FYI.

This story is over 5 years old.

The Conversations With Distinguished Gentlemen Issue

VICE Mail

THIS GUY IS IN JAILI’m in jail and I have two more years to go. My boy just set me up with a subscription after fondly remembering an issue we had in our Brooklyn apartment’s bathroom where

THIS GUY IS IN JAIL
Dear Vice, I’m in jail and I have two more years to go. My boy just set me up with a subscription after fondly remembering an issue we had in our Brooklyn apartment’s bathroom where you tried to investigate whether blacks can drink more than whites, tested the potency of heroin, and showed pictures of track marks. It’s actually a bit surprising they even let me get your magazine, but my first was the Fashion Issue. It’s all downhill from here, if my memory serves me correctly. Since you’re the Jesus Christ of print media, I must ask some questions: There are breasts in Vice. I agree with your vision. But I’m thinking that perverts will rip out all of the good pictures if I loan the magazine out. Do I a) rip out the ones I really want out and let inmates swoon after my scrapings, b) take the loss with a smile on my face, c) check to see if pages are missing every time my magazine is returned and stab the culprit, or d) beat off onto every photo I enjoy so the pages stick together? How is a subscription for a free magazine $42? I’m not complaining, just curious. Might as well make it $50. Let’s assume half a million people shell out the extra eight bucks. You should throw a $4 million party in a forest that lasts three days. I’d bet you could have bands and security and fencing and water and bathrooms for under a million. The rest could be spent on live animals, drugs, a record-setting ring for baby-oil wrestling (I’m thinking like, hundreds of sexy dripping bodies trying to harm each other at once), professional skaters on a snazzy half-pipe, hot-air balloons that are tethered to the ground so you can take bong rips from 100 feet above, carnival rides, and a few porn stars that bone each other onstage as the evenings wind down while fireworks go off. All for free, but the only way to get tickets will be ripping pairs from copies of your magazine. Keep a couple thousand to scalp and buy me a Lotus for the phenomenal idea. Please take pictures. Amen, MICHAEL ABERNATHY
Bordentown, NJ We asked our readers to send in actual physical letters on paper a few issues back and it really worked. Only problem is, a lot of them are boring. Or maybe not boring but, like, boring to reply to. Anyway, let’s give this a shot… You shouldn’t loan out anything in jail. It makes you look like an easy mark. As for your second question, I guess the best answer is, “Don’t know, don’t care.” Buy a subscription or don’t. Or wait, since you’re in jail I think we can give you one for free. Or something. I don’t know. I wonder what I’ll have for lunch today. Maybe meatloaf from the Polish place. THIS GUY WENT TO COACHELLA
Dear Vice, Last week I was at the Coachella music festival standing in the sun with a sign that said “LA or Bust.” I stood with this sign on my bag trying not to look like a psycho, and after about 25 minutes I got picked up by this guy called Ryan. The night before I saw the Cure play their top slot. Before this I had bought a bag of weed cookies from a man with dreads in a tent painted like a rainbow looked at through 3-D glasses. I had spent the afternoon chilling out, going on journeys during bands’ sets, and letting all the trippy art and light shows wash over me like Charlie Bucket bathing in chocolaty Oompa-Loompa jizz. Eventually the Cure started and I promptly had to lie down under an 80-foot bamboo skyscraper and let the chilling and psychedelic sounds of “The Lovecats” and “Lovesong” enter my brain and swirl around as an appetizer for the euphoria that would surely ensue for “Just Like Heaven.” Back in the car with Ryan, after some standard courtesy chat about the festival and music, we stopped for a burger. He told me he could drop me off in LA or I could come and visit his brother in San Diego. After I made a bit of effort to push images of me being hacked up to the back of my mind, we smoked a bowl (it was 4/20) and were on our way. I can see why skating was created here, the city is like a giant skate park. Ryan’s brother was pretty cool, he was in a Coldplay cover band but I forget his name. It turns out San Diego is right on the US border so Ryan asked if I’d ever been to Mexico—I had not. In a few minutes we had jumped on the tram and were walking into Tijuana, gateway to Mexico. Now I was not prepared for this. Four hours ago I was in Indio trying to get to LA, so I had a pretty big culture shock and felt like I had walked out of the city limits like in Judge Dredd. We sat and ordered a few beers for a buck and this guy called Joe came and asked if we needed any coke, heroin, women, or equipment while we waited. Ryan bought some Valium, which pissed me off a bit as I felt like a target for the black-market salesmen for the rest of the trip. The next day we went to Imperial Beach, which was cool. When we got back to the parking lot, Ryan’s car had been towed and he went crazy at the parking lady, who was having none of it and walked off. Ryan then sat down and broke down into tears about how his life was falling apart and nothing was going right and his disability was not going to cover this. So I found the parking lady, found where the truck was, and bought us bus tickets to the depot. Once there I explained the situation to the guy , got my bag out, thanked Ryan, said goodbye, and got on a train to LAX. Right now I’m in Sydney. The Opera House isn’t as white as postcards would have you believe and today I’m going to try and buy my first car so I can learn to surf and cruise up the Gold Coast and do the Great Ocean Road before the ski hills open in June. My life is fucking ace. STUART AINSLEY
Via email You know what sucks? Being a Phillies fan in New York. Recently, a construction worker saw me in my Phils cap and screamed at me from across a busy two-way street. I mean SCREAMED. He said, “Take your pussy ass back down the turnpike, faggot.” That’s a quote. Only he didn’t say it. He shrieked it. And I can’t even get the games on TV here even though Philly is only two hours away. What’s up with that? THIS GUY HAS QUESTIONS ABOUT RAY KURZWEIL
Dear Vice, If what Ray Kurzweil says is correct, it only confirms what some Eastern religions have already stated: Life is only a dream, and we are the imaginations of ourselves. His ideas, along with Timothy Leary’s “Eight Circuits,” explain a lot of what’s going on “out there.” It’s also funny how all the naysayers don’t even realize that 15 short years ago they never would have heard of this guy’s ideas because websites customized to their tastes didn’t exist, or that they wouldn’t be able to publish, for all to see, their comments indicating their lack of understanding and/or fear of a possible future. Even if the Singularity happens… life goes on, it will just happen with virtual porn and no more hair loss. ANONYMOUS
Via viceland.com The bad thing about the weather lately is that it’s unpredictable. I don’t mind rainy days. Or, I mean, I can handle them. But I just want to know when to expect them. It’s even sort of bad when the weather guy says it’s going to rain tomorrow, and then I mentally prepare for rain, but then it ends up being sunny. I don’t like doing the rain prep work for no reason. It makes me feel like I have jet lag all day.

Advertisement

Send correspondence to vice@viceland.com (include city and state/province) or to
Vice Magazine, 97 North 10th Street, Suite 204, Brooklyn, NY 11211. In Scandinavia write to VICE at St. Eriksgatan 48 A, SE-112 34 Stockholm. Send letters there or to info@viceland.se. **_In the UK write to VICE at 77 Leonard Street, London, EC2A 4QS. Send letters there or to [letters@viceuk.com ](mailto:letters@viceuk.com)In Australia send letters to Mailbox 61, 278 Church St, Richmond, Victoria 3121 or to [stuff@viceaustralia.com ](mailto:stuff@viceaustralia.com)Letters are edited for length._**