When You're Not Gay But Admit To Liking The Way It Feels

Mid-March in Austin means SXSW. And for many, if not all, SXSW means BBQ, booze and music. It's also a time where the locals can lend a helping hand. And, In this case, VICE's own Canadian Director of Marketing, Shawn Phelan, sought the gainful assistance of an authentic Texan steed to help setup VICE Kills Texas. In fact, the only thing Austin is better known for than their love of music, beef brisket, and a generous helping hand, is their strong encouragement of open sex with critters of every stripe. Even the goats live in fear. In turn, Canadians, like Shawn, are slowly learning a deeper appreciation for the Central Texas Reach Around. Now there's some cud fit for chewin'.

She Should Have Called Suroosh

When a link is worth 1000 or so words there is no reason for me to even chime in-- though Lord knows I want to.

And from the It Never Ends For This Guy file

Cream Really Does Rise To The Top

Hot on the heels of being declared an icon to the bearded and befuddled crowd by the New York Times (see excerpt below), Blackoutman steamrolled the competition at a Rockstar Games party last night. Their yet to be unveiled new Table Tennis game incorporates all of the dazzle of Ping Pong but without ever having to chase that pesky little ball around the garage. Interactive finger-fighters had been roped in from all over the Tri-State area, but VICE's Blackoutman was unfazed by this influx of overzealous game-boys announcing disdainfully, "It is only pushing buttons," before dismantling all comers from a standing position that could be considered nothing short of taunting.

Rockstar's latest brilliant stab into the deteriorating attention span of American youth was in perfect synch with Blackoutman's own ADD. And I am certain these gaming industrialists hope the rest of the world will embrace this gentle Pong game without seeing it as the carrot luring unsuspecting youngsters to the stick that is the rest of their catalog.

Anyway, Blackoutman totally dominated the scene, loosing the tourney final in a tightly-contested match, and then only to the Creator of the game, much to the crowd's disappointment. So now, in addition to his rightful place atop the Ulysses S. Grant fan club, cliquish consortiums of console-jockeys citywide idolize him. In essence, he's a Rock Star.

March 23, 2006
Paul Bunyan, Modern-Day Sex Symbol
By ERIC WILSON
LAST December John Martin sat in on a focus group for a trend-forecasting company at which young professionals were asked about their grooming habits. Mr. Martin found he had nothing useful to contribute. His shaving regimen involves the use of a razor about as frequently as the seasons change.

"Everyone else was chiming in about the products they use," said Mr. Martin, the advertising director for Vice, a lad magazine based in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. "I was totally mystified. I blanked."

Mr. Martin's idea of a style symbol, seriously, is Ulysses S. Grant, whose beard he came to admire after watching the 2003 Civil War-era drama "Cold Mountain." Two years ago, when he began experimenting with different beard styles, which he described as ranging from neat to burly to unkempt, his facial hair was an expression of individuality in a tide of metrosexual conformity. Now 10 of his 15 co-workers at Vice wear full, bushy beards. In that, they vie with the pro-facial-hair contingent of an editorial rival, Spin, where a rash of new beards has broken out.

"It's a sign of the times," Mr. Martin said. "People are into beards right now." At hipster hangouts and within fashion circles, the bearded revolution that began with raffishly trimmed whiskers a year or more ago has evolved into full-fledged Benjamin Harrisons. At New York Fashion Week last month at least a half-dozen designers turned up with furry faces.

No survey ever conducted about women's attitudes toward beards, even those not underwritten by the Gillette Company, has indicated that more than 2 or 3 percent of women would describe a full beard as sexy. ("I hang out with those girls who are in that 2 or 3 percent," Mr. Martin, of Vice, said.)

The VICE of Golf

So in the immediate and foggy aftermath of SXSW, the powers that be here at VICE were summoned to Arizona for an Urban-themed meeting of the minds in the desert. This particular shindig was put together by the infamous Malbon Brothers for Toyota Scion to launch its “Release” sportswear collection at a fashion show MC'd by Sicky Ricky Powell in conjunction with a Swinging Celebrity Golf Invitational. Now it goes without saying that Canadians know very little about golf. It’s like asking a Texan about water-skiing.

So you can imagine, the odds were thoroughly stacked against the VICE team bringing home the first place trophy, especially when slated against such masters of the pitch and putt as Raekwon, Mike Jones, GrandMaster Flash, Biz Markie, NFL players Haloti Ngata, Dhani Jones and Damien Anderson, pro skateboarder Stevie Williams, Jesse Terrero, Rick Thorne, Dania Ramirez, Mobb Deep and MOP. Teams included Vibe Magazine, Stuff Magazine, Frank151, Mass Appeal, Yokohama, Soul Assassins, NFL Players Inc., XM Satellite Radio, Boost Mobile, and the homeboys from Reebok’s “Barrio” line.

But instead of folding, and with no instruction other than to “yell ‘Fore!’ the very instant you think there is any chance that the ball you just struck may hit anybody,” the stalwarts of VICE decided to make the best of it and create the VICE Guide To Golf. Look for this bit of amateurish insight in finer pro shops on the TPC circuit this summer. The advice about yelling “Fore” was completely unnecessary, as tee shots rarely even made it to the women’s tee! And when that emasculating event occurred, the guys from Reebok made the boys wear skirts for the remainder of the hole. (Hint: On 13 out of 18 holes, someone’s balls were blowing in the breeze. And the unforeseen hard part about this rule: getting the skirts back after the hole is completed.) Like dress up?

As for the remainder of the action on the fairways and in the sand traps, what they lacked in technical wizardry, they made up for in stylish posturing, walking off with the best-dressed award in a so fresh, so clean sweep of the voting. There was also an unmentioned honorable mention for most enthusiastic, but that mainly had to do with getting left behind by the 500-strong tournament at the end of the day and not immediately bursting into tears, but rather continuing to play on like drunken vaudevillians.

Here Jermey Piven, host of the weekends’ festivities, is forced to painfully conceded that VICE does indeed rule as he hands over the most coveted prize of the evening for best dressed participants, in front of a thoroughly bewildered crowd of urban baggy pantsers drinking Hennesy like it was cool-aid and they were on fire.

THE VICE GUIDE TO GOLF

Hard To Have A Good Time In Texas

SXSW may have lost some of its underground cred but Austin is still the place every 3rd week in March for middle aged cretins to hook up with glamorous supermodel nerds spent on unhinged parties and extracurricular dazzle. You can't make shit like this up. This year saw VICE not only kill Texas but do certain damage to both the professional and physical futures of a number of the permanent staff. Individual updates are sure to follow. Like leadership?







Related Posts~
Countdown to Detox
End Of Another Era

Scandalous Scandis

Elin Unnes of VICE Scandinavia loves cake and we love her because anyone who doesn’t think a "food fight fashion shoot" would erupt into a real live food fight is alright by us. Love rolling in food with girls? Why, yes, thanks for asking.

photo by nikola pejanovic

Oh The Carnage

VICE Superhero Derrick Beckles rolls into New York tonite from his Toronto stomping grounds. The TV Carnage impresario has been cast as the lead in a VICE Films -produced anti-smoking documentary. This particularly fine-looking black man is obsessed with absurdity and his ability to track the most trivially inspid moments on television --like this pathetic bit on the dangers of moshing -- is unmatched, unchartered and unbelievable. And by the way, wasn't slam dancing a fine name to begin with? Moshing? WTF? Fucking marketing guys! But Beckles is much more than a compiler of clips and shorts, he is a man of action and TV Carnage is his first love, his white whale, his quest for fire. The guarantee is that someday, if you are lucky enough to run into him, you will either be oblivious to what he is talking about, deafened by his carnivalesque laughter, or be thoroughly embarassed that you hadn't prepped better. But if, however, you fall off a waterfall and need a motherfucker to throw you a rope,who you gonna call?

Like Mixed Company Liquors?

This Friday, March 10th, come out and meet your favorite rumor mule targets at Trash as the kids of VICE are planning a secret get together for a 9pm open bar accompanied by the country stylings of the Sharky Favorite Band. VICE and country music might not seem a natural fit but what is wrong with a little unatural behavior on occasssion. And Sharky's unhealthy blend of the Grand Olde Opry and Caesar's Palace makes for a humdinger of a jumpstart to a weekend destined to be as fucked up as a can of worms. Come out and perhaps see Melissa, our man Duffy, Thobey, sexy Aviva, Blackoutman, LaWow and his lady, Carnage, Trevor Forever, Intern Bill, or maybe even yours truly.

Countdown To Detox

What can we say about SXSW that hasn't been spilled or soiled in another hundred places. This year we will, however, attempt to further obliterate our own recorded bouts of debauchery and if you think you might be able to contribute in any real way to a VICE "free-for all," feel free to RSVP. Need more evidence to coerce you into visiting? Dial in some true Texas insanity here!

The VICE Guide To Austin

Separated at Birth

Sometimes when people work together they get into synchronized cycles from the two most unpredictable and powerful forces on earth: fashion and the tidal moon. When Ryan and Gavin started working together, it was easy to tell them apart: one was a stud athlete and brilliant student, while the other was a cartooning prodigy and the voice of an unorthodox subculture. Like mixing oil and water, these two rarely emulsified--but were often seen swilling around the bottom of the barrel. Well, it seems in the end personalities, like eggs, scramble, as it is now virtually impossible to tell them apart from each other. Which is the dazzling hardcore singer and which is the married curmudgeon? Like mixing identities? You make the call.

Brew & Que?

I like eating, and I ain't gonna lie: sometimes I think about the horrible deaths of animals. But the pangs of guilt fade to black when the notion of a hamburger flirts across my consciousness. Still, I try to eat vegetables and phoney meat substitutes much of the time. To be fair, though, I have shot and slaughtered and cooked and eaten just about every critter imaginable. What can I say? Killing is fun sometimes. But when I opened my good buddy Thomas' fridge the other night, looking for a budweiser from a purchased six pack, I was floored. A whole fucking cow's head was there staring at me. Now, I like Thomas, but this was my first time over to his crib and I just split. I wigged out and blazed. I hope he doesn't see this and think I'm a pussy, but good God, what could he have been thinking? Either he's in the Mafia, he's taking a tamale making course at the New School or just maybe he asked the wrong chick for head?