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Take a Stroll… with Rob Delaney - Welcome!

I am jizzy-jizzy-jazzed to begin a weekly column for VICE. I’ve been a reader for years and continue to be alternately horrified and delighted by its contents. I hope that what I offer in this column will continue VICE’s tradition of celebrating the debased and unnecessary as well as the provocative and essential. That’s the VICE/Rob Delaney promise that, by reading this sentence, you have spiritually notarized and made eternal law. I hope you’re happy.

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When VICE’s editor contacted me about writing a column, (s)he said I could write about whatever I wanted. I’m not specifying the editor’s gender because its name is Rocco and we’ve only communicated by email, so I can’t say for certain what flavor its genitals are. Most likely it’s a guy, but what if it’s a woman? Do I want to risk being accused of sexism in my first column? No, thank you, I don’t. Plus, I subscribe to the belief that everyone is female until proven otherwise. Why? Because it’s easier to have the psychological advantage in the relationship, as women are weaker and more malleable than men.

Wait, I just said that I didn’t want to be accused of sexism, right? Exactly. Some will say I’ve contradicted myself. But I’ll say I’m just keeping you on your toes. If you do me the honor of reading my column every Thursday, you can rest assured that I won’t spoon-feed you prepackaged mayonnaise lozenges of Hollywood narco-tainment. Instead, I’m going to make you go into the woods, hunt my truth beast down, look it in the eyes, and make love to it. It might not feel good at first. But you’ll grow to like it. And you’ll come back for more.

Another reason I’ve chosen to believe Rocco is a female is that thinking about seducing a woman named Rocco makes me fundamentally hard in my pants. Can we pause for a few seconds and think about her? Right away you know she’s hospitalized men with her fists, and that’s awesome. Maybe she’s even a cop, and if you play your cards right she might have to give you a nice, thorough frisk after she slaps on the cuffs. Except, surprise! Rocco isn’t a real cop; she’s a wanted bank robber posing as a police officer, and she’s kidnapping you because she needs a driver for her next heist, but the joke’s on her because she falls in love with you when she sees how gung-ho you are to break free from the bonds of your tiny little life and partner with her, which gradually shifts her motive from personal gain to some modern-day Robin Hood shit—stealing from rich people with actual gout and giving to poor kids whose parents the government sent off to Afghanistan to die while they were left at home with their grandmothers whose blindness is courtesy of the calculated diabetes pandemic covertly executed by this country’s corporate plutocracy to break our spirit as they train our most disadvantaged for one of three, and only three, receptacles: war, prison, or an early death from complications due to obesity.

The good news, however, is that Rocco’s plan works. People wake up, get hip to your mission, and real change begins to take hold. And along the way, Rocco and you have an incalculable amount of sex and maybe even babies, because look at her: Jesus. Do I have to describe her or have you created your own Rocco in your mind? I’m guessing you have, because if you’ve read this far, this is also YOUR column, too. We’re family now. I’m your dad and Rocco’s your mom. And we’re both concerned about how hard you just fantasized about your own mother. You need help. Come back next Thursday and I’ll give it to you.

ROB DELANEY

http://twitter.com/robdelaney