Back in 1997 in Atlanta we had something of a gross jar in our backyard. It was sitting on the hood of an old car that had been parked very southern-style in the backyard and forgotten for about a year. We had been beating the shit out of that car as well as a motorcycle that had also been abandoned. The tools of choice were an old crowbar, a metal pipe, and a wooden baseball bat.
Despite the cheap rent we still had to fit two to a room. My friend and I shared a room (my room) until July, when it got too hot. On top of that he had gotten fleas from the neighborhood cats that hung around and I couldn’t take staying with him, the fleas, and those fucking cats anymore, so I ended up mostly sleeping on the porch.
One night we decided to make a jar full of nasty shit. We pissed in it, added some soda, mustard, spit, I threw up a little bit into it, etc. Nothing too severe, just kid stuff.
Well, that fucker ended up living on that car for a while until the neighbors finally complained about the wretched things and had the city tow them away. We managed to put a black flag on a coat hanger and stick it in the car while the tow-truck started to drive away and also to get our now two-month-old jar back on the hood with four M-80s and a foot-long wick in it. Right as the car was passing the house we think called the city on us, they all went off, shattering the glass and spraying puke, piss, sperm, water, condiments, etc., about 20 feet in all directions, thus giving us a small yet savory amount of justice.
That whole section of the block stunk for a good while—all this shitty water baking in the hot southern sun. Also, no joke, there was a piece of glass lodged in our neighbor’s front door.
Jesus, can we not get some video next time? How could you do something like this and not document it?
DUBIOUS IN CHICAGO
I was a big fan of the Story Awards, but in “Gremlin from Dublin” it said, “A friend of a friend of theirs…” Um, wasn’t there some big stink on the rules for the online story contest about no bullshit? This is basically just an Irish version of that joke where kids steal the Mexican kid thinking he’s a yard gnome, although admittedly it does iron out most of the original’s problems (I mean who’s even seen a fucking yard gnome the size of a child).
Speaking of that contest though, wasn’t the winning tale supposed to be featured in the actual issue? Were you guys just too depressed by what came in and put the kibosh on it? And if nothing came close to “winning” can we at least see a shortlist of all the awful first-time high stories and recycled garbage folks submitted, like with that DOs and DON’Ts contest last summer? Sorry to be a nag—my boss is out for the day and I’ve got a lot of sit-around time.
The story comes from that girl in the Morning After Girls but we can’t tell you more than that as the guy is in litigation right now, promise. As for featuring the winners, that was always going to be on viceland.com and it is.
LET’S TALK ABOUT UGH
I seen your magazine on
and would like to start receiving copies if this is possible. I enjoy reading about all the sexual things that seem to be in your magazine. If this is possible please let me know. I live in Nova Scotia and would like to know what the cost of a subscription would be. Thank you and hope to hear from you soon on this matter.
What is happening to the average IQ out there? It’s almost like the ones with brains are the ones breeding the least. Oh wait, that’s EXACTLY what’s happening.
I hope you aren’t just planning on throwing the Gross Jar out when you’re done. If you’re stuck for options may I recommend the following: People in Germany sell and eat the contents of the Gross Jar all the time. I kid you not. They call it Baeckhoff.
Actually the plan for the Gross Jar is to take it bear hunting this winter. Animals can’t get enough of terrible smells.
WHERE’S THE BEAT?
What happened to all the tunes? You used to have at least a solid three band features in each issue (unless you go way back a few years to when the whole thing was basically just bands) but for the past five issues, dumbledy-sqaut. I appreciate that you’ve got a lot of other stuff to put in, but how am I supposed to find out about Joe Preston’s nephew’s electro ensemble or the band that’s all chimps without you guys’ help? Even when you do do bands these days, it’s all old farts like Billy Bragg and Gary Wilson who just shit out another eight-song CD every couple of years to pay the bills and keep from calling their shows “reunion tours.” Where’s all the young guns like Excepter and fuggin’ Tunnel of Love? Are you seriously going to leave us to the Blenders and SPINs of this crummy planet?
Sorry. More coverage coming soon. In the meantime go buy anything by Brightblack Morning Light, Against Me!, Pissed Jeans, and Fucked Up. The Vice UK guys are really into the Klaxons and the Horrors and everybody loves Rick Ross.
PS: You said do-do.
END OF DAYS
At the risk of sounding like a pussy, do you think we’re headed for something like the end times, or at least
? It’s not just the Israeli-Lebanese shit that’ll probably soon involve Syria and fucking Iran and fucking us and a lot more firepower or the weird shit with the climate that no one’s willing to take seriously because it’s being championed by a democrat or the fucking terrifying diseases that no one’s willing to take seriously because they’re named cutesy things like Mad Cow and Bird Flu, it’s the fact that all this shit’s happening at the same time and nothing is registering with the public at all. I mean at least in the tenser periods of cold war, the average schmuck interviewed on the local news seemed to have some cognizance of the heavy, heavy shit that could be going down at any moment and was a little freaked out. Now you ask anybody about the war or terrorism or the environment and they’ve all got their stock opinions, but somehow nobody seems to be scared shitless. Poverty keeps getting further and further entrenched and yet you don’t get any sort of rumblings from the lower classes except over bullshit cultural things like gays and celebrities and even ephemeral garbage like TV and music is somehow worse than I can ever remember it. I mean, does this not seem like a recipe for absolute pandemonium? I don’t know. I never got the heebie-jeebies around the millennium but I sure got them now. The other morning there was a big warehouse fire about a mile down the road from my house, so I got woken up by all the fire trucks blaring past and news copters flying over to cover it. Instead of just being like, “Oh, car wreck, or gas explosion, or whatever,” and rolling back over, my first half-awake impulse was, “Oh, dirty bombs.” But what felt really kind of wiggy was it’s not like I got panicked and ran down to the basement or whatever, I was perfectly fine with the fact that to my understanding nuclear arms had just been detonated down my block and just went back to sleep. Almost relieved really, like, “Well, glad that’s over with.” When I finally got up for work and found out it was just a fire, it was like when you think you actually did sleep with that girl from the previous night but then realize it was just a dream—complete letdown. And it wasn’t until I mentioned the whole thing to one of my coworkers and he gave me one of those trying-to-conceal-the-fact-I-think-you’re-psychotic grins that I figured out there was something off with this whole casual death tripping. I’ve never been one for morbid or doomy tendencies, but all I can think about lately is the apocalypse as if it was some kind of fucking birthday party I can’t wait for. Like it’s going to rule when our entire infrastructure crumbles and we move into a scavenger economy.
Any of you guys been getting these feelings, or do you think this is just a warning I should probably start restricting my proximity to guns and sharp things pretty soon?
You sir have fallen for the “If it bleeds it leads” world philosophy. The truth may not sell newspapers but, for the record, things have never been better. Global warming is bull roar. Terrorism is no big whup. There’s plenty of oil and so on. If you want to see apocalyptic just go back in history. It used to be HELL out there. Shit, even the aristocrats were covered in lice and sores.