Monday, July 31, 2006

Behind the Scenes: VICE Records

Whereas once the older Interns cobbled together a creation myth worthy of the Magazine it seems the more media savvy of the front-rowers have put together a little behind the scenes movie about Suroosh Alvi, the point man of Vice Records. Dr. Alvi is a chameleon so masterful that you shan't be surprised if one day you recognize him and one day you don't. That is merely the magic of movin' pictures.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Class-Free Cafeteria Clowns

The shirtless gourmand chimes in again. This time on a VICE birthday lunch. Like Emily Posters?

Number Fucking One: Do not even touch your food until everyone has theirs. Especially when it's a birthday lunch and the birthdayee hasn't received his, even if they say it's ok to. It's a class thing. ADDENDUM: Some say that this rule is nullified if the restaurant has paper napkins instead of linen. A debatable point, but as a matter of class, don't touch the food until all have been served. It makes you look like you grew up in the South.

#2 Ordering an appetizer for your lunch. Last time I checked, Teddy's is not a fucking tapas bar like Avec in Chicago or Cobras & Matadors in LA!

#3 Salting your food before tasting it. Classic rookie move, most likely the product of a childhood culinary wasteland involving cube steak and Bok Choy. Blame the parents.

#4 Floridian table Jenga. Never rearrange the tables like a Rubic's cube. Scumbags who have never toiled in the service industry feel they have the right to do this.

#5 Same type of dickheads who write down their orders on the menu and hand it to the waitress.

#6 Bad orders. Crab cakes as a main? Only in Maryland or Alaska. Chicken? Only if it's Teddy's Fried Chicken. Vegetarian options? Please leave the table. You have no lust for life.

#7 No napkin in lap. More poor parenting. Also goes along with wearing a hatat the table. What is this, a little league picnic? Scumbags.

#8 Visible, multicolored tattoos. No explanation needed.

#9 Long hair. Come on now, brothers are not supposed to be sisters.

And in summation:
If you're looking for a classy lunch time experience avoid Teddy's and avoid VICE. You may be wondering what happened to the logical number #10 on this list. We'll it seems that after the aforementioned starch on starch fest, the shirtless one nodded out at the keyboard immediately after penning #9. The quite natural reaction of a body shutting down after having injested 2 pounds of fried potatoes, 8 tablespoons of salt and a pint fancy catsup in additon to a 3/4 pound beef burger.BlackedOuted Boysssss

JOHN MARTIN BITES BACK IN RESPONSE TO THE COMMENTS

Hey assholes, here is the fucking #10 I was dreaming up when the carbo coma spun me out.

#10 The ATM Rule aka the Melissa and Jake rule. If you are short on cash, it's ok. Just go to the ATM after you order, or before you go into the restaurant. Not when the bill comes. That's about as classy as Bill. What the fuck is wrong with you people?

Elbows on the table are acceptable. That rule is antiquated, and some say racist even.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

I. Oedipal Ex

Canadian boys love their mothers, but when they started including them in the free porn perks, our minds were blown. It must be said, however, that LaWow's momma done trained her boy better than the rest of these Cannucks. Not only did he remember mumsy on a day not decreed a Hallmark Special Day of Remembrance, but he placed the thoughtful gift in a classy lavender Bergdorf Goodman bag (the subliminal messaging is right on: good son, Goodman). Multi-disc DVD blow job collections have no place in the classic American mom gift bag, but our sexy friends from north of the border apparently see nothing wrong with sharing the self-love with the family. Perhaps a pre-dinner bonding/bondage activity at LaWow's ancestral home is sitting around whacking off and discussing whether to have gravy on the poutine or not. Must be the French influence. I wonder why there isn't a gift bag for Pops? Unless LaWow heeded the age old Oedipal call and whacked off a family member in addition to his own...

Monday, July 24, 2006

Abandoned Apartment Complex & Other Mental Illin's

This past Saturday, select members of the VICE Magazine Adventure Field Trip team voyaged out to the Hamptons via the hospitality of our buddies at WE Clothing. The festivities were attended by downtown demagogues and Ludlow Street luminaries like Erik Lavoie and his buddies Ricky Powell, Kid Millionaire DJ Steve Aoki, Ben Dietztails, and of course, ex-Vicer gone bad: Mike Malbon.

Things got off to quite a start on the bus ride out, as we drank bubbly and danced to the sweet sounds of the Wu Tangs Clan. Luckily we brought our own Raprican American, Big Pinky to bridge the necessary cultural divides between us working stiffs and the Ludlow Street Luminaries in the back of the bus. Well hydrated by the 1-2 H20 punch of Poland Spring and Subway sandwiches, we really roared into the Hamptons. Upon arrival in the parking lot of the Pink Elephant, Blain VanDenBerg began slapping cans of Silver Bullet and Bud Ice out of people's hands like they were Aroostook County blackflies. You can take the babes out of Florida but... you get my drift.

Slapping stopped and clapping commenced when the ponytailed Brit event planner showed up blatantly test driving a Ferrari. (Side note: this guy could not and would not stop touching Trace Crutchfield's toes, he was Christened 'Toe Shaker') Anyway parking lot antics of the Downtown Crowd convinced 'Toe Shaker' to forego letting the VICE A-Team loose on his rented beachside mansion. So the the party moved to the inside grotto of the Pink Elephant - imagine an abandoned apartment complkex on the side of any highway in America with a kiddie pool in the middle and some sand and Viola! You have the hottest club in Southampton. WTF?

After settling into the our custom VICE VIP area, we had our first encounter with Toronto Mike (thankfully not pictured). Now, as most regular Rumor Mule readers know, most posts here are good natured and have their tongue firmly planted in cheek. Let's digress from that for a moment and make one thing perfectly clear: Toronto Mike is the biggest piece of shit to ever walk the Earth. It would be a better place if he did not exist. It started off bad, and got even worse. He starts pissing next to our table, which led to the comment 'Wow, Mike, it looks like a penis only smaller'. This sorry excuse for a turd then proceeds to bum out everyone at the party. Pissing, slapping, racist 'roid raging, boardshorts, creepy jock date rapist vibe, he really had it all. Luckily, our man Martin was able to go Tit-For-Slap with this Cannuck. The pinnacle was him getting kicked off the bus heading back to the city by Kid Millionaire for infractions too nefarious to note. The strange issue in all of this, is his familiarity with VICE's own Erik Lavoie and Liz Cowie. One could even say that they are friends perhaps? I wouldn't be surprised if our own Candians tried to distance themselves from this north of the border piece of shit.

When the toe shaking had ended and the dust had finally settled into the frilly confines of hipster moustaches, one thing was obvious: we had a great time with WE. Those who made their own fun had a blast. Those few Grumpy Guys who whined were obviously NOT part of the VICE domination of the festivities. A big thanks goes out to Eric, Eric, Greger, Jim and everyone else at WE!

Friday, July 21, 2006

Inside Dopes

Here at VICE there are a lot of creative types, as well as a lot of people skirting international laws. So when ad sales whiz kid Thobey Campion needed a back story to facilitate getting a Visa to work in America, the Big Three announced a short story writing contest. The idea was to create a life believable enough to make the American government happy to have Thobey as a working psuedo-citizen. The following is Part 1 in an endless string of mindless ad salesman exploits. Like dreaming?

AND PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS NOT THE TRUE ALEXANDER THOBEY CAMPION, BUT MERELY AN IMAGINARY ONE WHO WORKS HARD AND MAKES DEALS


My name is Alexander Thobey Campion IV, I don't know you, but you probably know me. You've seen me in FLAUNT or out at the bar. I didn't notice you don't worry. I was probably wearing a blazer. My days are always productive and my nights are always awesome.

Did I tell you about last Thursday? No! Shit. Well here it goes, another banner night...

My buddies and I went to Strip House for dinner. We do deals. We eat steaks. I got the filet - rare. That's what you order. I didn't eat the carrot. That's gayshit. Anyway, our waitress was hot! I've been seeing this girl, Ashley St. Standard. I mean, she's hot too of course, and even though she's pretty average in the sack and not too smart - she was in a good sorority - the same one as my mom. I don't know where she is tonight. Don't really care, but I'm getting ahead of myself. So Strip House was fucking amazing - oh and we totally played credit card Russian roulette. I didn't lose, but I paid for the whole thing anyway. Who the fuck cares who pays, it was practically a business dinner since we talked about all the deals I have going on.

I always have deals going on. So do my buddies at VICE. So then I looked at my Rolex and it was like 10:30pm, it's EARLY! My buddy Turner Parkerton was so wasted- he's a closer too. That's why we hang out and dust up.

So anyway he just broke up with his girlfriend who sucked by the way (I mean if she didn't suck, I'd be dating her) and we wanted to find some really hot tail - for him I mean since I'm seeing that girl...I told Turner I'd drive, so we all got into my black Tahoe. I mean Tahoes are great - that's what guys should have. I'd get a '07 Range Rover, but I don't want to beat it up on my hunting lease. The valet took forever, so I just gave the dude a $50. I don't have time to wait for change. It's just a bunch of ones. That's not even money.

We were going to go to the Rainbow Room and get a table and some bottles of Ketel, but we didn't want some Williamsburg chicks throwing themselves at us and drinking off our bottles. I don't touch 718s (the area code) anyways.

So in the car we all decided to go cougar hunting. Best sport in Manhattan. You know what a cougar is right? Yeah! So fucking hot. They're old and rich and all they want is sex. So they're just like me, except older and female. Not that I'd date one of them for real. But they're good for entertainment.

So me and Turner went to Cain, its a cougar den in there. Just roll in there in a hot striped shirt and blazer and you're golden. Just a couple of bleeding deer waiting to get clawed. Cougars can smell a guy with a Rolex from 100 yards. It's half the reason I wear one. Here kitty.

So, was talking to this one hot cougar and this fat girl tried to talk to me. I mean she was ordering a drink, but still, she talked to me and asked me to move over so she could get to the bar. My friends and I close deals, we don't talk to fat chicks - got it? It pissed me off so bad a piece of my hair even fell out of place. I have great hair - at least that's what my mom
told me. It's kind of wavy and the ladies love it. My dad Trix Campion III. has the exact same hair, he's in ad sales too.

Enough about me, back to the evening. So it was almost 1am and we still hadn't found any ass for Turner, not that it's hard for me to find ass, because it isn't. I knew where to go (I ALWAYS know where to go) - the Loon. Finding a drunk chick to hook up with in the Loon after 1am is like shooting fish in a barrel, but easier and when you look like me and Turner, it's almost unfair.

The Loon was packed. This dude in a ribbed v-neck with spiky hair totally stepped on one of my Ferragamo loafers and I almost beat his ass. "The dealership uptown called, the lease on your H3 is up, time to go home" That's what I said to him! My shoes cost as much as his car payment. Loser. No, I take that back, my tie costs as much as his car payment. It was so goddamn funny. I can't help it. I'm superior. I've got so much more money than him, I mean my parents do, but still. When they die, I'll be way richer.

You should have been there. I was wasted, and I didn't need to deal with a bunch of trash, Turner and I are too good for that shit. What? You think it sounds like my night sucked? Are you kidding me? So what if nothing happened! I don't care, it was awesome. $1000 dollars for dinner doesn't even make me blink. I can't wait to tell all my friends tomorrow. I'm going to email them and tell them how awesome it was. I'll be in the office early of course. I've got this debate deal to work on with Dewars.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Interns of a Feather

Bensonhurst Bill and Upper East Side Rya are VICE's two most audible interns of recent memory. Perhaps it's their shared upbringing in the metropolitan jungle, or maybe they both had parents that were hard of hearing. The dynamic duo finally met up at the VICE Photo Issue party last Monday. This photo would look best in a heart shaped frame, on a bedside table, somewhere in Weehawken. Also of note: Bill's two beers and Rya's 'I just met my internship spiritual predecessor' smile of joy.

Like Parties? Come see them in all their tongue wagging glory this Friday night.


The Secret Lives of Val Kilmer

Who is the mystery man bowling about town and then writing his name on the walls of hipster dives? Val Kilmer himself or a David Cross body double? A deranged fan or maybe Tony Barbieri even? Apparently the culprit is in the good graces of VICE's own Liz Cowie. Which begs the question, is the graffitist none other than Liz herself? Will the real Val Kilmer please stand up?
 

the running mule

the running mule