Dos & Don'ts

TOKYO SPECIAL

Girls don't masturbate the way we do. Instead of playing out a scene where the upstairs neighbor comes down to borrow milk and ends up sucking your dick in the bathroom, they're more into focusing on a color or a nice song or even an undulating golden air sculpture that flows in the wind. That's what's so brilliant about this guy's hair. It is literally the inside of a girl's brain masturbating.

Remember at the beginning of "Punk's Not Dead" when Wattie from The Exploited goes, "Don't youse hate Crass? Crass are a bunch of fucking wankers. They don't believe in Anarchy and Chaos. I believe! In Anarchy!" That moment affected a lot of people. Even baby chinks.   While you're creaming your jeans about a Slayer shirt on eBay from 1983, Japanese kids are getting shirts so out there you don't even know. Like some esoteric oil sheik in Iraq that made shirts of himself for all the crazy asslickers who worship him—they wear that on laundry day.

In France Napoleon is a hero. In America he's a loser. In America Einstein is a brainy German. In Japan he's an evil Jew that came up with a formula to turn a bunch of kamikazes into warm air and birth defects. That's why he's always holding a barrel of radioactive waste in a thunderstorm. That is also why this shirt DESTROYS the sheik shirt.   With flip flops this would just look kind of lazy. Throw some Chucks in the mix and it's "longtime girlfriend" fun. But matching orange stilettos? That's a level of hot so fucking high not even a good raping could put out the fire.

How badass is their working class? That's their shitty clothes? A pair of ninja boots and some mountie pants with some weird wrist things for deflecting bullets? There's like the fighter and the bomb expert and the getaway guy and Plasticman or some shit. What do these "construction workers" build all day anyway, the fucking Justice League? Holy shit.

We emphasized the corner so you could see the surfer (can nips be surfers?) dad and the twin brother. These guys were ollying and acting so tough that when they went by we bowed really low and started going, "Moshi Moshi Domo Moshi Domo" like a bunch of subservient pedophiles.   Full sleeves on girls are a bit much. It's better when they have just one tiny thing on their arm. Not a dolphin on their ankle or a stupid lacey design on their lower backs (why couldn't Scott have thrown that Lacey into the bay instead?), just a nice little rainbow that says, "I may be 34 but I'm still Daddy's girl deep down."

It's nice to see women on the beach who aren't ashamed to make jokes about their weight. She obviously knows she's a gigantic and hideous fat cow, but her personality is so good she can just throw a whale on her tits and laugh it off. Fuck are fat chicks ever funny.   There's nothing better than going to the other end of the world and hearing a band that makes the MC5 sound like Enya. When you find out they're actually visiting Tokyo from Beijing (nips hate chinks worse than gooks) it's like seeing the Bad Brains rock your sister's Bat Mitzvah.

Have you ever played Drunk Guy Jenga? You keep putting stuff on a drunk piece of shit and whoever wakes him up loses. This particular session shot off to a ballsy start when Leigh did the unprecedented move of putting a human being on the guy. After that it was on. We got a pear in his mouth, then a lit cigarette, then balanced a big pile of junk on his ear and even graced his face with a pair of balls. Previous games have involved slightly more illegal moves like putting out a cigarette on the guy or putting cocaine up his nose, but we hereby challenge our readers to get out there and do what no Drunk Guy Jenga player has ever done before: publicly jizz on his face. (Send submissions to

vice@viceland.com

).

Holy "sheet" am I ever scared of Parisian police. I hope the music isn't too loud at my bachelorette party and they get so many noise complaints they have to come over and start dancing to "Word Up." No wonder the towel heads from La Cité laugh in their face, look at them. They're from fucking Chippendale's.   "I have a strong opinion / I have learned from my mistakes / I have been published / I have ridden a motorcycle across Route 66 / I have always kept my word." I have laughed my ass off. What is he, applying for a job at

How's Your News

?

I know the Fonz said owning a motorbike makes you cool but Google it dude, that was 1975 and he was pretending to be from the 50s! Today it doesn't erase the fact that you're a little Moby nerd in women's shorts and adult sneakers Googling

Happy Days

. It actually makes things several thousand times worse.   "C'mon kids, it's right here. All you have to do is grab it. Then we can talk and get to know each other and, eventually go to Puerto Vallarta together and swim in the nude."

Dad, you're going to get castrated and then ripped to shreds in prison. Is it really worth it just to see a tiny dink?

Ah ha ha. Look how constipated these Jersey Guidos are in the first shot. They're like, "Why did I wax my Adam West, fake tan, barrel chest if I can't show it off?" Then we let them pose shirtless and it was an emotional explosive diarrhea for them ("Aaaah, fuckin' finally").

Dear Italian Americans (and French Canadians) of the world, read my lips, taking your shirt off in clubs is for f-a-g-s. It's part of their mating ritual. Not yours. Jersey Shore shirtlessness is the Village People phenomenon of our generation. In 20 years people are going to be looking back on VH1 saying, "How did those people not know it was a fag thing?"

Hey Ironsides, we know you're a gimp and everything and you're not exactly beating off the pussy with a stick but turning yourself into a human ad for Verizon? Jesus Christ. Suicide would be more glamorous. Get a real job you lazy fucking sellout.   It might look okay if she was riding a horse in the nude but can you imagine her drain?

If you slept in her bed that shit would be all wrapped around your legs and caught under your armpits and everything. Sometimes you'd even feel one between your ass cheeks that, when you pulled it, would start coming unraveled from deep inside your ass. (How do those get there by the way? Did we eat them?)

How can someone know enough to get a tribal tattoo removed from their leg, yet still trust the idea to wear sport sandals and glittery toe nail polish? You're worse than that crazy gay dude my ex-girlfriend used to live with who had multiple personalities and would read notes to himself he didn't remember writing that said, "If you keep going to a therapist about us we are going to kill you."

Stop listening to yourself, Vito.   And then there's this guy. He felt like his confining sport sandals were preventing him from really enjoying the comedy show (from the stage no less) so he took them off and STARTED MASSAGING HIS FEET!

The worst part was, whenever there was a really funny part you'd see his toes move up and down in ecstasy. It was a fucking horror movie. Can someone buy this bastard the DOs & DON'Ts book please!?