n
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c
k
la
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70 VICE
V
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lc
o
m
v
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s
t, Q
u
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s
ilv
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r ta
n
k
to
p
, In
s
ig
h
t le
g
g
in
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s
, P
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lla
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m
b
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ts
72 VICE
S
to
le
n
G
irlfrie
n
d
s
C
lu
b
ja
c
k
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t, M
o
te
l d
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VICE 73
A
lta
m
o
n
t ja
c
k
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t, A
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ric
a
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A
p
p
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VICE 75
L
ampedusa is Italys southernmost island. Its so far
south, in fact, that it is closer to Tunisia (70 miles) than
Sicily (130 miles), and latitudinally it is actually lower
than Tunis and Algiers. The island itself is tiny, with a
population of 6,300 full-time inhabitants.
In the rst weeks of February, following the oust-
ing of Tunisian president Zine-El Abidine Ben Ali, more
than 4,000 North African immigrants ed across the
Mediterranean Sea and pulled ashore on the idyllic isle.
Thats when the Italian government and media started
squawking about an immigrant emergency! and a
Lampedusan crisis! Tunisians and other refugees con-
tinued to pour in, Italy and the rest of Europe battled over
where the refugees should be allowed to relocate, and the
island was so overcapacity that the situation could have
easily escalated into a full-edged riot.
All told, at least 20,000 people landed on Lampedusa,
which had nowhere near the appropriate amount of water,
sewage systems, or medical facilities to support the sudden
inux. The local Center for Identication and Expulsion
(CIE)a cross between a shelter and a prison that houses
fresh-off-the-boat immigrantshas a maximum capacity
of 800 people but was hosting as many as 2,500. The
predicament reached a critical point on March 28, when
2,000 asylum seekers entered Lampedusa within a 24-
hour period. It wasnt long before Italian interior minister
Roberto Maroni announced that Italy would force many of
the immigrants to return to Africa if Tunisias government
couldnt halt the perpetual stream of humanity.
On March 30, Italian prime minister Silvio Sit on My
Face Berlusconi visited the island and put on his usual
show, announcing in a single press conference that he
would: evacuate all the immigrants from the island with-
in 60 hours, propose Lampedusa for the Nobel Peace
Prize, give the islanders a bunch of tax breaks, look into
building a new golf course and casino on the island, and
buy a villa on Lampedusa.
After Berlusconis song-and-dance routine, around half
the refugees were issued temporary visas and moved to
other CIEs around Italy. (Many have since tried to en-
ter FranceTunisias former occupierbut the French
border police have been making this very difcult.) The
other half have been repatriated to Tunisia. In short,
thousands of Tunisians are bouncing around the EU
and the Mediterranean, causing all sorts of problems for
European governments.
This is Ahmed in the Matinas house, wearing hand-me-down clothes. The family would cook six and a half pounds of pasta at a time to feed dozens of immigrants, along
with providing them jackets to wear. Obviously, the Lampedusans were angry that this type of storymore common than one would thinknever made it in the papers.
74 VICE
WORDS AND PHOTOS BY GUIDO GAZZILLI
The Realities of Lampedusas Refugee Crisis
TOO MANY TUNISIANS,
NOT ENOUGH TOILETS
Approximately 60 immigrants wait to get on a bus that will take them to a boat destined for mainland Italy.
76 VICE
On April 11, a rebellion of the immigrants housed in
the Lampedusan CIE led to a re and more deportations.
As of press time, most of the immigrants have been ferried
off the island, but the implications of this mass exodus are
still unclear. European and Mediterranean nations will be
dealing with the problem for some time to come as the new
arrivals try to nd work and housing.
One of Vices most trusted Italian photographers, Guido
Gazzilli, recently returned from a trip to the island. The
rst thing he said to us was, The media are full of shit.
Our interest piqued, we asked him to show us some pic-
tures and tell us what he saw.
I
went to Lampedusa when the emergency was on ev-
ery Italians mind. It was the front page of every paper,
the opener for every news cycle, and the topic of every
talk show. I had seen many images and news stories that
depicted Lampedusans as being furious at the devastation
of the island by immigrants who were essentially squat-
ting everywhere. The papers and TV broadcasts made it
seem like the locals were wary of leaving their homes,
their day-to-day lives destroyed.
The moment I landed, however, I quickly realized that
Lampedusa looked more like a North African shing
island than an Italian one: Its colors, the wooden boats,
the orange light, the sunburned grass, even the faces of the
natives, looked North African. During my rst hours on
the island, I had trouble telling the locals apart from the
immigrants. I also rapidly became aware that all of Italy
had been force-fed a giant plate of bullshit by the media.
The situation was the opposite of what had been reported: I
witnessed charity. I saw the locals taking in these immigrants,
feeding and clothing them. Some families hosted three or four
immigrants under their roofs, while others let them sleep in
their boats or their garages. I saw the Red Cross give out free
meals twice a day. I was shocked at the difference between
what I witnessed with my own eyes and what Id seen on the
news. Reporters had sensationalized it all and, as usual, had
tried to tell the scariest possible version of the story to instill
fear and drive up circulation and ratings.
I also realized that all the TV-news crews and big-shot
journalists did little more than hang out at the docks, lm-
ing the boats arriving and departing. I didnt see any of
them mixing with the townspeople, visiting them in their
homes, or telling their true stories. Of course, this led to
the locals mistrusting reporters. They didnt like the tales
that were being told about their island and instinctively
didnt trust me. But I think they saw that I was there on
The authorities selected who would leave and who wouldnt, seemingly at random.
Obviously, the immigrants would say anything (Im sick, My legs broken) just
to get on the boat and leave the island. The officers would then choose 60 at a
time and escort them to the loading docks.
These are the makeshift tents on the Hill of Shame, where the majority of the
islands immigrants set up camp. After Berlusconi swept them all off the island,
Guido snuck into their homes to take these pictures. Some of them had been
living in dwellings like these for almost a month.
VICE 77
my own, without assistants or big cameras or jackets with
pockets, cables, and logos. They began to understand that
I was asking to talk to them honestly and tell their stories,
so eventually opened their doors to me.
I immediately recognized the church as the center of
activity. In terms of providing aid to the immigrants, the
church was everywhere. The priests and the volunteers
helped them economically, fed them, and organized a drive
for secondhand clothes. I met two local volunteersPippo
and Mauriziowho helped the immigrants nd showers
and get cleaned up.
The CIE has been packed to the brim for months and
some people had been living in the streets without water,
food, or electricity. The CIEs capacity is around 800, but
when I arrived there were between 1,200 and 1,400 people
staying there. There was also a center for women and chil-
drena converted American army base built during World
War II that contained approximately 200 refugeesand
another center for older minors, which also housed around
200 or 300 souls. By my estimate, there were another 5,000
to 6,000 immigrants living outside the holding structures.
Everything and anything the volunteers did helped the situ-
ation, and most of the islands population had transformed
into a huge volunteer force overnight.
Most of the new arrivals were staying on what the Italian
media dubbed, with their usual air for the dramatic, the
Hill of Shame, which was located directly behind the
docks. It looked like an improvised slum. Every morning,
the Tunisians would move from the hill to the docks and
wait there all day, hoping to get picked by the authori-
tieswho made their selections without any discernible
methodto get on one of the boats leading to CIEs in
Civitavecchia, Crotone, or Campobasso. Shockingly,
many of the stranded didnt realize that Lampedusa wasnt
mainland Italy until they set foot on the island. Some of
the most desperate tried escaping from the CIE, as if they
would be able to walk across 500 miles of sea to the Italian
mainland. The guards set out to look for them nonetheless.
Pippo and Maurizio introduced me to a local Catholic
familythe Matinaswho were hosting a lot of immi-
grants. Thats how I met Ahmed, a 23-year-old Tunisian.
Some of the most desperate tried escaping
from the CIE, as if they would be able to
walk across 500 miles of sea.
This is the rubbish the refugees left behind around one of their boats. Imagine dozens of people crossing the Mediterranean in vessels like this one.
we got you covered.
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designer cases for iPhone 4
iPhone is a trademark of Apple, Inc. 78 VICE
The Matinas gave him clothes, allowed him to use the
bathroom, cooked for him, and made him coffee, but they
didnt have space in their house for him to sleep so he
crashed wherever he could.
As soon as I came into the house, they said, This house
is your house now, Ahmed told me, wearing a shirt that
had belonged to the Matinas elder son. I feel so lucky to
have met them.
Ahmed seemed exhaustedelated one moment and ner-
vous the next. He had been on the island nine days and
was constantly on the move, trying to gure out whether
he could get papers, attempting to reach an uncle who had
emigrated to Italy years before, and happy to be on dry
land even though he was nervous about possibly having to
be sent back to Tunisia. Compared with those who didnt
nd a hospitable family like the Matinas, Ahmed was
lucky. The Matinas even wanted him to stay on the island
permanently and were hoping to get him a job at a local
bar, but Ahmed had to be moved to another CIE. Before
leaving, he gave their daughter his Koran as a gift. She gave
him her crucix.
Since then, Ive kept in touch with Ahmed. I visited
him in his current CIE in Civitavecchia, which holds 400
people. My wish is to continue to follow him around,
help him, and, if I can, reach his uncle in Sicily. Ahmed
told me he that he earned 60 euros a month as a waiter
in Djerba (the largest island in North Africa, off the coast
of Tunisia), where he lived before heading to Lampedusa.
To get to Italy he had to pay border crossers 800 euros
(approximately $1,150) for a 25-hour boat ride in a tiny
shing vessel packed with another two dozen Tunisians.
His mother had sold half her belongings in order to help
him pay for the trip.
I left for my future, for my family, he told me. For
my mother. I can only thank God, who helped me cross
over and made me meet this wonderful family, who took
me in. The Lampedusans have good hearts. They are kind
to Algerians, Tunisians, Moroccans, and Libyans. There is
no racism, unlike the French. I only ask God that he grant
me luck, and to be able to send my mother to Mecca and to
buy her a nice house and a gold bracelet.
This is an old storage area that immigrants found on a hill, close to the beach. Dozens slept here. It smelled very bad.
The Lampedusans have good hearts,
Ahmed told me. They are kind to
Algerians, Tunisians, and Libyans.
80 VICE VICE 81
BY PAUL MALISZEWSKI
PHOTOS BY JASON FULFORD
A PRAYER AND TWO PARABLES
FROM MY WI NDOW, I CAN SEE THE BUS
shelter. A woman is walking away from it, and theres
a man underneath, standing. Both are dressed in the
clothes of the season, and both are angry.
The man I have seen before. I call him Screamer. I hear
him before I see him. In this way he is not like a jet fighter.
Today, Screamer has a splint on his nose, making it longer
and more pointed. When he screams, his splint quivers.
Much of what he screams is profane, curses and swears.
He often screams, Asshole fall off the fucking earth.
In the mornings, I hear him coming from the west,
walking toward downtown. Later, in the evenings, he
returns, walking toward the suburbs. He keeps a fairly
tight schedule, Screamer does. In this way he is not un-
like people who work at jobs downtown. Always he is
angry. Always he is screaming.
I have seen Screamer look over his shoulder, back at
the suburbs in the morning or back downtown in the
evening, and I wonder what to make of that looking
back. My first thought was that he was being followed.
Someone was after him. He had made someone angry.
My second thought was that he just believes hes being
followed. Whatever the case, Screamer is always yelling
at the place he leaves, yelling at what he leaves behind.
In this way he is not unlike you, or us, those, say, who
have ever felt disappointed by the most recently passed
experience, the last big letdown, that time we let our-
selves think we were lucky, blessed, made from gold and
promises. Precious stones never did rain on us.
Which brings me again to what I see from my win-
dow. The bus shelter. The woman walking away.
Screamer standing underneath.
The woman is angry. Screamer, she thinks, screams at
her. And why shouldnt she take Screamer personally?
Perhaps he told her, Asshole fall off the fucking earth.
The woman bends down to pick something up, and I
think shes going to throw something. I think, Shes go-
ing to hit Screamer. But its just snow, and the snow is so
powdery and dry, it scatters immediately after leaving her
hand. She might as well have hurled a handful of dust.
And Screamer still screams. The womans hair has
come undone under her scarf, and she pauses a second
to fix it. Screamer curses her, more loudly this time.
Asshole, he says. Fall off the fucking earth.
The woman walks away, and then the woman
comes back.
She walks to the corner, and then she comes back.
This time, the woman spits at Screamer. And still,
Screamer screams.
Once more the woman walks away and comes back.
And once more she spits at Screamer.
As she walks away, I hear her say, I could kill you.
From my window, I see the woman crossing the street
and walking along the hillside. Screamer is still at the
bus shelter and still cursing. Maybe this will be the last
time I see him. Maybe someone will kill him. Maybe
some people will return for him and do what, I do not
know. Fuck him up good.
I wish I could intervene. I want to manifest myself on
the ground, between Screamer and the woman. I want
to move between them. I want to say, Wait, please, you
dont understand. Hold back your blows, OK? Stay, for
a second, the stones youve selected for this mans skull.
And what if the woman then came upstairs to my
apartment? What if she could see what I see? Look,
from my window. Im asking you. Perhaps something
would come of it: me, on the ground, meeting Screamer,
while she sits upstairs. With the woman may come the
hundreds, maybe the thousands, of people who will ever
meet Screamer outside, on the streets and on the side-
walks. They all can crowd into my apartment, jostling
for a view, a seat, a spot by the window.
But can I say, really, that I wouldnt feel insulted?
Asshole fall off the fucking earth.
There is spit, and then there is the anger, like finger-
tips gripping my scalp.
The short stories of Paul Maliszewski are laser-focused and perfectly terse, but they are also enigmatic.
Anyone who knows anything about the form will recognize these as ideal traits. Last December, Vice
publi shed Pauls The Parable of Wood and Fire in our annual Fiction Issue. It was part of an ongoing
series that began in 1995 and has now been collected in Prayer and Parable, which is out this month
from Fence Books. The stories largely fall under two categories: humans hating and loving each other
(the prayers) and more oblique narratives that go nowhere but say everything (the parables). It was only
logical to excerpt a few of the stories and couple them with three new photos from Jason Fulford, who shot the cover of
Prayer and Parable and whose work, like Pauls, is confounding in the best of ways.
PRAYER FOR THE SAFETY OF THE PUBLI C SCREAMER
VICE 83
MY OPPONENT ALWAYS ANNOUNCES
himself the same way. He says, I have a bum. Warn-
ing. I know he means bomb, but he pronounces it in
the pinched way of the British. Bum. Warning. I have
a bum. Yet he is not British. He has, in fact, never
ventured outside the States. He does, however, have a
bomb. That is why hes my opponent, my dear enemy.
The city is our battlefield. Streets and avenues have,
for me, pugilistic significance, a long history of beat-
ings and many losses. You may walk past these sites
without knowing it. I have met my opponent in fields,
in parks, in city squares. He has met me on board
buses, subways, and monorails. We have fought un-
der overpasses and over rivers. I have struggled against
him amidst the carnivals of summer. He has found me
cowering in the beverage aisle of a grocery store, hiding
in the shadow of a pyramid of Coca-Cola. In tropi-
cal restaurants, cool rooms, windy vistas, on snowy
heights, there is, we believe, no place we havent al-
ready fought. Were you unwittingly in attendance at
some of our more celebrated bouts? We have wrestled
atop buildings, decorating the skyline like two feisty
hood ornaments. Always the game is simple, as my
opponent takes pains to point out: one fall, mano a
mano, me or the man with the bomb.
When I fight, however, I am at an immediate dis-
advantage. When I try to punch him, theres no force
behind it. I draw back my arm, but thats it; thats all I
have time for. When I try to run, I escape from nothing.
I am always caught in midturn, pivoting and pushing
off with my strong foot, but no more. Caught and then
hit and then hit again, I fall. There is something in me
that works against the punch, against my flight; it sub-
verts each of my attempts. It is like misdirection. It is
like the fact that water is at its thickest, its most dense,
seconds before freezing. It, I say, because it hasnt any
name. It is all effect and no identity. In my most produc-
tive moments I come up with descriptions of it; I test
them against my experience, comparing them against
my bruises, measuring them alongside my memories of
the man standing over me and laying into my body with
whatever happened to be handya socket wrench, a
golf club, a tire iron, a stick. It is like second-guessing
raised to the power of ten. It is like an interior mono-
logue as loud as a rock concert. It is like the flashlights
of a hundred righteous accusers. Everything I do,
anything I try, whatever I can manage, it is in double
slo-mo. This is the cruelty of fighting underwater.
Do I even need to tell you that my opponent is not
similarly afflicted?
Other opponents trade in casual menace. They like
to say, Ive been watching you, or, I know where you
live. My opponent says, I know what you feel. He de-
scribes my small, daily failures to me. As if I didnt
know. His assessments are pinches that leave marks
on the inside of my skin. He tells me, You are the
Neville Chamberlain of your extended family. Or he
says, Your love is like the plastic cups left over from a
party. My body serves up for him a set of ready meta-
phors. Your stomach is a growing pit, he says, down
which fall the snakes of your seven indiscretions. They
are like arrows, their heads like arrowheads, and they
move, constantly, one over another. Are you feeling
that? he says. When I dont answer, he asks, Dont
you understand?
Im not sure, I say. Then, after some thought, No,
not really, I guess.
Im talking about your insignificance, he says, as if
it could all be so plain.
I get what youre saying, I tell him. In general, I
mean, but you lose me on the specifics most of the
time.
My opponent actually looks sort of hurt. Should I
be less gnomic or something? he says.
I shrug. It would, I guess, be a start.
Consider arrows, he says, speaking more slowly this
time. Arrows in an empty stomach.
Now do you see why I fight him? Even though my
moves are slow? My efforts futile? I fight him because
I must. I have no other choice, I think.
When Im not fighting my opponent, I see other
people whom I imagine are fighting their opponents,
on other nights, in distant parts of a darkened globe.
Between dinner and dawn, the city is turned over
to these fights. A long fight card every night. Many
matches and many falls. Who are these people? How
can you recognize them? They are those who misbut-
ton an article of clothing. They are those who react
last and late to a joke. We are the people whom you
find always looking down and seemingly in. Eye con-
tact is for the foolish when it is night and an opponent
is about. We stumble frequently, unfazed. We step into
traffic, neither surprised nor frightened when we real-
ize our mistake. Not a day goes by that we do not
find ourselves stopping people like you and asking for
directions in the city of our birth.
PARABLE OF A MERCI FUL END TO DREAMS OF FI GHTI NG UNDERWATER
82 VICE
84 VICE VICE 85
THE NEW NIGHTCLUB OPENED LAST WEEK,
and now everyone is trying to get inside. The new night-
club is fabulous, according to every indication, offering
entertainment beyond measure, joy and conviviality in un-
paralleled quantities. Consider the new nightclubs stereo.
Its sound system, speakers, mixing board, and turntables are
together larger, more expensive, and more powerful than
the stereos of the top five most popular nightclubs com-
bined. The stereos wiring would, if stretched end to end,
run for seventy-seven miles, connecting cities to their sub-
urbs. It loops underground, beneath the glass dance floor,
and then circles overhead, in the rafters and around the ex-
posed beams of the building, which, once upon a time, was
a warehouse or a tannery, a potato-chip company or dress-
shoe factory, something, in any case, that did something
for someone, back when. Nobody can remember now. The
new nightclubs wire is bound together in thick, menacing
coils, blue wires and black wires all feeding into intricately
webbed nodes and impressive muscular bunches. It is as if
the club powered itself off the flayed body of a giant. The
new nightclubs blue wire is the blue of 4 AM seen before
sleep; its black wire is truly black indeed.
I havent yet been inside the new nightclub when its
turned on, when the lights are up and people pack the
open spaces and drinks are being drunk. During the day, I
worked on the second auxiliary electrical crew, brought on
board by one of the subcontractors, this guy I know who
used to date my sister. I wired up a set of lights mounted on
these robotic arms, metal appendages, starved in appear-
ance, that supported these other things that someone else,
hired by another subcontractor, worked on.
The DJ booth in the new nightclub can unleash various
special effects, the sort that would not seem out of place
in large-budget movies. Ive heard talk of lasers and ho-
lograms, even green screens. Supposedly parts of the club
can be rear-projected into whole other areas, like scenery.
Also, the bar is actually three bars, three bars each on three
separate levels, each decorated according to a unique style
or mood. The owner of the new nightclub is a stickler for
details, so the moods of the bars are very much like the
moods of people, very lifelike.
The new nightclub is where the old nightclub used to
be, before the old owner closed its doors, boarded the win-
dows, and sold off all the furniture and stereo equipment
in an auction sparsely attended by bargain hunters and just
some curious lookers-on who felt they had some connec-
tion to the place. Nothing from the old nightclub survives
in the new one.
People who have never even given a thought to going to
a nightclub feel the inkling or perhaps pressure of having
to go to this one, of needing to go, if only to see it, maybe
just once. To see what its like, they say. For something to
do, they say. They all have their reasons, and their reasons
are the same three or four.
Its a childish wish, this desire to be inside the new night-
club. Childish not in the sense of being simple, but rather
because it reminds me of times I overheard my parents and
their friends at parties. It was usually someones birth-
day or anniversary, the occasion was never all that clear
or important. What mattered was that I could hear their
voices, the sound of their voices, but I could not discern
the words themselves. I would hear laughter and I would
think, Someone just told a joke. Who told a joke? Who
was it? What was the joke, exactly? How did it go? The
laughter went on. Laughter carried, words did not. I could
hear nothing except sounds of what I knew to be conversa-
tion. It was incredibly frustrating, this feeling.
Inside the new nightclub there is another, smaller, more
exclusive nightclub, and inside that smaller, more exclusive
nightclub, there is a smaller nightclub still. Five nightclubs
at least are nested inside one another like so. After work one
day, a few days before we finished and the foreman, as they
say, let us go, I was talking to a guy who worked alongside
me, this guy who put the things on the ends of the metal
appendages I was working on. Anyway, this guy swore that
there are at least nine nested nightclubs inside one another.
He personally knew of at least nine, and he suspected there
could be even more, each smaller, each more exclusive, each
located inside the other. And at the center of it all, at the
center of this series of clubs within clubs, there is a room,
supposedly no bigger than a large box, like the sort of box
a refrigerator comes packaged in. The owner of the new
nightclub has had this room decorated sparsely, with a table
and a chair and a candle on the table and a pillow on the
chair. The table is not larger than a pad of paper. The candle
is the size of a dime. The chair is plain. The pillow is more
suggestion and gesture than pillow. Whats more, the walls
around the table are not in fact walls. On closer inspection,
they reveal themselves to be speakers that look and feel like
walls. Solid speakers. From the floor to the ceiling of the
room, nothing but speakers. When the stereo is on, and the
music is going, a person admitted to the room that lies at the
center of the series of clubs within clubs can hear nothing
else, nothing to indicate that theres anything else anywhere
else outside or inside the room, nothing other than the room
itself and the person inside it.
PARABLE OF BEI NG I NSI DE
VICE 87
SHOPLIFTING
86 VICE
A
s you can see here, Donald Weber captures painfully intimate photos. His photog-
raphy has won him all sorts of fancy honors (for starters, a Guggenheim Fellowship
and the Lange-Taylor documentar y prize), and it makes perfect sense that some of
his best work has focused on Russia and Ukraine. The latter is where he completed his
Interrogations series. Somehow Donald gained unprecedented access to a police station in
Ukraine and sat in on interrogation sessions as the young, old, rich, and poor broke down
and owned up to their dirty deeds, even if the charges against them were questionable.
As Donald puts it: Without confessions and guilty pleas, courts everywhere would grind
to a halt in an instant; more than 90 percent of all charges in the Russian and Ukrainian
judicial systems end in guilty pleas, and only experienced criminals and highly educated
defendants stand a chance. This is what the cops are doing behind their closed doorsthe
feudal systems trial by ordeal is still much with us.
The following pages feature selected photos from the Interrogations book, which will be
released by Schilt Publishing this fall. The crimes of the accused are listed underneath their
photos. If you can look at them without cringing, chances are you deserve to have an ex-
KGB agent yank your toenails out in a dank basement with soundproof walls.
Watch Donald in action later this month in a new episode of our photography show, Picture Perfect, on VBS.TV.
PHOTOS BY DONALD WEBER
Ukrainian Police Officers Can Be Very Unpleasant
TOUGH QUESTIONS
88 VICE
PROSTITUTION
ATTEMPTED RAPE
VICE 89
PUBLIC DRUNKENNESS
PROSTITUTION
VICE 91
PETTY THEFT
PROSTITUTION AND SOLICITATION OF NARCOTICS
90 VICE
SOLICITATION OF NARCOTICS (COCAINE)
SOLICITATION OF PROSTITUTION (BROTHEL MADAM)
92 VICE VICE 93
CAR THEFT
VICE 95
I only learned the secret of
Horseshit magazine last year,
while patronizing a local mil-
itary-surplus shop. It was one
of those menacing and increas-
ingly rare army-navy stores popularized in
1993s Falling Downgrimly dim, deco-
rated with Nazi artifacts and dangling gas
masks. I got the feeling it was the kind of
place where one must be careful not to
wander too far toward the back room, lest
one never come out. Even as the shopkeeper
chatted with another customer, I could
feel his eyes watching me.
In front of one counter displaying
Luftwaffe cufflinks and K-rations, I
found myself staring at a publication ti-
tled Horseshit. The cover featured a crisp
illustration of a man with a face wrapped
in barbed wire. It recalled Winston Smiths
cover of the Dead Kennedys Give Me
Convenience or Give Me Death. Clearly,
I thought, this was a punk zine Id never
heard of. What was it doing here? I opened
it and immediately discerned three things:
1) The magazine predated punk by at
least ten years.
2) It was full of extremely arousing draw-
ings of nude women.
3) It was also full of disturbing antimili-
tary propaganda (babies on bayonets,
marines as drooling ghouls) that, if the
guy behind the counter knew what I
was looking at, would probably result
in my ass getting kicked.
BY SAM McPHEETERS
ILLUSTRATIONS BY ROBERT M. DUNKER
THE
OFFENSIVE
REVIEW
In 1965, Horseshit Magazine Launched a Full-Frontal
Assault on Everyone. So Why Has No One Heard of It?
94 VICE
96 VICE
Horseshit was responsible (along with Zap, Snatch, and the
SCUM Manifesto) for the arrest of Berkeley bookseller Moe
Moskowitz on charges of selling pornography. A year later,
Frank Zappa referenced the magazine in his track German
Lunch. Beyond those two intriguing historical morsels,
Horseshit occupies a void. A few online booksellers offered
complete sets of the magazineall four issues for $150.
By chance I found a website selling the set for consider-
ably less, and I jumped at the opportunity. But as soon as
I placed the order, I felt duped. Was it really possible that
this magazine had slipped under the radar of everyone I
knew? A dark paranoia festered: It all began to feel like
an elaborate scam that would end with the eBay seller and
the aggressive military-surplus-store guy splitting the cash
down the middle.
Two weeks later, the magazines
arrived. The cover of issue 1
features line art of a US Army
soldier of indeterminate rank
cradling an automatic rifle. His
other hand is holding aloft an
apparently dead infant that he
has just bagged, like a mallard.
Below the magazines title is the
legend THE OFFENSIVE REVIEW and,
under this, in the bottom corner,
ATTACK! The fine print informed me that it was published by
Gauntlet Press of Hermosa Beach, California. Incredibly,
the magazine is dated 1965.
The issue begins with a polite and brief intro: Some
time ago, two young men, brothers named Bob and Tom
Dunker, decided that there was a real need for a magazine
that would combine strong, fearless, humorous drawings
with witty, intelligent, outspoken writing... Remember
that when you read an ordinary magazine, you are reading
what some writer thinks you will want to read, not his own
opinions... Horseshit doesnt have this problem. It is the
work of men, not the product of a committee.
The first article, On Naming the Magazine, depicts
a dramatic dialogue in which three characters brainstorm
magazine titles. The characters conceive and debate a
long list: Asshole, The Clitoris, Contraceptive (Its no
good, you cant send contraceptives through the mail),
The Cow Flop, Cunts I Have Known, The Curse, The
Diarrhea of Anne Frank, Dildo, Flatulence, The Hermosa
Bitch, The Hermosa Rag (a monthly), The John, The
Masturbation Manual, The Nocturnal Emission, Nooky,
Prick, Screw (three years before Al Goldsteins Screw),
Self Abuse for the Obtuse, The Shaft, The Strumpet,
Supposi-Stories, Ten Inches, The Toilet Paper, Twat,
Urine, and Washingtons Monument.
Right out of the gate, Horseshits publishers have some
self-referential fun with the absurdity of their situation and
eventual creation:
Bob: The Whores Home Companion?
Gordon: Right, a magazine designed to be read in the par-
lors of whorehouses while waiting your turn to go upstairs.
[The character of Gordon, perhaps based on a real-life
third partner, vanishes after this brief appearance.]
I looked up. The owner was indeed staring straight at
me, even while conversing with the other customer.
Excuse me, I said as I lifted the magazine. How
much for this?
The two men stopped talking. The owner sized me up
with undisguised disgust.
Thats NOT for sale, he finally replied. I nodded and
backed out the front entrance, his hateful death-ray gaze
following me onto the street.
It was a confusing and mysterious introduction to a con-
fusing and mysterious magazine.
Later I scouted for clues about Horseshit online, but there
werent many. I learned from one website that the maga-
zine was published by two brothers, Thomas and Robert
Dunker (Thomas, a paraplegic, died in 2003). In 1968,
VICE 97
Other articles include:
An odd short story from the perspective of an East
Indian villager
Four pages of adult aphorisms (Life is a slut, full of
hidden sores and secret smells) and dirty poetry
A personal reminiscence on sex education
Ready, White, and Blue, a four-page antimilitary pictorial
drawn in the blocky style of contemporary political cartoons
A one-page short story The Plot to Kill the Queen,
which ends with a finger-in-the-hole-of-a-dyke pun
An eight-page sketchbook full of naked young women
with gloriously furry crotches
A ten-page teleplay about patients in a VA hospital
An editorial about statutory rape (the Dunkers appar-
ently disapproved of adults being imprisoned for having
sex with consenting minors)
The two-page Support Your Loco [sic] Police
Boob Golf, a cartoon spread that clearly belonged
in Playboy
In Horseshit I saw the clear outlines of aesthetics later
used by the Church of the SubGenius, Crass Records,
Devo, the Feederz, and Raymond Pettibon. As a former
voracious fanzine collector, I marveled that Id never
heard of it (incidentally, Thurston Moore, allegedly a ma-
jor zine collector, turned down my interview request for
this article). I kept returning to my weird doubt: Was the
magazine an elaborate hoax produced in the 21st cen-
tury? Wilder things have happened.
Its useful to take stock of how weird and different
1965 was compared with modern times. It was much more
Mad Men than Woodstock. Mad magazine had instigated
American youth cultures shift toward the anarchic left,
but it would be almost a decade before they published their
infamous middle-finger cover. National Lampoon had yet
to be conceived, and Monty Pythons debut was four years
away. The Dunkers focused, antagonistic nonconformity
was extremely jarring in a time when unabashed dissent
was a nascent form of expression. Next to someone like
Lenny Brucewhose solo stand against the agents of prud-
ishness at least resulted in lasting notorietythe Dunkers
barely garnered any cultural significance whatsoever.
Whats most amazing is that Horseshit offered something
several shades beyond nonconformity without a support
system of any kindno powerful rock-star friends, no
charitable lefty lawyers to get them out of sticky jams, and
no masses of youth willing to help their cause.
The varied styles of art in Horseshit suggest several
different artists. The illustrations are professional yet
uncompromising, perfectly capturing the nonconformity
of the Dunkers. There are studied line-art nudes (mostly,
but not exclusively, women), sloppier crosshatched nudes,
staid little spot illustrations, and frenzied doodles of
military brutes and sexual perversions. The magazines
signature typographic bulleta pictograph of a hand giv-
ing the middle fingerlooks like the polished logo of a
hip contemporary skateboarding company. Until I read the
words all the drawings in this magazine are by Robert M.
Dunker, I thought at the very least that the Dunkers had
tapped into some sort of mid-60s adult clip-art treasure
trove. Considering the intentionally marginal nature of the
magazine juxtaposed with the professional artwork it con-
tained, I wondered whether other periodicals had swiped
Dunkers work over the years as if it were royalty-free clip
art. I would discover later that many, including Playboy,
allegedly did just that.
Horseshits obvious contemporary, Fuck You: A
Magazine of the Arts, had access to a high caliber of early-
60s thinkers and artists: Burroughs, Ginsberg, Warhol,
and others. Fuck Yous presentation, however, was ama-
teurish ephemeraa junior high schoolers mimeographed
poetry zine. If you can ignore its title, Horseshit is a slick,
serious publication that would be just as at home in a doc-
tors office as in a brothel parlor.
Issue 2 is dated 1967. The format
remains the same, but by this
time the Dunker brothers had
changed the name of their pub-
lishing company from Gauntlet
(a preexisting homosexual pub-
lication) to Scum. It also seems
like they were expressing even
angrier sentiments than those
in the first issue, opening with
a story about a young man who
refuses to be thrown into a volcano, and this statement:
If you havent caught on that our society uses human
sacrifice, dont read this magazine. Horseshit is a mes-
sage from the jungle. It is dangerous. If you read it, you
In Horseshit I saw the clear outlines of aesthetics later used by the
Church of the SubGenius, Crass Records, and Raymond Pettibon.
VICE 99
may find yourself agreeing with some of the things we say.
Then people will think you are either crazy or a traitor. Go
watch human sacrifices instead. Maybe you can be next.
Contents include:
Canonize JFK Now: a piece mocking the martyrdom
of Kennedy with deep, acidic sarcasm
Cunt Is a Christian Word: A dreadful two-page poem
(There is no cock as big and rough as the one your
church has thrust in you) with an exquisite layout.
Curiously, one illustration of a spread-eagled naked
woman omits her genitalia. Possible self-censorship?
An article on providing sexual education to federal
judges
The Fetishist, a comic featuring a deviant anthro-
pomorphized shoe in which the shoe man locks the
bedroom door, goes to the closet, finds a rack of small
human beings, and ecstatically rubs one out all over
its shoe body before a bunch of police shoes kick in
the door
The Last Words of Jefferson Monroe Just Before He
Was Torn to Pieces on the Floor of Congress, written
in the style of a contemporary teleplay, but with lots of
non-contemporary language (Sample dialogue: All you
do is suck on the assholes of your rich masters!)
Ten pages of whimsical Patriotic Drawings that look
like they belong in a dirty-minded kids coloring book
A six-page spread on the Kama Sutra, written like an
explicit Mad gag
A two-page spread of jokes about women
A page of Quickies, including a chastisement of black
Muslims: The Muslims have been spending their time
talking about the white man as though he were a devil
and implying that he ought to be wiped off the face of
the Earth. And yet, have they ever killed anyone? There
is no evidence that they ever have. How can they hope
to compete with the Christian churches who have killed
millions?
A seven-page short story about an army private who
goes insane and stalks officers on his own base like a
serial killer
A back-page discussion of Horseshits steep $2 price (ap-
proximately $13 today): We cant get most printers to
print it, or typesetters to set our type, or distributors to
handle it, or booksellers to sell it. Doing battle with all
these idiots naturally runs up our expenses. Later, the
editors offer subscriptions for readers enemies
The entire magazine feels oddly isolated. Except for brief
nods to the Realist and Eros, there are no references to
any sort of American counterculture. (There is, however,
one pointed notice that Horseshit is NOT a member of
the Underground Press Syndicate.) At this time the Dunker
brothers were in their mid-30s, radicalized but disconnected
from the organized left. In the truest sense of the words,
they were outraged citizens moved to action.
Issue 3, published in 1968,
maintains the Dunkers rather
off-putting honesty: We put out
this magazine for the same rea-
son that little boys run around
and shout and make noise.
Because were alive. Thats all.
Because were alive. It also fea-
tures a marked ratcheting up of
the antimilitary sentiment; the
writing and graphics are far bit-
terer. On boot camp, Thomas Dunker proclaims, The
whole training mess is bullshit. An excuse to give the sa-
dists who run the Regular Services a chance to work out
their perversions at public expense. Additionally, the
issue offers a selection of the Dunkers antimilitary post-
ers (ten for $1), the year of the My Lai Massacre and two
years before Jane Fonda and Donald Sutherlands F--- the
Army traveling stage show.
Theres also an article titled Committee of the Gods and
the Female Tits and Ass, which ends with, A man can no
more ignore a womans ass than a dog can ignore a rabbit
so lets force them to shape up. Through the magazines
run, there is an ample supply of that squishy misogyny of the
pre-70s left. In A Years Supply of Excuses for Girls, the
Dunkers offer just that: He forced me, I was too drunk
to know what I was doing, He said Id lose my job if I
didnt. Women are often punch lines, with one article fea-
turing a discussion of females faint brain waves.
Issue 4 is the big one, which may
have something to do with the
fact that it was released in 1969.
At 56 pages, its the longest issue
of the bunch, and the first to in-
clude an order form inside and a
warning on the cover (NOT TO BE
SOLD TO MINORS). The very non-
inflammatory cover art features
a painting of a dragon holding
the Earth and spitting fire into
the ether. But inside is some of the most ferocious content
to ever grace the pages of a magazine. Were the brothers
Dunker the dragon taking the world back, or inhabitants
of the world, held hostage by the dragon?
Contents include:
The Nut Growers Foundation, a seven-page satiric
conspiracy piece
A rather pedestrianconsidering the timespiece titled
Old Believe... Young Think (Old people think that
it is shameful to go to prison. Young people are faintly
ashamed that they havent had the guts to go to prison)
Six pages of The Circulation of the Blood During the Sex
Act, which features illustrations of fully splayed genita-
lia that are far more explicit than whats found in issue 2
We put out this magazine for the same reason that little boys run around
and make noise, the Dunkers claimed. Because were alive.
98 VICE
100 VICE
The two-page How Flowers Mate... and Eliminate
with an unexpected jab of (ironic?) racism when,
among the naughty flowers with fully engorged phalli
and boobs, one particularly large, droopy schlong is
labeled NIGGER FLOWER
A 16-page short story, The Lesson Theyve Been Trying
to Teach Us, which begins as kid-on-kid (as in minors
fornicating with other minors) porn and devolves into an
incest tale. The story is written in an off-putting, genuine
manner that seems to have an ambiguous political point
(Americans are too sexually uptight? Its OK for juveniles
to have sex with one another?). Jarring and deeply creepy,
the piece is a fitting grand finale to the magazine
When I finally reached the elusive Robert Dunker, I learned
that he lives only 45 minutes from the store where I first
discovered his magazine. Now an octogenarian, he was po-
lite and gracious enough that I resisted saying Horseshit,
lest I offend him (I referred to it as your old magazine).
Robert filled in the gaps of a surprisingly prosaic up-
bringing. The brothers grew up on a farm west of Sioux
Falls, South Dakota, suffering a childhood out of a
Norman Rockwell painting (a mile through the snow
to the school bus. Then, after school, wed get home and
work until dark). He also told me that he served in the
marines, and that Tom was drafted into the army (years
before his paralyzing accident) after leaving the seminary
on the grounds that it was nonsense.
I asked whether their military service had served as an
agent of radicalization. Had there been a particularly scar-
ring incident? How does ones rage meter go from 0 to 100
so quickly and forcefully?
I dont think that there was such an incident that caused
anything like that, Robert told me. What happened was,
our parents were exceedingly devout. They got down on
their knees and prayed for peace every night with their ro-
saries. And to me, in my mind, I never accepted any of that.
We went to a parochial Catholic school, and I always was
just looking around, wondering, Am I different or crazy?
I dont believe any of this I think there are people in the
world who are believers. Theyll believe any damn thing,
whether its Bigfoot, flying saucers, or whatever. Then
there are people who wont believe anything, unbelievers.
And I think my brother and I are just unbelievers.
Did the brothers, I asked, have any connection to the beat
culture when they started their magazine in Hermosa Beach?
No, Robert said. Most of the activity for the hippies
was in San Francisco and downtown LA. And we didnt
know anybody like that. Once our magazine got to be well
known, we got invitations to all the rock shows or what-
ever they were at that time. I never went to any of them.
Im antisocial. And because Tom was in a wheelchair, he
couldnt go to them. So we never really met people like
that. There were certain ones who came and visited Tom,
and he would tell me about it afterward. I cant even re-
member their names.
By this time, the conversation had taken on a strange
tone. It felt like we were discussing a journal of macram. I
marveled at the professionalism of the magazine (in all four
issues, I found only one typo and one shadow line). Robert
told me he had worked for the electronics divisions of several
aircraft companies, designing and illustrating brochures.
Somehow this wasnt the exciting explanation I had hoped
for. I also inquired if it was true that Horseshit had been
originally distributed inside a brown paper wrapper. It was.
We wanted people to read it, but we realized that if
we put a big stamp that said Horseshit the post office at
that time considered itself censors of everything that went
through the mail, and consequently if they opened it up,
they would just return it or destroy it.
There are people who wont believe anything, unbelievers, Robert
said. And I think my brother and I are just unbelievers.
VICE 101
What about legal troubles? There were none to speak of.
How about their family? Were relatives aware of their little
deviant pet project? Had their parents disowned them?
We never sent it to them, Robert said. We never
mentioned it to them, there was never any back and forth.
Our relatives were all wonderful people, but they werent
in favor of anything we ever did, so we considered our-
selves black sheep. But we kept on good terms with them.
The story was almost unbelievable. How could the
Dunkers have produced such a scathing attack on ev-
erythingin the 60s, no lesswithout immediate and
dramatic negative results? I suddenly felt like a caricature
of a bad reporter, barely able to contain his annoyance at
not receiving the story he wanted to hear.
The magazine ended, Dunker told me, because the
conclusion of the Vietnam War made Horseshit irrel-
evant (odd chronology, considering that Vietnam raged
for another half decade). Additionally, Robert said, their
struggles with typesetters, printers, and distributors had
become unmanageable. It was an entirely reasonable and
logical conclusion.
And what of the years since? You could fit an entire life-
time (mine, for example), in the gap between issue 4 (a
planned fifth issue never materialized) and our phone call.
Here too, Roberts tale was surprisingly upbeat:
My brother was a paraplegic, and he spent a lot of time
in the hospital. He hated hospitals and never wanted to go
back to a VA. So we decided to make some money so that
he could live on his own. We invested well. We bought
houses for nothing down and remodeled them. My brother
made the calls and handled the contracts, and I did the
labor. Eventually we had two crews of people working for
us. We made a good deal of money. I still have houses that
provide me with rental income. And Tom had exactly what
he wanted, a nice house on the beach. We had five people
on call all the time, so there was somebody either with him
or close by 24 hours a day. During his last ten years he
needed somebody to help him up and out of bed and do
things for him, and so it worked out fine for us.
After our chat, I mulled over his answers. Everything
checked out, until I looked at the magazines again. I
thought of my initial reaction, that I was the victim of
an elaborate prank. Then something else struck me: Did
Robert Dunker sound suspiciously like the owner of the
military-surplus store?
104 VICE
I
n October 2000, Todd formally contacted the DEA and
declared, I have what I believe is the worlds largest LSD
conspiracy and I would like to try to work something
out. Todd received total immunity for his involvement
with the laboratory and walked away a free man, while
Leonard was given two concurrent life sentences without
parole. In the wake of the trial, Todd and Krystle trav-
eled across America, dealing kilos of crystalline MDMA
to survive. As time passed, Todd became increasing violent
and paranoid, and in September 2003 he was arrested and
began a protracted legal battle that culminated with a sen-
tence of life in prison for assault with a dangerous weapon
(a hypodermic needle) and kidnapping.
In the years since the arrests, Krystle has parlayed her
experience into a series of books and YouTube videos, the
most popular of which involves an in-depth discussion of an
intrarectal DMT-administration technique termed the sha-
manic colonic. Apparently, it burns. Krystle is one of very
few people who participated in the LSD operation who is not
currently incarcerated, and so I flew to Kansas to meet her,
ask some questions, and pay a visit to the legendary missile
silo. Despite all she has gone through, Krystle is an ebullient
bundle of entheogenic energy. When I picked her up to drive
to Wamego she was wearing a tie-dyed shirt that read
At one time, the silo was a testament to Todds unre-
strained profligacy. The main missile bay was filled with fine
Persian carpets and luxurious leather couches. He owned
a $120,000 stereo system, which he used to listen to Deep
Forest and Sarah McLachlan at high volumes. The bathroom
alone contained a shower with three heads and a bathtub that
could easily accommodate half a dozen people. Krystle said it
was fun. After the bust, the silo was gutted, and everything of
value was sold. The space was vandalized and abandoned, it
flooded with water, and eventually Todds henchmen broke
inside to steal a cache of MDMA, LSD, and DMT hidden
within the varicose pink marble walls. Today, very little of
the original silo is intact, and the property is owned by a
military-vehicle fanatic, who uses the missile bay to store a
collection of WWII-era Soviet T-34 tanks. After leaving the
silo, I sat down with Krystle for a chat.
Vice: How did you and Gordon Todd Skinner meet and sub-
sequently fall in love?
Krystle Cole: I was stripping at a place called Club Orleans.
Todd didnt frequent strip clubs, but his employees did, and
one of them saw my act and told Todd, Theres this girl down
there you should really see. I did an interesting acta bond-
age act. I certainly stood out for the Kansas crowd that was
in there. I was really goth because I hated Kansas. I would
play death-metal music and have this chain that I would wrap
around the pole, and then I would whip myself with the chain.
I wanted to rebel against everything Kansas was about. When
Todd came in, he wasnt like the other customers, he didnt
want lap dances or anything like that. He would just sit in the
VIP room and hand me lots and lots of money. Eventually, he
asked if I wanted to see where he lived. At strip clubs they al-
ways preach a rule: Never go home with a customer; youll be
chopped into pieces and raped. So I was nervous, but I said,
OK, Ill go. After driving for hours we arrived at these huge
metal gates with barbed wire along the top. He had at least
ten security cameras outside, as well as these motion-sensing
floodlights. There were no other buildings in sight, and the
door to the missile silo was large enough to accommodate a
semitruck. As he led me inside, I was freaking out.

Why did Todd choose to live in a decommissioned nuclear-
missile silo as opposed to, say, a house?
When I first met Leonard and Todd, their story was that
they were eccentric investment bankers, and Todd said he
had been stockpiling food and machine guns to prepare for
Y2Kwe met right after the millennium. Todd had every-
thing you would need to survive the apocalypse in the silo.
They explained that they carried briefcases stacked with for-
eign currency and $1,000 bills because they thought the US
financial system was on the verge of collapse. They threw
around money, drove Porsches, bought me Armani clothes,
and I didnt have to work at the strip club anymore. Here in
Kansas you arent raised to scrutinize people about whether
they are lying to you or not, you know?

So Todd said he was an investment banker-cum-survivalist
preparing for post-Y2K financial collapse, but how did he
explain the kilos of MDMA?
Todd very much hid it. When I first met him, I never got to see
anything like that. I had virtually no experience with drugs. I
did the basic drinking alcohol and smoking pot, but I had never
even heard of MDMA. He said, Try it just once, youll like
it. And boy did I but I only got to see this small amount.
Eventually, I began to suspect something was going on, but I
didnt know exactly what. Everyone was so nervous. If you
talked about drugs on the phone, or visited drug-related web-
sites, there would be a major chew-out session. It was only
later that I was shown the stockpiles of drugs and I found out
they had an LSD lab in addition to the MDMA lab, but it never
got busted.

Ive read that he told people he was using the missile silo to
manufacture high-performance springs for NASA.
Technically, at one time, they had springs being made out at the
missile silo. Some of his employees said they had tried to make a
few springs, but it was mainly just a cover.

Did you see any springs at all?
No, I never saw a single spring at the silo, but Todds mother
actually does own a spring factory in Tulsa, and they do make
springs for NASA.
Krystle and Hamilton cut loose with a steamed-vegetable platter at Houlihans.
VICE 105
An apparatus consisting of 182 batteries Todd claimed to have designed for experimental electrochemical MDMA synthesis.
Holes drilled by Todds henchmen in order to check out the books in his library
that contained popular titles such as 500g MDMA, 100g DMT, 1g LSD, $10,000
American, $10,000 Canadian, and 10,000 Dutch guilder.
Todd pensively stares off into space while massaging a sore shoulder.
VICE 107
So once you figured out that Todd and Leonard were in-
volved in an LSD-manufacturing ring, did you want to end
your involvement with them?
As I started to figure it out, I didnt, I wanted to get more in-
volved! I didnt find out exactly what was going on until after
Leonard had been busted. I was on a lot of drugs, and I was
only 18. I didnt have enough foresight or world experience
to be able to discern the things that were happening around
me. Before I was just like, Hey, lets party. I didnt think
about the consequences or the future or anything, really.

What were some of the substances that the group synthesized
and experimented with?
Todds specialty was tryptamines. He would perform
Mimosa hostilis extractions but could also produce synthetic
DMT. He was very proud of all the different chemicals he
had. If you got close enough to him, you would get to see
this huge library of different substanceshundreds of
different drugs. This was back in 2000 before most of these
substances could be purchased online as research chemicals.
Todd would go around giving everybody stuff, and we were
like, Give me! I dont know what most of the things were.
Back then I was on so many different substances, it was like
living in an entheogenic monastery. I didnt have to work. I
didnt have to worry about paying bills. I didnt have to do
anything other than take psychedelics. I had the opportunity
to use all kinds of unusual things like ALD-52 and ergot
wine, as well as some totally novel things that I have not
heard of before or since.
What were some of the novel substances?
Well, I couldnt talk about a lot of this stuff before, but I
can now because the statute of limitations has expired.
Specifically, there was one substance that nobody had ever
tried before. It was something completely new, and what I
experienced on it was above and beyond anything I can
describe. Because it was like looking... It was like it turned
reality into this whole I mean, it was reality, but like a layer
over reality. Its hard to explain, but afterward I felt like it
taught my brain that there was a neurological switch I could
just flip and enter an altered state at will.
What was the name of this substance?
Todd didnt name most of the chemicals he created, but this
was a novel analog of 5-Me O-MT. He sent me a number
of letters from prison describing the synthesis in coded lan-
guage; apparently it could be made with electrified rhodium
foil in a 20-gallon fish tank.
1
There were lots of new things,
but that one was particularly crazy. He also said it was an
especially sensitive molecule that was prone to degradation,
and so when storing that particular book in one of his li-
braries it had to be bound with a light-blocked book
cover. There were other novel substances as well. Leonard
made a new LSD analog called diazedine, though I dont
know exactly what that was either.
Are you familiar with lysergic acid 2,4-dimethylazetidide?
2
No, but they were calling this diazedine. It was also crazy,
but nothing earth-shattering. Leonard gave it to Todd in a
bottle of Everclear for testing, and we would dose a capful
at a time. Apparently, diazedine failed to be doable on a
large scale because the production costs were too high and
the yields too low. Diazedine caused a lot of stress between
Todd and Leonard, because they had high expectations for
it as an LSD alternative.
So at what point in all of this did Todd become an informant
for the DEA and turn Leonard in?
As the time of the bust approached, Todd began to tell me
various things about Leonard: that he was involved in the
heroin trade and the trade of Stinger missiles in Afghanistan,
and that he had contracted the murder of a man who was
supplying them with an LSD precursor. I dont know if I
believe Todd now, but I certainly did at the time. I was com-
pletely in love with him, and anything that he said I took as
the truth. Now I can look back and see that he was such a
liar a lot of the time.
Ive exchanged letters with Leonard, and he seems like a gen-
tlemanly and kind man.
You have to realize that hes not that innocent in all of this.
I mean, its horrible that he is serving a life sentence for com-
mitting a nonviolent crime, which is not even a crime but a
service that has had a profoundly positive effect on humanity,
but Leonard was not an angel either. A lot of people try to
paint him as this Buddhist-monk-like guy who would never
do anything bad. Both Todd and Leonard were drug dealers
at the top level; neither of them was good. On the flip side, I
dont think Leonard was a murderer.

Did Leonard seem like someone who would be involved with
the heroin trade?
Probably not, but he didnt seem like someone who would be
involved with the LSD trade either! Leonard was so good at
acting the part. I never once saw him use a drug or even speak
of a drug. The only thing he ever said to me was, You should
go to raves. You will like them. Thats the only remotely
drug-related thing he ever said before the bust.

Did Todd ever allow you to observe the synthesis of any drugs?
Well, I saw kilo upon kilo of indole. I saw glassware and
lab equipment and things that were in the last stages of
synthesis or purification. I saw glass jugs filled with wine
made from ergot cultures, but I never once entered one of
I dont know what most of the things were. Back then I was on so many
different substances, it was like living in an entheogenic monastery.
2 Lysergic acid 2,4-dimethylazetidide (aka LSZ) belongs to a very small group of
serotonergic psychedelics that surpass LSD in potency. Aside from the fact that
diazedine is a lexical clipping of dimethylazetidine (diazedine<dimethylazetidine),
the first paper describing the chemistry and pharmacology of LSZ came out of a
laboratory at Purdue University, where Leonard had previously studied under the
renowned chemist David Nichols. Though the paper was published after Leonards
arrest, it is still quite likely he was aware of the preliminary research. When I
asked Dr. Nichols whether he thought Pickard may have produced LSZ, he replied,
Leonard knew of our work, of that I am certain. Rumors of LSZ distributed on
blotter paper (purportedly under the name ) have circulated for years, though
there are few confirmed reports of its existence. Of course, the name diazedine is
ambiguous and could be referring to just about anything, but I would bet a kilo of
benzotriazole-1-yl-oxy-tris-pyrrolidino-phosphonium hexafluorophosphate that LSZ
and diazedine are one and the same.
1 In Todds letters from prison, he describes using both 5-Fluoro-MT and 6-Fluoro-
MT. The former is commercially available in small quantities, and the latter
was distributed by Leonards group and is said to be a beast. Both are active
psychedelics, but neither could be produced with the precursors and electrified
rhodium-foil fish-tank apparatus Todd described.
106 VICE
Krystle dons a gas mask and G-string, nay LSD-string.
108 VICE
the labs or observed any syntheses. I think I knew Todd
better than anybody, but he still didnt trust me enough to
take me into his lab.
I was always confused about Todds role. Clearly Leonard
had a specific purposehe is a highly educated organic chem-
ist, a student of Alexander Shulginbut why was Gordon
Todd Skinner involved?
Well, Todd told me many different versions over the years.
According to official reports, he was there to launder money
and take care of other cash-flow-related things. Initially, he
told me he was the head of security for the Brotherhood of
Eternal Love, but then later, when he began to trust me more,
Todd explained that he was an LSD chemist as well. He said
that he was responsible for making white fluff LSD, while
Leonard would make large amounts of lavender LSD for
sale.
3
From what I can deduce, I think that Leonard was mak-
ing the bulk majority of the LSD. Todd was just making these
small batches, and also Todd would make the DMT.
You once wrote that Todd synthesized something called
Black Tar Acid, which gave people seizures. Why was he
giving this to people?
Yeah, I dont know what it was. It looked really bad. Instead of
being crystalline, it was this black, inky tar. When you would
try to dissolve it in solution, it would turn this really dark col-
or. This was toward the end, when he began to unravel. He
was making a lot of really poisonous tryptamines that gave
people seizures. All the stress of the court cases, years of run-
ning, and years of shady dealings with the government began
to take their toll. As for why he gave it to people, why did
Todd do anything he did? He was mentally ill. I really think
he is a sociopath. I mean, at the time I didnt know what a
sociopath was. Now having gone to school for psychology and
understanding the definition of what that is, I realize there is
a very small percentage of the population who are sociopaths.
At one point, Todd claimed to invent an HIV vaccine and was
offering free injections to all of your neighbors, correct?
Yes, the bigger his lies, the more likely he was to get away
with them. I had been doing so much MDMA that I was
afraid I had brain damage, so I went to a naturopathic doctor
for treatment. The doctor prescribed a number of different
IV vitamin infusions. When Todd saw me with the IV, he
wanted to experiment with his own vitamin infusions by
adding psychedelics to the mixture. He would go to this na-
turopathic doctors officeif you can imagine, there are all
these old people in there undergoing chelation therapy in the
same roomand he would put a DMT solution in the IV
bottle. He would adjust the flow so he would start tripping
more and then restrict the flow to cool down. He was surfing
the DMT high. He would just sit like that with the old people,
tripping his ass off for hours while everyone thought he was
undergoing chelation. But he could totally keep it together. I
wouldnt do that.
Nor would I
Its one thing to smoke DMT and then be done with it, but
having a multihour DMT trip with a needle in your vein
does not sound appealing to me. Although once you do it
enough, you can make almost any trip a pleasant experience
regardless of the environment. For example, when Todd be-
came violent he knew I would try to escape, and so he began
booby-trapping my house with various psychedelics. He
wanted other people to think I was going insane, or maybe
he wanted me to doubt my own sanity. Leonard told me that
Todd must have coated my doorknobs with psychedelics. As
a result of these booby traps, I tripped for three days in a
row, each day stronger than the day preceding it. Whatever
this substance was, it was the strongest thing I have ever
taken. Its very off-putting to be going about your daily
business and then find yourself inexplicably plunged into a
+++ trip.
4
Totally slammed beyond belief. Yet, it was also
a really good experience in some ways. I just remembered
that life is a cosmic giggle on the breath of the universe. So
like I said, any psychedelic experience has the potential to
be good unless there is a person literally standing above you
and stabbing you with needles, strangling you, and scream-
ing, which is what Todd did the second time around. So
that was hard to get through, you know? Theres no way to
make that good.
Ive read that Leonard was also working as a DEA infor-
mant. I find it amazing that two of the worlds most powerful
drug dealers were both working for the DEA independently,
unbeknownst to each other. Did Todd give you the impres-
sion that the DEA is closely involved with the distribution of
Schedule I drugs?
Yes, absolutely. He would say those exact words. At the top
of the pyramid there is no division between drug distribution
and drug enforcement. Fifty-four percent of the prison popu-
lation are sentenced for drug-related offenses. The assets of
those prisoners, and the money they draw through the court
system, is absolutely enormous. Without chemists to produce
drugs, the DEA cannot profit off busts. If they bust people
at the lower echelons while retaining the production at the
top, they can sustain the agency. Without these chemists, the
entire organization would disintegrate.
So if they were working with Todd and Leonard while profit-
ing off lower-level busts, why would they arrest Leonard?
I have no evidence that they were working with Leonard dur-
ing the silo bust, but I know they had worked with him in
the past from time to time. I think the reason they busted
4 Alexander Shulgin developed a five-point rating scale, ranging from +/- to ++++,
with +++ indicating, Not only are the chronology and the nature of a drugs action
quite clear, but ignoring its action is no longer an option. The subject is totally
engaged in the experience, for better or worse.
3 White fluff and lavender are terms used to denote different grades of LSD, with
the former being of high purity and the latter being of medium to low purity. These
names are derived from the appearance of the crystalline LSD, but it should be noted
that this is acidhead nomenclature and is not rooted in any kind of formal chemical
analysis. Whether Todd was actually capable of producing white fluff is unclear. In
his court testimony, he said he could not synthesize LSD despite the fact that he had
total immunity. Accordingly, I have always wondered whether Todd simply liked the
image of being a patriarchal Alexander Shulgin figure and his entire chemist persona
was an elaborate hoax. Todd considered Dennis McKenna a personal friend, and so
I asked McKenna for his thoughts on the matter. He replied, Skinner claimed to be
many things that he was not. As far as Im aware, a chemist was one of them!
Todd must have coated my doorknobs with psychedelics. As a result
of these booby traps, I tripped for three days in a row.
VICE 109
Leonard and didnt give him a chance was because Todd
went directly to the head of the DEA in Washington, DC,
and got these immunity agreements. So at that point it had all
become too big. Leonard had no way to get out of it.
Todd received immunity for absolutely everything related to
the silo bust. It seems as if his government connections were
so strong that he was almost invincible. What he got caught
for in the end was unrelated to LSD distribution, but rather
for torturing your ex-boyfriend, correct?
Yes, thats true. I think his legal immunity started to drive
him insane; he thought he could get away with murder. Hes
now serving life for what he did to my ex-boyfriend Brad.
After the trial, I was trying to get away from Todd because
he was falling apart psychologically. He wanted me back
and wasnt going to take no for an answer. Todd dragged
me into his car and strangled me while threatening to drive
us both off a bridge. I knew that if I didnt get help I was
going to die. First I went to the local police and got a tempo-
rary restraining order, but that only made Todd angrier, so
I had no choice but to go to the DEA. The DEA knew that
I had dated Todd, and so they were willing to meet with
me. I walked into the office with Brad, and we confessed
everything. I told them I was an MDMA dealer, the loca-
tion of one of Todds MDMA labs, and about his abuse and
the forced druggings. It turned out there were other people
Todd had drugged who had gone to the DEA as well, so
they had more than enough evidence for a case. I told the
agents, I dont care if I go to prison for a few years for
incriminating myself; at least nothing else will happen to
me or anyone else. It was the hardest thing Ive ever had
to do, but I had no other options, Todd was either going to
kill me or someone else. But the agents didnt do anything.
Conveniently, two days later, Todd called me up and told
me that he knew we had met with the DEA. He was en-
raged, and that is why he kidnapped me and Brad.
What happened during the kidnapping?
It started with Todd offering Brad communion wafers laced
with a psilocin analog. I have no idea why Brad agreed
to eat the wafers. Then Todd offered Brad a drug that he
claimed would amplify the effects of the psychedelic wa-
fers. It was a really big white pill, and after Brad took it he
fell unconscious for 12 hours. Todd would do that to peo-
ple sometimes if he didnt want them at a party; he would
trick them into taking a pill that would knock them uncon-
scious. He was like a pharmacological puppeteer, pulling
everybodys strings with these different chemicals. Then he
repeatedly injected Brad with psychedelics, kicked him in
the penis, and interrogated him about what, exactly, we had
told the DEA.

Was he using the psychedelics as a truth serum?
Yes, that was his plan, at least. He was giving Brad IV DMT
injections and interrogating him and psychologically tor-
menting him. Todd would say, We can keep him, we can
make him trust us again. And I said, No, we cant. He has
to go to the hospital! He was injecting me as well with what
he said was sodium pentothal. I was so afraid. To think that
someone would use psychedelics for the types of things he
used them for. It was really horrible. After it was over, Brad
had to go to hospital to recuperate from the damage done to
his penis, but I had to stay with Todd for a whole month. He
drugged me, he raped me, he sodomized me. He did horrible
things to me.
Where is Brad now?
I dont know. I havent had contact with him since then. He
slowly became convinced I was a Satanist, and after a few
weeks in the hospital he was making statements like, Krystle
was performing satanic sances over my dying body. I assume
that he hates me and if he ever got a chance to voice his side of
the story he would probably say I was this Satan-worshipping
devil woman who was in cahoots with Todd to do horrible
things to him from day 1.

Were you performing satanic sances over his dying body?
No, I was giving him CPR! He was on enormous doses of
psychedelics and barbiturates so his memory of the ordeal is
seriously distorted. He was on the verge of death. I would have
called the cops, but Todd had needles filled with some drug
and said, If you call the cops, Im injecting him with this, and
hell be dead long before anyone gets here. I did everything I
could in order to get him out of that situation, and Brad is still
alive now as a result.
After listening to all of these stories about Todd as a socio-
pathic, controlling megalomaniacI wonder, how did you
fall so deeply in love with him?
Well, at first he was so nice. He seemed like the most spiritual
person you would ever meet. Tripping with him was different
than anyone I have ever tripped with. We experienced telepa-
thy together. We experienced God together. I wholeheartedly
believed that he was the most spiritual and the most perfect
person out there, and I fell in love with him completely. After
that, I was willing to overlook some of the bad stuff that I
started to see in the first couple of years. I would tell my-
self that underneath all of the insanity he was a good person.
Looking back on it, he was just manipulating me. I was a
stupid girl. I have some major psychological scars from what
happened. Thats why Todds serving lifewhat he did was
not a good thing. Thats not what psychedelics should be for.
So I wrote Lysergic to teach people to be careful about who
they decide to trip with, so hopefully people dont make the
same mistakes I did. Because I really chose the wrong tripping
partner when it came to Todd.
Watch Hamilton and Krystle traipse around what was formerly the worlds largest
LSD factory on a new episode of Hamiltons Pharmacopeia this month on VBS.TV.
Krystle and Hamilton are two lysergic peas in an entheogenic pod.
110 VICE
TOUPEE: DEAD DICK
BY BRETT GELMAN, PHOTOS BY JANICZA BRAVO
I open up the goddamn door. Its daytime. The sun slaps me
in the eyes with its burning solar cock. Cant see shit. Next
thing Im expecting is a bullet in my head or a knife to my
chest, followed by Hippo Marys deep, shitty laugh.
Thats not what I hear, though. Instead, a little, paper-
thin, annoying-as-fuck voice pierces my eardrums. Its Shit
Bird. He looks like an emu and is a total and complete
piece of shit. Hence the name. I hate Shit Bird. Hes the
kind of creep who makes you want to kill yourself because
its impossible to bear the notion that the world would al-
low someone like him to existthe type of guy who makes
you ask yourself: Why should I be a part of such a dumb
fucking world?
I shield myself from the UV, just as the little bastard
starts flapping his beak lips: Hey, Toupee. What are you
doing right now?
Beating off to a murder fantasy, starring you. What do
you want, Shit Bird?
He steps aside and reveals an old beaterthe kind of
car youre scared to stand near for fear itll explode in your
fucking face.
You giving me a car, Shit Bird?
No, asshole. Im giving you a job. That cars got
something inside, and it needs to be driven off a fucking
cliff. Pronto.
Whats in it thats so goddamned get-riddable?
I watch a tear fall down Shit Birds cheek before he
meekly says, Dead Dick. Dead Dicks in there, and hes
dead. Dead Dicks dead.
Holy shit. Dead Dicks dead, and so is his dick. Must
be a bad day for Shit Bird. You see, Dead Dick and Shit
Bird, they were fuck buddies, lovers, boyfriends, what-
ever you want to call it. Dead Dick was pretty much the
worst smack junkie in the desert. Always nodding off,
puking everywhere. Bald as fuck too. Puking bald fucks
are the worst. Their heads get bright red when they spew.
Its like watching a baby being strangled to death. Still,
Dick wasnt so bad when he was alive. He was a better
boyfriend to Shit Bird than that asshole deserved. Must be
hard to drive around with your boyfriends corpse in the
trunk. Hes probably supposed to get rid of it but cant
handle the job. Thats why these assholes come to me. I can
deal. Its not that I take death lightly. Its not that I hate
people. Its just that I hate most people.
Sure, Shit Bird. Ill do the job. By the way, my condolences.
Fuck you, Toupee. You can fuck my asshole with
your tongue.
Next thing I know Im driving. Shouldve taken the edge
off with something. I hate driving sober. Nothing more
boring than sitting in a fucking metal box, looking at miles
of desert. If that bullshit wasnt bad enough, I got to listen
to my own stupid thoughts like, What the fuck am I do-
ing with this dead asshole in the trunk? Jesus Christ, are
human beings really this expendable? Poor Dead Dick. He
just was doing the best he fucking could, and now hes
gone. Probably over some stupid pointless shit. And here
I am, going to dump his body like its a bag of bat shit.
What is my life?
If I were high Id only have two thoughts: 1) I love
drugs and 2) I love money.
I see the cliff ahead. They call it The Dump. Im sure you
can guess why. It really is the best spot to dispose of your
baggage. Either that or The Dump Jr., which is like The
Dump but smaller. Im sure you guessed that too, smart-ass.
I reach The Dump. I dont even stop. Im used to this
part. I just slow the beater down a bit, jump out, and let
er roll. I scrape my fucking elbow this time, though. I hate
that. Scrapes are half-assed cuts. I prefer gashes.
I rise to my feet. Then I feel a kick to my back, and Im
down again, dry-humping the dirt. Its the pigs. I know its
them because of the smell. Its a clean scent. Dont know
which feeling I hate more: the boot stomping the back of
my neck or the cold metal around my wrists. Looks like its
ba ck to the fucking zoo. Rape City. Hope they at least let
me wear my toupee.
This is the second installment of Toupee, a previously unpublished
novel by Brett Gelman that Vice unearthed a while back. We will
be serializing it throughout 2011. No one has heard from Brett
since last October, when he sent us a bag of cat shit in a Ziploc
bag along with a note that read, Keep this safe. Please get in
touch if youve seen him. Were getting worried.
112 VICE
THE LEARNIN CORNER: DRAGGING FRAME
NEIL ASHBY AS TOLD TO ALEX DUNBAR, ILLUSTRATION BY ANNIE ROSEN
The idea behind frame dragging is that a spinning bodyor,
more specically, any moving bodytends to have a gravi-
tational effect that propagates through empty space (aka the
vacuum) and drags things along with it. This is peculiar be-
cause if you put a gyroscope near the axis of a spinning body,
itll tend to be pulled around in the direction of the spin. But
if you place it outside the equator of the same body, then the
moving mass drags the gyroscope around the other way.
Lets use our spinning Earth as an example. The effect
of its spinning on its neighborhood is very tiny because
its not going very fast and its not a huge astronomical
body. Nevertheless, if a satellite is orbiting Earth, then it
will become a gyroscope. The axis of the gyroscope is per-
pendicular to the orbital plane of the object thats being
dragged around by Earth. If you look at the orientation of
the two objects by using an astronomical reference point
distant stars that are very nearly xed, for exampleyou
can look at the orbit in relation to those distant stars to
see that the orientation is turning. The equatorial plane of
Earth extends out into space, and at a certain point the
orbit of the satellite will go from south to north, through
this plane. This is called the nodal point. As the orbit turns,
that point will move. Imagine this equatorial plane and the
orbital plane of the satellite turning, and as they do, the
point of intersection turns. The line intersecting those two
planes, which turns a tiny bit, is called the line of nodes.
This concept can also be applied to a binary neutron star
system: two very dense, rapidly rotating objects in close
proximity. The gravitational eld of one spinning object
will cause the axis of the other object to turn. Whenever
you have a massive spinning objectand the more massive
Dr. Neil Ashby is a professor at the University of Colorado,
Boulder. His research emphasizes the practical applications
of theoretical general relativity.
it is and the more spinning, the bigger the effectthe orbits
of satellites around it will reverse.
Because of the frame-dragging effect, someone watch-
ing a binary neutron star system from afar would observe
that the satellites around that system progress in a differ-
ent timeline. That is, for things lower in the gravitational
eld, the clock tends to run slower. These kinds of effects
are commonplace on Earth when dealing with the Global
Positioning System. Because that system is so precise, one
must worry about the clocks in the satellites running faster
than those on Earth. They have to be compensated for.
Now imagine that massive binary system again. The
sheer massiveness of the two neutron stars will affect time
much more drastically. For anyone used to the comparatively
mild Earth time shift, it will be a mess. All measurements
of time will depend on how close the clock is to one of the
other stars, and so on. Another way we can observe this
effect on Earth is by watching the orbit of satellites. Picture
two satellites in line with Earth, with one object behind the
other. In this scenario, light from the object behind is going
to pass near the surface of the other and slow down. That
is, the actual speed of the light will decrease.
The experiments executed to measure the frame-dragging
effect are involved, to say the least. The LAGEOS satellites,
for instance, are a series of spacecraft full of lead and cov-
ered with reectors that laser beams are bounced off of. By
measuring the time it takes for the beam to bounce back,
its possible to derive the satellites orbit using millions of
such measurements. Of course, there are other effects that
cause the line of nodes to turn, and thats been a major
stumbling block in the attempt to detect frame dragging.
Earths attening (at the poles), or axial tilt, for instance,
causes the line of nodes to turn. We must wait for better
models of Earths gravitational eldmodels that account
for these stumbling blocksbefore we can really see gen-
eral relativistic frame dragging.
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114 VICE
THE CUTE SHOW PAGE!
BY ELLIS JONES, PHOTOS BY JUSTIN KIERSKY
Red Pandas
Red pandas have the right idea. Their lives are a permanent
vacation, way up in the trees of the Himalayas, where they
get to eat, sleep, and make adorable little faces all day long.
Whenever theyre feeling depressed, they just have to look
down to remind themselves how great and smart and lucky
they are up above all the idiot bottom-feeders below. Their
hobbies are finding shade, na pping, and wandering around
searching for crisp bamboo shoots and delicious berries to softly
nibble on before scrambling right back up the tallest tree to
lounge some more. Although they are smaller than giant pan-
das (duh), they make up for it with striped, bushy tails that are
as long as their bodies and feel all soft and cuddly. Wed love to
keep one or two around the Vice office, but due to habitat loss
and poaching they are currently classified as a threatened
species. For now well just have to make do with these photos
of red pandas shot in Kunming, China, at the Yunnan Wild
Animal Park and hope pet stores start selling them very soon.
Watch a brand-new episode of The Cute Show! featuring these red bundles of panda
joy later this month on VBS.TV.
114 VICE
116 VICE
SKINEMA
BY CHRIS NIERATKO
The Tenth Commandment clearly states, Thou
shall not covet thy neighbors wife, so Im pretty
sure me wanting to fuck my friend Matts wife is to-
tally kosher because they live outside San Francisco,
nowhere near me. Strange that the Bible would put
such importance on location and proximity. All my
neighbors are in their 80s so theres no real covet-
ing going on around my block. Maybe with one of
them. She barely looks 70.
The pretend love affair Ive had with Matts wife
(above) has been going on for years. Matt shoots
nudie photos of random girls as well as his wife and
is kind enough to send them to me on a semi-regular
basis with offers to wife-swap or test-drive his woman.
A few years back they even grabbed another girl and
wrote Happy Birthday, Christopher across their
tits in chocolate icing for my birthday-card photo.
Its all perfectly normal and my wife gets a real kick
out of it. Im sure you and your friends do the exact
same thing.
Sadly, I am all bark and no bite. I know Ill never
get to bed down with Matts wife. But I dont mind
barking till I lose my voice. In recent months my at-
tention has shifted to a new porn star, Angel Vain,
whom I might actually have a chance of having sex
with (still highly doubtful). I have decided she is an
exact duplicate of Matts wife: big tits, tattoos, ass,
and all. When I came across her site (livinginvain.
com) I immediately told Matt his wife was doing
porn. When Angel put this video up for sale, I wrote
Matt, Hey, now your wife takes it up the ass on
film! His response was both stoked and saddened:
Thats amazing! If only that were true in real life
In a strange turn of events my friend Todd Bratrud,
artist and owner of High Five Skateboards, befriended
Angel. She looks just like Matts wife, huh? I said.
It freaked Todd out. He knew there was something
he liked about Angel but couldnt put his finger on
it. Dont tell Matt, he said, I dont want him to
think I want to fuck his wife. Its OK, I said, Im
pretty sure he knows everyone wants to fuck her.
Thats why he doesnt ever let her out of the house.
So I bought his wifes anal porn. $35. I have never
bought a porno in my life. Every DVD Ive ever re-
viewed has been promod. I felt a little dirty. My
justification was that its the girls first anal scene;
perhaps it will go up in value like X-Men #1 or
Rickey Hendersons rookie card. I sent Angel a note
with my PayPal payment: Maybe Todd told you
that I think you look like our mutual friends wife.
And Im curious how she takes it in the ass... Like
Matts wife, she didnt respond or humor me.
She did include a signed, naked 8x10 inscribed
with the lie When I think of you, I touch myself,
which I plan to frame and hang over my bed.
More stupid can be found at Chrisnieratko.com
ASS WORSHIP 12
Dir: Jules Jordan
Rating: 10
Julesjordan.com
BOOK IN STORES NOW
check out exclusive photos and updates at
neusex.viceland.com
Coming this May on VBS.TV
Hamilton takes a trip
deep inside the worlds largest
decommissioned LSD factory.
118 VICE
SHEPPARDS VIDEO-GAME PIE
BY STEPHEN LEA SHEPPARD
Dissidia 012[duodecim] Final Fantasy (yeah, thats
the actual title) is the prequel and follow-up to 2009s
Dissidia Final Fantasy, a 3-D fighting game that fea-
tured characters from each installment of Square
Enixs long-running Final Fantasy JRPGs. Duodecim
is more of the same, and its great.
Nine new characters have been added to the
Dissidia roster, bringing the total up to 31 (15 of
whom you have to unlock)most notably Lightning,
the protagonist of Final Fantasy XIII, and Tifa, the
busty supporting female character from the most
famous and popular game in the franchise, Final
Fantasy VII. This somewhat rectifies the gender im-
balance of Dissidia (which featured only three female
characters, one of whom was a genderless god of de-
struction who merely took female human form), but
its still a giant sausagefest.
Dissidias story was ludicrous and asinine;
Duodecims story is ludicrous but well presented. The
goddess of harmony and the god of discord are in the
midst of war, and theyve called up champions from
a bunch of different worlds to join their ranks. The
champions are trapped in an endless cycle of pointless
violence and getting angry because of it; they begin
to realize that it does them no good and they want
it to end. The premise has little relevance to the lives
of real humans, but at least the dialogue is good this
time around. Dissidias story line unlocks as a play-
able extra on completion of Duodecim, which would
be neat if the old material were anywhere near as
strong as the new.
What I really want to talk about, though, are the
game mechanics. Duodecim is a one- or two-player
fighting game thats unlike anything in the genre.
Characters are customizableeach has a unique set of
combat moves, about half of which can be equipped at
any given time. It makes for a lot of variety when ap-
plied across 31 characters.
Combat relies on managing Bravery and Health
stats that initiate two different sets of attacks. Bravery
attacks are easy to land and drain your opponents
Bravery while increasing your own. Health attacks are
hard to land but damage your opponents Health equal
to your current level of Bravery while reducing your
Bravery to zero.
The game is a stat-based tug-of-war between two
combatants until ones Bravery score is high enough
for a Health attack to significantly damage his or her
opponent. It sounds simple, but the game includes
swordsmen, mages, gunners, and one character who
fights with tentacles and laser beams. All of them are
completely unique in terms of gameplay. Unlike con-
ventional side-scrolling fighting games, the camera is
set up like a third-person action game.
Combat arenas are huge, asymmetrical, and destruc-
tible, which allows characters to be thrown through
walls. The games two-button controls and the way
Bravery paces matches makes for viscerally satisfying,
button-mashing fun.
Aside from the fighting, theres a whole bevy of an-
cillary systems to explore. Characters gain experience
by leveling up and learning new abilities, and you can
buy them new equipment and costumes. The story
mode is stretched over several distinct episodes, each
spotlighting a different character. Dangerous areas are
navigated through a sort of chessboard interface in
which you position your character to enter chains of
multiple fights to earn the most currency for purchas-
ing weapons and equipment.
New to Duodecim (aside from the nine new char-
acters) are the world map, which is barely worth
mentioning, and the assist feature, which allows you to
call in backup to help during fights by expending Assist
Bar points. The ability to select any character as a part-
ner significantly increases customization, although, to be
honest, most assisting characters play about the same.
Besides a few shortcomings, its the best game Ive
played for the PSP and the only one I currently play on
the console. If youre interested in an action game that
looks, sounds, and plays terrifically, its perfect, even if
you dont care about Final Fantasy.
A new law requires us to state that this review was based on a retail copy of
Dissidia 012[duodecim] Final Fantasy provided by Square Enix, so get used
to seeing this little disclaimer here.
DISSIDIA
012[duodecim]
FINAL FANTASY
Platform:
PlayStation
Portable
Publisher:
Square Enix
120 VICE
REVIEWS
CLAMS CASINO
B-Side Instrumentals &
Remixes
Self-released
In April, we made Clams Casinos
Instrumental Mixtape the record of
the month. Since then, Clams has released a
large handful of fan-requested remixes and
instrumentals. This fan-compiled tape is
just as good as last months release.
Seriously, this guy is one of the best rap pro-
ducers around, and its just a hobby for
him: He spends his days studying to be a
damn physical therapist. So based.
LIL AD
DEL THE FUNKY
HOMOSAPIEN
Golden Era
The Council
Del is an excellent MC. Hes also one
of these dudes who spent years trip-
ping, playing Clockwork Knight, and
getting fired from majors. Nowadays he
sounds pretty friedwhich is bizarre be-
cause his technical skills are still totally
intact. Hes like an aging, brain-damaged
Chop Chop Master Onion still trying to
ToeJam & Earl his way through the record.
JACKY MCDOUGLE
NINE 11 THESAURUS
Ground Zero Generals
Social Registry
These earnest young pillars of the
community were discovered by Sam
Hillmer from Zs. Hes the scraggly hippie-
looking dude who plays the saxophone
like hes blowing up a puke-stained mat-
tress. Nine 11 started as part of
Representing NYC, Hillmers series that
pairs Brooklyn public schoolers with
noise-rock knob-twiddlers. Dark, dubstep-
inflected beats from Gang Gang Dance and
Skeletons are nice and all, but Im mostly
into Nine 11 because they once tracked
down my roommates stolen computer.
Never mind the fact that they were sublet-
ting the room from which it was stolen.
BEN SHAPIRO
SHABAZZ PALACES
Black Up
Sub Pop
For a while, Shabazz Palaces was
one of those lame shrouded in mys-
tery groupslike MF Doom except with
Shabazz in the name. Now that its
widely known that Palaceer Lazaro is actu-
ally Ishmael Butterfly Butler of Digable
Planets, the whole mystery act feels a little
like the Aphex Twin/Tuss fiasco of 2007.
Nevertheless, the productions wacky and
slick, the vocals are heavily processed
without leaning on screw tricks, and the
songs are actually constructed like songs.
TOM CRUZE
WAKA FLOCKA FLAME
Benjamin Flocka
Self-released
Another day, another Waka mix-
tape. If youre getting bored by
Wakas lack of artistic development,
you need to void the dust from your butt,
turn the woofers up, and load up an angry
fantasy from the ol memory bank. Then,
when the time is right, turn your irrational
hatred to action. This is breaking-shit mu-
sic. Despite its appearing on Flockaveli,
Flocka includes the amazingly Lugered
Grove St. Party as a bonus track on this
tape. I only bring this up to mention that
the video for Grove St. features a
dancing, rapping version of Wakas bejew-
eled Fozzie Bear medallion.
BOW BOW BOW BOW BOW BOW
BOW BOW
BOW WOW FT. LIL B
Underrated
Self-released
Its been great watching the Based God
go totally legit. That said, its frustrat-
ing to hear him outpaced by Snoop
Doggs former sarcophagus moistener. Come
on, B! Why not bury MCs with that Sending
Shots- or Motivation-type dirt on these
high-profile collabs? It sounds like youre
sleepwalking, brah. I hate to say it, but Im
not even sure this verse is positive!
ACKMANG
MEXICANS WITH GUNS
Ceremony
Innovative Leisure
Whats this genre called now that
Intelligent Dance Musics not a
thing? Its rap-inflected techno that keeps
the baseheads dancing and never falls into
that dreaded IDM stasis zone that prevents
all but the most serious and/or high-on-
2C-B listeners from making it through the
album. Can we call it Glorch?
THANKS IN ADVANCE
JUNIOR BOYS
Its All True
Domino
When I was growing up, I used to
spend a lot of time listening to
Wham! on my Walkman while lying on
BEST ALBUM OF THE MONTH:
ICEAGE
ENJOY LONDONS FINEST RESPONSIBLY. BULLDOG LONDON DRY GIN 40% ABV. DISTILLED FROM GRAIN. IMPORTED FROM ENGLAND BY BULLDOG IMPORTS, MANHASSET, NY.
122 VICE
REVIEWS
WORST ALBUM OF THE MONTH:
MIA DOI TODD:
the hood of my parents car in the drive-
way and trying to hump my own thigh by
twisting my legs around and gyrating my
pelvis. This album reminds me of those
simpler times.
KELLY MCCLURE
DAILY LIFE
My Time/Daily Life
Glass Coffin
I have a big old record player with
that drop-down spindle so all the
unpleasantness associated with playing a
flexi disc is in full effect on my system. In
order to keep this thin plastic sheet of a
record rotating at a steady pace, I had to
tape it to the turntable. There was a lot of
hiss, and the needle could pick up all the
textures on the rubber mat under the re-
cord, which gives everything an ugly
thudding quality. It took me a few listens
before I could hear it well enough to try
an objective review. Both tracks have
poppy drumbeats that make them easy to
like. The first incorporates some organs
and a symphony of synths, like a lamenta-
tion of beautiful swans. Theres lots of
echo, because youve got to give the peo-
ple what they want. Later some guitars
come in.
NICK GAZIN
TEARIST
Living: 2009Present
Thin Wrist Recordings
Tearist remind me of that scene in
Mad Men where the pretty girl gives
Don Draper an old-timey BJ in the
car, and he thinks to himself, She wants
me to know her. The problem is that I al-
ready do. I want to like you, Tearist, and
I basically do. Its just that you are not sig-
nificantly different from the other
analog-synth goth bands who are using the
same keyboards as you and have the same
pretty-young-woman-who-probably-likes-
choke-sex as their singer. If you come to
town, I will come out and I will be into it,
but I will not make eye contact when I pass
your merch shrine.
SPRAYPAINT ON A TIT
M A N I K
Armies of the Night:
I Declare War
Ovum
About a minute into this record
theres an acid lick and a tech pulse
over huge dirty drums, and Im like,
Tell me more! But then we settle into a
plodding 70 minutes of nothing-much
New York City slow-house that I cant be-
lieve is getting hype as the next wave in
American dance music. You people really
like super-boring drum programming
mixed way out front dont you? I mean, do
you really want yet another record that
takes its inspiration from the cult 1979
film The Warriors? And DUDE! You
probably grew up on the internet too;
youre seriously putting those spaces be-
tween the letters of your band name? C o
m e o n n n n n n n n n n n n n n n n n!
ARGON PEACOCK
THURSTON MOORE
Demolished Thoughts
Matador
Did you ever see that video where
Nardwuars trying to interview
Sonic Youth back when they were open-
ing for Neil Young in the early 90s, and
Thurston and Lee are full-on bullying
him, then Neil passes by and Thurston
shouts, Hey, Neil! and makes the
smoking-weed gesture? Classic stuff.
This acoustic solo dealy sounds a little
more like Nick Drake than Neil, but it is
nevertheless fine Sunday-afternoon joint-
rolling muzak.
TERRY HAND
THE FELICE BROTHERS
Celebration, Florida
Fat Possum
The Felice Brothers got their start
playing in New York City subway
stations, which is where they should
have stayed. This album is so evocative of
being wasted at the Montrose stop at 2
AM while some bearded goon noodles out
the theme from The Godfather on a banjo
its making me want to barf Chex Mix and
Wild Turkey 101 into the Felices guitar
case like nobodys business.
ALABAMA WORLEY
JUSTICE OF THE
UNICORNS
Animals Will Be Stoned
Little Lamb Recordings
The woolly-faced singer of this
band works for the New York State
Parks Department and frequently finds
six-foot-tall pot plants throughout
Manhattan, which he is loath to yank out.
One of the guitarists is an Asian food
blogger (mightysweet.com/mesohungry)
with immaculately styled hair who hosts
cookie jamborees and chili-offs and once
spent over than $1,000 on a rubber-mold-
ed costume of a made-up superhero. I
know these arent reasons to listen to a
music album, but they are charming sto-
ries, and if you make the effort you may
find their catchy Tom-Petty-on-mescaline
ditties and genial southern charm to be
the perfect soundtrack for forthcoming
barbecues and summer shenanigans.
OBAMA BEAN LADEN
| A O Y T F C M . C C | F A C E E C C K . C C | / | A O Y T F C M
' | C !
' ' C ' ' '
O E S T F C Y E V E F Y T | l M C Y C O T C O C |
S E V E M T E E M / ' ' C | C S T S
+ 2 M E v S C M C S
' C \ / V / ' ' / ' ' ' ' S T A M O A F O
O E | O X E V E F S l C M S / |
124 VICE
THE HEAD AND THE HEART
S/T
Sub Pop
Here are some sad/triumphant
straight-talking songs in the late-
generation American roots pocket.
I guess we can thank Wilco or, like, Saddle
Creek for this. Im sure Ill walk into a cof-
fee shop this year and catch a guy whos
trying to bang his semi-alternative/boring/
sweet 22-year-old coworker by putting this
record on. Fucking take my life, ugh.
CLOM GLOM
METAL MOTHER
Bonfire Diaries
Post Primal
Absolutely intolerable misty/breathy/
moody faerie child-girl vocals sus-
pended in a gray flan of overproduced
nonideas, all recycled from some Top 99
Moments in Trip-Hop list that Im sure
must exist on some VH1 propertys web-
only-content area if you look hard
enough. The sleeve design looks like a shitty
Genghis Tron t-shirt.
RR GONE
MIA DOI TODD
Cosmic Ocean Ship
City Zen
I cant begin to imagine how hellish
your middle school years have got to
be if your middle name is DOY.
My wifes a single syllable away from
Sarah Queef, and it gave her such a
complex that to this day I cant make fart
sounds without watching her involuntarily
tense up like a deer in the headlights.
Anyway, every one of these songs sounds
like Midnight at the Oasis. I know.
TEDDY LINKIN
CHAD VANGAALEN
Diaper Island
Sub Pop
Chads got an American Robyn
Hitchcock vibe, which is a bit of a
double-edged sword because the Soft Boys
were great and Robyns spent 30 years
making acid-charged weirdo pop without
ever treading into goofy They Might Be
Giants territory (Moxy Frvous territory if
youre Canadian) But at the same time,
have you seen the crowd at one of that gee-
zers shows lately? Total sausage party.
Good luck with that, Chad.
MILTON CRAMER
VIRGIN ISLANDS
Ernie Chambers v. God
The Control Group
I grew up in the Virgin Islands, a
fact I take great pride in. On the VI
we call these kinds of dicknuggets
mudascunts. Its a portmanteau of
mothers and cunt and means that the
person is so dumb that they mustve just
been born. In mainlander parlance, you
might say baby dicks.
ALABAMA WORLEY
LITURGY
Aesthethica
Thrill Jockey
I remember seeing the drummer for
this group in an Emperor shirt and
thinking, That guy doesnt know shit
about Emperor. I was so wrong. So, so,
so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so wrong. He is
actually the King of Emperor, and he can
blast a beat so fast youll wonder if time
is slowing down or your hearts just
stopping. This record will blow minds,
make you want to kill people, and its
also not boring. My only wish is that
they were ugly, hate-filled weirdos with
bad skin who wore black long-sleeved
t-shirts and corpse paint that got all over
their shirts when they sweated. Fuckin
pretty boys.
MARMADUK
ICEAGE
New Brigade
Dais
These are some angry, brooding
Danish 17-year-olds, and they made
an album that I predict will be on a lot of
bloggers top-ten lists. Is there anything
gayer than top-ten lists? Only my homoso-
cial longing for the angry cuties of Iceage.
Fucking Scandinavians have been doing
punk better than anyone since the 60s. Side
A is good, but its the B-side of this record
that delivers the mind-melters. Angry, in-
tense, urgent: These are words I am listing
that describe the record because I am a lazy
writer. It makes me feel a little like I want
to run around in a tiny circle pit, in my
kitchen, by myself.
PRINCESS PISS
COULTER
Grip Fast
Coulter Club
What good has ever come out of
pretending youre British? I guess
Green Day got an opera and the
Brian Jonestown Massacre kept the LA
heroin trade afloat for the back half of the
90s, but is that really worth having every
guy in the room mentally picturing their
fist crumpling your windpipe while their
girlfriend does that shitty girl-at-a-show
BEST COVER OF THE MONTH:
GANG GANG DANCE
REVIEWS
126 VICE
WORST COVER OF THE MONTH:
COULTER:
dance? Is it really worth not being able to
watch Party Down because every scene
dealing with Kyles band is way too close
to the bone? No it is not.
ARMAND HAMMER
WOMEN IN PRISON
Strange Waves 7-inch
HoZac
Theres a scene in an issue of Hate
where Stinky has Buddy listen to a
band and Buddy says, They just
sound like another bunch of Iggy and the
Stooges imitators to me... and Stinky de-
scribes them as Good ol back-to-basics,
no-nonsense, full-on, no-holds-barred, in-
your-face ROCK-N-ROLL! Oh, Stinky!
These guys are just another nostalgia act.
Save your dough.
SCREAMING FOR HEROIN
NATURAL CHILD
1971
Infinity Cat
Theyve got a song on here about
how lifes no fun when you turn 21,
but Im way past 21, and you know
what? Taint bad. I mean the living, not
the music here. Maybe theres some power-
pop Polar Express thing here where Im
physically too old to enjoy nondescript
chord bashing. Or maybe Ive just forgot-
ten how to love.
SNATCHERAL CHILD
THE CLUTTERS
Breaking Bones
Chicken Ranch
It seems like the point of this CD is
to sell it for $10 on the merch table
at a hometown show to people who
have seen the band play 15 trillion times.
Seriously: We all have this band in our city.
Who cares? As totally straight-ahead bar
rock goes, you can do way worse, but I
cant imagine listening to this if you dont
either already know all of the words or
need a reminiscing session.
CX ZOLA
GANG GANG DANCE
Eye Contact
4AD
In spite of the fact that a member of
GGD used to live above me and was
a total dick (audible sighs if it took too
long for me to unlock the front door; ugly
looks when I flashed a friendly smile), this
album is one of my favorites of the year.
Its even more sampley than their previous
releases and is one of those records you
can listen to on repeat six or seven times
without realizing that youve slowly be-
come increasingly furious over the space
of three hours.
DARK KARL
THIS WILL DESTROY YOU
Tunnel Blanket
Suicide Squeeze
Hey, its another one of those
plod-along-athon records. Theres
that one guitar in the background with
some infinite sustain on, the other guitar
run through too many ZOOM pedals, and
the super-polished woosh-shcheeew feed-
back howl. Oh, and a bunch of super-fancy
computer stuff. Jeez, and a piano? For a
band that sounds so much like Godspeed
You! Black Emperor, you sure got some
nougats following their lead on the two-
words-too-long naming formula. Honestly,
though, I like Godspeed You! Black
Emperorits great writing music re-
views music.
ALEX DUNBAR
SCREENS
Dead House
What Delicate Recordings
STOP SHOUTING AT ME
THROUGH SO MUCH REVERB!
God! Am I supposed to think youre
in a cave? Sing into the microphone! And
tell your friend to stop howling: Howling
is unpleasant. Hence banshees. Also, get
your drummer some Strattera; hes making
a big, beaty mess. And while youre out,
please pick up a thing of milk. You and
your sister wolf through these cartons like
youre in Alien Nation or something.
What? You dont know AN? Well, I guess
Im old.
SOME KIDS MOM
DRE W SWINBURNE
THE CUTE ALBUM
Wham City
Drew writes all the music for VBSs
The Cute Show, and this is an entire
album of just that! Fifteen tiddly little key-
board ditties and synthesized-dog-bark
doodahs that will wheedle their way up
your heartstrings and worm their widdle
way into whatever part of the brain is gen-
erally accepted as the most adorable.
Seriously, this shit is a 50mg cap of sonic
Prozac. As an added bonus, in the same
way that putting on Yakety Sax can turn
the unfunniest footage of 9/11 into a guar-
anteed laugh riot, using these puppies as
the soundtrack to anything will automati-
cally up its awww quotient by an order of
ten. Give it a shot! I just turned a bumfight
outside the office into a Bosco cartoon!
SMELMER GREEBLES
REVIEWS
Cults at The Independent
San Francisco, CA
watch this and more at
noisey.com
fb.com/noisey
@noisey_us
A VICE MUSIC
EXPERIENCE IN CONCERT WITH
a new online channel
showcasing emerging
music from around
the world
VICE 129
ONE-DAY SUCCESS MY WAYSEMINAR!
The Secrets to Getting, Hiding, and Keeping YOUR WEALTH!
Topics of Bens famous KleptocracySticky Fingers and the Family Beeswax! speech will in-
clude: How to handle employees who are related to you and USE these familial ties to STRENGTHEN
your bankroll, reinforce your safety net, and buttress your present and future FINANCIAL
SECURITY! Ben served as president of Tunisia from 1987 until 2011, winning his most recent
election in 2009 with 89 percent of the vote! He has since moved on to other ventures and
promises to share his Secrets of NEST-EGGING and THE SWISS GAMBIT! Everyone from small-
business owners to corporate honchos NEEDS TO HEAR THIS!
Brace yourself for the debut of Hosnis inspirational speech KEEPING YOUR WEALTH
AND STAYING IN YOUR HOMELAND! IT CAN BE DONE! Many modern moneymakers find
themselves wealthy but exiled from their own homelands! Hosni, a multi-multi-multimillion-
aire, has managed to TAKE PLUNDER TO THE BRINK BUT NOT BEYOND! Hes from Egypt,
he made his money in Egypt, and though he is also despised in Egypt, he gets to remain
there! He will also present a series of tactical financial lessons on Hidden Fundage/Swiss
Cheez, Managing Multiple Homes, and Negotiating Your Continued Freedom.
Bob has something to tell anyone who wants to have it all, and that is: YOU CAN HAVE IT
ALL! As a young entrepreneur, you may wonder if you should go after power, land, money, or
all three. Bob says Go for it ALL! Get it ALL! Keep it ALL! He will also speak on the secrets
to success through TEMPORARY PARTNERSHIPS similar to the one he recently finagled to
circumvent an attempted hostile takeover of his wealth and stature. Bob will also share with
you his SWISS NEST-EGG THEORY of retaining wealth and a special presentation titled
Burning Enemies AliveMetaphorically and Literally.
OPENING SPEAKER:
Ex-president of Tunisia ZINE EL-ABIDINE BEN ALI
FEATURED SPEAKER:
Ex-president of Egypt HOSNI MUBARAK
B b h thi thi tt t l t ll hhh tttt t hhh it ttt ll l d tth t t i YOOOOU CAN HA HAVVE ITTT
FEATURED SPEAKER:
Current president of Zimbabwe ROBERT MUGABE
Donald Trump was NOT INVITED to speak at this event, but hell be there anyway. Nothing we
could do. He heard there was going to be an advertisement for this seminar in a magazine and
accompanying PR buzz, so he just... got in there. Trump will talk about a bunch of crazy bullshit
that he considers his system for success. He will put his name on things and get attendees
pumped up with an address he calls Trump-eting Your Trumptitude. He promises that if we
let him speak into a microphone he will go away quietly at some point.
NOOT INV INVITE ITED t k hi hi tt b tt h h ll ll bb tthhh
KEYNOTE SPEAKER: DONALD TRUMP
LAST-MINUTE SUPER-SECRET HEADLINE SPEAKER: MR. X!
We are so lucky to make the last-minute addition of this super-successful and super-wealthy
bon vivant. Mr. X is one of the longest-serving rulers in HISTORY! He will give speeches on
NEVER QUITTING, EVER and THE MADCAP THEORY OF LEADERSHIP: KEEPING
EVERYONE ON THEIR TOES BY SHOOTING AT EVERYONES TOES! Our super-secret head-
liner wants to share his secrets of WEALTH-BUILDING and will let attendees in on THE SWISS
SECRET OF HAVING A BUNCH OF SWISS BANK ACCOUNTS.
BY BOB ODENKIRK
AT MADISON SQUARE GARDEN
VICE 129 128 VICE
VICE FASHION STOCKISTS
Photo by Maggie Lee, see page 54.
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- E R I C K O S T O N
I S LI GHT, F LE XI BLE AND GI VE S YOU ALL - DAY COMF ORT RI GHT OUT
O F T H E B O X T R U E P E R F O R MA N C E A N D U LT I MAT E C U S H I O N I N G I N A S K AT E S H O E .
130 VICE
JOHNNY RYANS PAGE