ISRAEL TEASE
Dear Vice, So you take a couple of Palestinian kids, show them all the awesome crap Jewish kids get and take for granted, then pry them away from PlayStation heaven and dump them back in their overcrowded slum and you’re doing the world a service? What happens in seven years when those kids start piecing together an explanation for why John-John and his sister were entitled to so much more fun and start linking it up with grown-up toys like land and travel restrictions? As far as these bros are concerned, you have basically done the hardest part of Hamas’s job—all that’s left is to fit them for suicide belts, get some martyr glamour shots in, and they’re ready to make an active reprisal for their childhood deprivation. Thanks but no thanks, JARED KENT
Washington, DC But maybe that’s what we wanted to happen… just kidding. Look, not having a PlayStation of their own is the least of the emotional open wounds Palestinian kids are going to have to deal with as they become adults. As far as we’re concerned, we showed them a good time and that’s that. NONFICTION WORKSHOP
Dear Vice, I’m not sure who to send this to but I’m sure my story more than fits the criteria. Let me know what you think. “I Am a Male Date Rape Survivor” When I was in college I was all about pills, pills, pills. Then again who isn’t? My problem was that I didn’t really care what it was or how much. I didn’t ask questions just as long as it was going to fuck me to shreds and I trusted the supplier. I guess this is what makes this story so fucked-up. One night I was chilling at the bar with my friends when this dude I know, Drunk Boy, who was in the world-renowned date-rape fraternity Tau Kappa Epsilon, approaches me and asks if I want a dose. I’m looking at the pill and thinking E, Watsons, maybe Oxycontin, who knows? I was on my third Manhattan at that bar alone. So I see the little white jewel in his hand and I ask him if he’s had any yet and he pulls out another gem, pops it, and says something to the effect of, “Yeah, yeah dude just take it. You’re going to fucking bug out.” Liking this disclaimer and coming from a man named Drunk Boy, how was I to resist? So Drunk Boy drops the pill in my drink, bottoms up, and within minutes I’m completely blacked out. I remember having that numb feeling of being there but not there. I remember trying to speak but only thinking the words in my head. My friends recall me sitting at the bar looking utterly distant and not being able to speak. Such is the beauty of being on Rohypnol, also known as the date rape drug. To this day I still don’t understand what was going through Drunk’s mind. I’m a dude. Unfortunately this isn’t the end of the story. How I awoke is. I woke up next to probably the most hideous creation ever. I’m not insensitive, I know girls come in all shapes and sizes and can be beautiful on the inside. This one however was missing teeth, had prison tats, stretch marks, and her room looked and smelled like a really bad head shop. The kind of head shop that only sells plastic bongs, Kiss of Mint condoms, and patchouli oil. Although I can’t recall a thing, we made love that night. I don’t know how, I don’t know if I came or was even hard for it, but there was a condom still attached to me when I was getting dressed. I tried to get out as fast I could without waking whatever that thing was. I ran all the way from the east side of Buffalo, NY, to my apartment on the west side. When I got back to my apartment, my friends filled me in on the truth about the previous night. Apparently this chick knew Drunk Boy and asked him if he would give me Rohypnol so she could eventually take me home and have her way with me. He thought it would be funny and I’m sure still does. When I go out now I follow the same rules of any girl on the college scene: Never take anything if you don’t know exactly what it is, never drink something someone else has given you, and use the buddy system no matter what! JESSE GADDIS
Binghamton, NY This has happened to every man at least once, only it’s usually because of being blacked out on booze. Relax. It’s a rite of passage, just like having AIDS-xiety (that’s when you get tested for HIV and spend the next three days going through a mental Rolodex of your horrid past, convinced you’re dying until they tell you that you’re negs). A CRY IN THE WILDERNESS
Dear Vice, I’m sure this is redundant, but I hope you guys/girls at Vice don’t take stock in about 98 percent of the “opinions” people seem to feel a burning desire to smear across your website. I’m not trying to kiss your ass—there are occasionally some pretty awful articles or knee-jerk opinions, but really. I mean, they all need to get off their fucking asses and do something instead of chirping from the sidelines. The last time there was a magazine that was this worthwhile, warts and all, was… um, never, so how about not reading it if it’s soooo boring or not as good or core or whatever? It’s shit like that that makes me really hate my generation. MARC BOYER
Via email INSPIRED BY THE SMALL
Dear Vice, I’ve been sick for a week now with sore throat and earache and TMJ or whatever it is that makes me clench my teeth in my sleep. Tonight I was coughing up gray curdled snot and popping painkillers for my aching jaw and vitamin C tablets for the immune kick and didn’t want to see or be seen by anyone. I was sitting on the couch surfing channels and eating jumbo sacks of Old Dutch ketchup chips and drinking lukewarm Pepsi straight out of the two-liter bottle when I chanced upon a TV special about “little people,” aka “dwarves” as they say we can call them. It included one dwarf guy from Boston who became a husband and a father and a well-respected pediatric orthopedic surgeon but back in the day had to put up with tons of bullshit growing up around nothing but skeptical peers and facing constant rejection from bigoted medical school boards just to finally get to where he is today—which seems to be a pretty nice life if you could see what the guy has now. And then the other story, which TOTALLY killed me, was about a dwarf girl who grew up in a wonderful home with a great family and had a happy childhood and became a fairly successful and independent and hardworking teacher/role-model for disadvantaged youth and although her life was good and became something meaningful to others the one thing she never had growing up that she desperately wanted was a nice boyfriend who would simply love her and treat her well. At one point she recalls asking her girlfriends back in high school if she’d ever get to have that for herself and of course her friends tell her, “Yes, yes, you’ll meet someone,” but you can tell they were probably just feeding her that painfully doubtful support friends dish out. But now as an adult we are introduced to the guy she’s been seeing for a year or so and although he’s not officially “little” he’s about 4'10'', so he kind of understands her sitch and really seems to like her and if he kneels on his knees they’re the same height which is pretty precious. So flash forward another year to her 28th birthday when everyone is giving her presents and he’s looking all embarrassed cause he didn’t buy her a gift to unwrap and tells her that his present to her was the haircut she got the day before that he paid for and her family is totally unimpressed with that and she’s kind of trying to save face for the camera and not show her disappointment at his being inconsiderate of her feelings even though he had totally fucked up her birthday gift the year before too. But next thing you know he says, “Well, I guess I have something else to give you, but it’s not much of a birthday present,” and he pulls out a little velvet box and nervously proposes to her while her little tiny hands start shaking and she’s half-sobbing and whimpering because she can’t believe this is actually happening to her since, she hadn’t imagined this day would ever come at all. At this point I’m totally losing it on the couch crying puddles and laughing aloud with joy at 5 AM all by myself thinking, “This is the best thing I have ever fucking seen.” I toss my half-stale ripple chips aside and slap on a sweat suit and sneaks and for the first time in months go out jogging down empty streets grinning with a yearlong binge of booze and smokes working itself out of my system until I feel wide awake, clean, clear, and content just flying down the streets feeling totally overdosed on goodlife and fuck-yeahs that seem to go on forever. But now I’m having trouble winding down. I guess I’ll have a shower and some tea and a little oatmeal and get ready to make this day fucking count for something substantial, cause if a couple of midgets can get out of their rut and stand tall why can’t I, right? Riding the rainbow luge, BRADLEY JONASSON
Winnipeg, MB Don’t forget that “little people” can be creepy too, just like anyone else. One staff member here at Vice was in a bar near the Jersey shore with his family when he was ten years old. It was a half-outside/half-inside beach bar kind of thing. Everybody was really drunk in the middle of the day, including a dwarf that was hanging around. Nobody knew him. So anyway, this Vice staff member (OK, it was me) had been getting a weird, leery eye from the dwarf all day. When I went to the bathroom, which was inside and far from the yard where everyone else was, the dwarf followed me in. He stood between the door and me and with the immortal line, “What do you think of this, kid?” he whipped out his dwarf dick. It looked like a big toe sitting in a bird’s nest of pubes. We stood there like that for a good 30 seconds, him shaking his dick and me trying not to look at it. Finally, some other patron came in and the dwarf casually walked up to a urinal and started to piss. I really think I was almost molested by a dwarf that day. So yeah, the moral of the story is fuck dwarfs. In North America send correspondence to vice@viceland.com (include city and state/province) or mail to Vice Magazine, 97 North 10th Street, Suite 202, Brooklyn, NY 11211. Letters are edited for length. 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)_
Dear Vice, So you take a couple of Palestinian kids, show them all the awesome crap Jewish kids get and take for granted, then pry them away from PlayStation heaven and dump them back in their overcrowded slum and you’re doing the world a service? What happens in seven years when those kids start piecing together an explanation for why John-John and his sister were entitled to so much more fun and start linking it up with grown-up toys like land and travel restrictions? As far as these bros are concerned, you have basically done the hardest part of Hamas’s job—all that’s left is to fit them for suicide belts, get some martyr glamour shots in, and they’re ready to make an active reprisal for their childhood deprivation. Thanks but no thanks, JARED KENT
Washington, DC But maybe that’s what we wanted to happen… just kidding. Look, not having a PlayStation of their own is the least of the emotional open wounds Palestinian kids are going to have to deal with as they become adults. As far as we’re concerned, we showed them a good time and that’s that. NONFICTION WORKSHOP
Dear Vice, I’m not sure who to send this to but I’m sure my story more than fits the criteria. Let me know what you think. “I Am a Male Date Rape Survivor” When I was in college I was all about pills, pills, pills. Then again who isn’t? My problem was that I didn’t really care what it was or how much. I didn’t ask questions just as long as it was going to fuck me to shreds and I trusted the supplier. I guess this is what makes this story so fucked-up. One night I was chilling at the bar with my friends when this dude I know, Drunk Boy, who was in the world-renowned date-rape fraternity Tau Kappa Epsilon, approaches me and asks if I want a dose. I’m looking at the pill and thinking E, Watsons, maybe Oxycontin, who knows? I was on my third Manhattan at that bar alone. So I see the little white jewel in his hand and I ask him if he’s had any yet and he pulls out another gem, pops it, and says something to the effect of, “Yeah, yeah dude just take it. You’re going to fucking bug out.” Liking this disclaimer and coming from a man named Drunk Boy, how was I to resist? So Drunk Boy drops the pill in my drink, bottoms up, and within minutes I’m completely blacked out. I remember having that numb feeling of being there but not there. I remember trying to speak but only thinking the words in my head. My friends recall me sitting at the bar looking utterly distant and not being able to speak. Such is the beauty of being on Rohypnol, also known as the date rape drug. To this day I still don’t understand what was going through Drunk’s mind. I’m a dude. Unfortunately this isn’t the end of the story. How I awoke is. I woke up next to probably the most hideous creation ever. I’m not insensitive, I know girls come in all shapes and sizes and can be beautiful on the inside. This one however was missing teeth, had prison tats, stretch marks, and her room looked and smelled like a really bad head shop. The kind of head shop that only sells plastic bongs, Kiss of Mint condoms, and patchouli oil. Although I can’t recall a thing, we made love that night. I don’t know how, I don’t know if I came or was even hard for it, but there was a condom still attached to me when I was getting dressed. I tried to get out as fast I could without waking whatever that thing was. I ran all the way from the east side of Buffalo, NY, to my apartment on the west side. When I got back to my apartment, my friends filled me in on the truth about the previous night. Apparently this chick knew Drunk Boy and asked him if he would give me Rohypnol so she could eventually take me home and have her way with me. He thought it would be funny and I’m sure still does. When I go out now I follow the same rules of any girl on the college scene: Never take anything if you don’t know exactly what it is, never drink something someone else has given you, and use the buddy system no matter what! JESSE GADDIS
Binghamton, NY This has happened to every man at least once, only it’s usually because of being blacked out on booze. Relax. It’s a rite of passage, just like having AIDS-xiety (that’s when you get tested for HIV and spend the next three days going through a mental Rolodex of your horrid past, convinced you’re dying until they tell you that you’re negs). A CRY IN THE WILDERNESS
Dear Vice, I’m sure this is redundant, but I hope you guys/girls at Vice don’t take stock in about 98 percent of the “opinions” people seem to feel a burning desire to smear across your website. I’m not trying to kiss your ass—there are occasionally some pretty awful articles or knee-jerk opinions, but really. I mean, they all need to get off their fucking asses and do something instead of chirping from the sidelines. The last time there was a magazine that was this worthwhile, warts and all, was… um, never, so how about not reading it if it’s soooo boring or not as good or core or whatever? It’s shit like that that makes me really hate my generation. MARC BOYER
Via email INSPIRED BY THE SMALL
Dear Vice, I’ve been sick for a week now with sore throat and earache and TMJ or whatever it is that makes me clench my teeth in my sleep. Tonight I was coughing up gray curdled snot and popping painkillers for my aching jaw and vitamin C tablets for the immune kick and didn’t want to see or be seen by anyone. I was sitting on the couch surfing channels and eating jumbo sacks of Old Dutch ketchup chips and drinking lukewarm Pepsi straight out of the two-liter bottle when I chanced upon a TV special about “little people,” aka “dwarves” as they say we can call them. It included one dwarf guy from Boston who became a husband and a father and a well-respected pediatric orthopedic surgeon but back in the day had to put up with tons of bullshit growing up around nothing but skeptical peers and facing constant rejection from bigoted medical school boards just to finally get to where he is today—which seems to be a pretty nice life if you could see what the guy has now. And then the other story, which TOTALLY killed me, was about a dwarf girl who grew up in a wonderful home with a great family and had a happy childhood and became a fairly successful and independent and hardworking teacher/role-model for disadvantaged youth and although her life was good and became something meaningful to others the one thing she never had growing up that she desperately wanted was a nice boyfriend who would simply love her and treat her well. At one point she recalls asking her girlfriends back in high school if she’d ever get to have that for herself and of course her friends tell her, “Yes, yes, you’ll meet someone,” but you can tell they were probably just feeding her that painfully doubtful support friends dish out. But now as an adult we are introduced to the guy she’s been seeing for a year or so and although he’s not officially “little” he’s about 4'10'', so he kind of understands her sitch and really seems to like her and if he kneels on his knees they’re the same height which is pretty precious. So flash forward another year to her 28th birthday when everyone is giving her presents and he’s looking all embarrassed cause he didn’t buy her a gift to unwrap and tells her that his present to her was the haircut she got the day before that he paid for and her family is totally unimpressed with that and she’s kind of trying to save face for the camera and not show her disappointment at his being inconsiderate of her feelings even though he had totally fucked up her birthday gift the year before too. But next thing you know he says, “Well, I guess I have something else to give you, but it’s not much of a birthday present,” and he pulls out a little velvet box and nervously proposes to her while her little tiny hands start shaking and she’s half-sobbing and whimpering because she can’t believe this is actually happening to her since, she hadn’t imagined this day would ever come at all. At this point I’m totally losing it on the couch crying puddles and laughing aloud with joy at 5 AM all by myself thinking, “This is the best thing I have ever fucking seen.” I toss my half-stale ripple chips aside and slap on a sweat suit and sneaks and for the first time in months go out jogging down empty streets grinning with a yearlong binge of booze and smokes working itself out of my system until I feel wide awake, clean, clear, and content just flying down the streets feeling totally overdosed on goodlife and fuck-yeahs that seem to go on forever. But now I’m having trouble winding down. I guess I’ll have a shower and some tea and a little oatmeal and get ready to make this day fucking count for something substantial, cause if a couple of midgets can get out of their rut and stand tall why can’t I, right? Riding the rainbow luge, BRADLEY JONASSON
Winnipeg, MB Don’t forget that “little people” can be creepy too, just like anyone else. One staff member here at Vice was in a bar near the Jersey shore with his family when he was ten years old. It was a half-outside/half-inside beach bar kind of thing. Everybody was really drunk in the middle of the day, including a dwarf that was hanging around. Nobody knew him. So anyway, this Vice staff member (OK, it was me) had been getting a weird, leery eye from the dwarf all day. When I went to the bathroom, which was inside and far from the yard where everyone else was, the dwarf followed me in. He stood between the door and me and with the immortal line, “What do you think of this, kid?” he whipped out his dwarf dick. It looked like a big toe sitting in a bird’s nest of pubes. We stood there like that for a good 30 seconds, him shaking his dick and me trying not to look at it. Finally, some other patron came in and the dwarf casually walked up to a urinal and started to piss. I really think I was almost molested by a dwarf that day. So yeah, the moral of the story is fuck dwarfs. In North America send correspondence to vice@viceland.com (include city and state/province) or mail to Vice Magazine, 97 North 10th Street, Suite 202, Brooklyn, NY 11211. Letters are edited for length. 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)_
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