SAMO

vicemag: This Week in Racism Happy Confederate Memorial Day to...

daveschilling — Fri, 10 May 2013 16:58:11 -0400

This Week in Racism

Happy Confederate Memorial Day to you and yours! Yes, this is a real holiday in several southern states and the above gentleman is South Carolina Lieutenant Governor Glenn McConnell, a dedicated Civil War reenactor and total douchebag. If you’ve ever pined for the good ol’ days of manners, gentlemanly behavior, long sips of lemonade on the porch during a hot day, and ungodly human bondage, then this is the holiday for you. Giving gifts is encouraged. Your slave will most appreciate a day outside the “hot box.”

As always, with the assistance of my friends at the @YesYoureRacist Twitter account, I’ll be ranking news stories on a scale of 1 to RACIST, with “1” being the least racist and “racist” being the most racist.

- The Heritage Foundation, a conservative think tank dedicated to developing all the world’s dumbest ideas, released a study that claimed that immigration reform will cost the United States at least $6.3 trillion. That may or may not be true. I ain’t no mathematician. What I do know is true is that it recently came out that a co-author of the study, Jason Richwine, wrote his doctoral thesis at Harvard about the relative intelligences of the races. “The average IQ of immigrants in the United States is substantially lower than that of the white native population, and the difference is likely to persist over several generations,” Richwine claimed in his thesis, which was written in 2009, not 1959. Richwine argued that immigration should be selective based on IQ because “no one knows whether Hispanics will ever reach IQ parity with whites, but the prediction that new Hispanic immigrants will have low-IQ children and grandchildren is difficult to argue against.” If we’re going to keep dumb Mexican people out of our country, then can we also deport all the dumb white people? Can we give Rush Limbaugh his own island?

- A poster in France calling for demonstrations against gay rights stirred up plenty of controversy this week for portraying Minister of Justice Christiane Taubira, who is black, as a raging giant gorilla with cornrows and glowing eyes. The Taubira-gorilla is depicted as being swarmed by a crowd of homophobic protesters, who just so happen to be entirely white. The designer of the image deleted the post and apologized for the racist imagery, but only after it went viral. Funny how racism and homophobia tend to go hand in hand… 8

- The state of Michigan recently passed Public Act 436, which gives borderline dictatorial authority to an emergency manager to “supersede local ordinances, sell city assets, and break union contracts” in areas of the state that are economically impoverished, according to the Atlantic. These emergency managers currently function in six cities in Michigan, including Detroit. Around half of the black people in Michigan live in these six cities, which means that they all basically live without basic democratic rights. RACIST

Continue

vicemag: Horse Racing: The Sport of America’s Lower Class “If...

daveschilling — Tue, 07 May 2013 23:33:59 -0400

vicemag:

Horse Racing: The Sport of America’s Lower Class

“If you wait until 4:08, you can get in for free,” the blatantly disinterested clerk at the entrance to Hollywood Park Racetrack and Casino informed me as I desperately tried to give her the $10 entry fee. It was 3:55 and I had already started to feel the effects of the weed chocolate I had eaten earlier, so I happily accepted her terms. I avoided making small talk with the clerk by feigning interest in my phone for 13 minutes. It’s surprising how little you can accomplish on a cell phone in 13 minutes. Finally, as the clock struck the “magic hour,” I sauntered through the gate with an extra $10 in my pocket, just ready to gamble it all away forever. There’s no such thing as a free ride, unless you’re high… or talking about the moribund sport of horse racing.

Much like the United States itself, horse racing culture can be divided into the camps of “have” and “have not.” The disparity between the gilded excesses of the Kentucky Derby and the barren wasteland of Hollywood Park is stark. Step-repeat lines, funny hats, and copious amounts of rich people materialize at Churchill Downs every year to see and be seen at what is an absurdly anachronistic, passé sport. The everyday reality of horse racing is that the stands are not even a third full, and instead of expensive suits and strange headgear, people wear varsity jackets with cougars embroidered on the back. Horse racing was and still is a pastime of our grandparents.

Continue

daveschilling: New “This Week in Racism” up on...

daveschilling — Fri, 03 May 2013 20:07:58 -0400

daveschilling:

New “This Week in Racism” up on Vice. http://www.vice.com/read/supreme-court-justice-clarence-thomas-thinks

vicemag: Uninsured Americans Are Crowdsourcing Health Care...

daveschilling — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 14:18:53 -0400

vicemag:

Uninsured Americans Are Crowdsourcing Health Care Costs

Hospital Stay: $44,790
Ambulance: $1,058
ER Doctor: $354
Anesthesiologist: $3,700
Plastic Surgeon: $18,500
X-Rays: $50–100
CT Scans: $1,033

David owes in excess of $69,000 and is a freelance editor with no hope for health insurance, because the Editors’ Guild makes it almost impossible for anyone to get in and receive their benefits. Like many in this country, he is completely unaware of the finer details of the Affordable Care Act and is scrambling for a solution to his dire emergency.

In order to raise the money necessary to stave off bankruptcy, David has set up an account onYouCaring.com, which is akin to Kickstarter for things more important than a movie version of Veronica Mars. Unlike many other fundraising websites, YouCaring.com takes no fees from money raised for medical assistance, but they do give people the option to donate to the operation of the site.

With six days left and only $5,245 raised, David and I spoke about the challenges he faces and how they are far from unique.

VICE: YouCaring seems, at first glance, to be a great resource. Have you tried any other health care fundraiser services?
David Price: YouCaring was the first fundraising tool that we tried. All I can really say is that it’s nice to know it’s there. Many of my friends and several people I’ve never met have supported me via the site. It was extremely uplifting for me while I could barely speak to see the support and kind words from so many people. I’m very lucky to have so many friends in my life.

How close are you to your goal?
The YouCaring fundraiser is a great support, though as of now, is only able to account for 6.7 percent of my projected medical bills. Still, it’s a continuing process and there is hope left. I’ll very likely be looking into getting insurance as well. As much as it pains me that there are companies who profit from growing medical costs, it is a monster that can’t be defeated. If I can shatter half my face while on an easy bicycle ride, who knows what could happen next? My leg could be blown away by shrapnel from a falling meteor five minutes from now. There are so many things beyond our control, however unlikely they may seem, they’re events that only take a second to ruin a person financially.

Read the whole article

daveschilling: I was in the “Shoplifting from American Apparel”...

daveschilling — Tue, 23 Apr 2013 18:51:50 -0400

daveschilling:

I was in the “Shoplifting from American Apparel” movie and totally pooped on it for Vice.

http://www.vice.com/read/the-shoplifting-for-american-apparel-movie-is-a-steaming-pile-of-crap

daveschilling: My new column on VICE is all about the copious...

daveschilling — Fri, 19 Apr 2013 18:21:13 -0400

daveschilling:

My new column on VICE is all about the copious amounts of racism in the world. http://www.vice.com/read/this-week-in-racism

daveschilling: It seems like I have some new followers here. As...

daveschilling — Sat, 13 Apr 2013 16:04:28 -0400

daveschilling:

It seems like I have some new followers here. As such, it behooves me to start updating this blog again. First thing’s first. Please read this article about how Prozac Nation author, Elizabeth Wurtzel is totally lame.

http://www.vice.com/read/elizabeth-wurtzel-no-one-cares-that-you-still-get-it-on

Wrote About Animal Torture for Vice

daveschilling — Sun, 10 Feb 2013 15:05:37 -0500

Wrote About Animal Torture for Vice:

daveschilling:

Butt Sniffing

zukes — Thu, 20 Dec 2012 10:39:12 -0500

I can’t explain it

but every time she bends over 

I have this odd urge

to sniff her butt. 

Just like that. 

It’s not even my thing. 

I don’t think I’ll even 

get sexually aroused 

or anything. 

But it drives me nuts. 

Fucking nuts. 

And each time she bends over, 

there’s that urge again. 

And I think I’ll do it, 

go through with sniffing 

her butt, 

just to get it outta my head 

praying, 

praying I won’t 

get caught or anything. 

And if I do, 

I’ll fess up and tell her, 

“hey listen, 

it’s nothing against you. 

It’s not even my thing, 

I swear. 

But I just had to 

fucking 

sniff your butt, okay? 

I’m sorry.” 

After that 

the urge will be gone. 

For good I hope. 

And for the rest of my life 

I’ll have that memory, 

like all the other memories, 

that’ll make me laugh 

throughout my long life 

at all the most 

perfect 

possible 

moments.

vicemag: The Best Places to Stash Used Condoms All human...

daveschilling — Sat, 15 Dec 2012 14:53:59 -0500

vicemag:

The Best Places to Stash Used Condoms

All human activities produce waste. When one drives an automobile, carbon monoxide is expelled. After eating a meal, a person tends to create what most reputable scientists refer to as “shit.” Sexual relations are not exempt from this rule. A male orgasm produces semen, which for a large swath of the population is a sticky afterthought of the encounter.

In theory, semen is the nectar of life, but sex is routinely enjoyed for reasons outside of procreation. Loneliness, fear of mortality, and boredom are the real impetuses for copulating. That renders “cum” the sad, moist leftover that reminds someone that they have to go back to being depressed after 15 minutes of escape.

Condoms allow for folks to not only avoid pregnancy and disease, but also to have a great place to store semen. Unfortunately, that’s not the end of the problem. The condom then has to be stashed somewhere. There are a variety of options for ditching the evidence of a sexual dalliance, but each and every one of them carries a myriad of other unforeseen complications.

Throwing It in the Trash

One would assume that once a condom is in the garbage, it is taken care of. No one has to see it, touch it or interact with it in any way. That ignores the simple truth that a trashcan has to be opened in order for moregarbage to be thrown out. Unless one lives alone, which is becoming more and more rare in today’s shoddy economy, it’s highly likely that a non-participant or neutral party will have a gander at the filthy leavings of a torrid fuck session. If throwing a condom in the wastebasket is the only option at a person’s disposal, then I advise wrapping said rubber in a wad of toilet paper or placing it inside a cereal box. Please be aware that the cereal box should be empty and in the trash. A full cereal box inside the pantry is not a proper place to put one’s semen. On the other hand, if there is unspoken tension between roommates, then putting semen in a cereal box is a great, passive-aggressive way to get a point across.

Flinging It Out the Window

The benefit of the Window Method is that the condom no longer resides in one’s domicile. It could end up in a tree, on the sidewalk, or on the head of a passer-by. It is truly “out of sight, out of mind.” A child could hypothetically discover the condom and think it is some sort of toy, which could be great if the child is from a poor family and can’t afford Furbys or whatever is popular with youngsters these days. Conversely, the child could be rich and it could end up being the first step toward a deviant, Patrick Bateman-style lifestyle. There’s a 50/50 chance here, so use discretion.

Under the Bed

It’s not uncommon for people to refrain from ever looking under a bed. The space under a bed is a circus of dust mites, pubic hair, Taco Bell receipts, and old shoes. Why not add used jimmy hats to the mix? Bear in mind that this only works if one’s mother never comes over. The first place a mother looks in her child’s house is under the bed, because she is eager to judge just how filthy her child is. As such, this is a great solution if you are an orphan.

Conitnue

Public Transit Etiquette for the City of Los Angeles

daveschilling — Mon, 26 Nov 2012 16:08:33 -0500

New York City’s cadre of social critics, gadflies and roustabouts take a great deal of pride in lambasting Los Angeles for being a municipality that rewards the dullard. The Woody Allens and Fran Lebowitzes of the world relish any opportunity to cast aspersions on the good people of the City of Angels. According to the stereotypical tony East Coaster, Los Angeles is a haven for twits, egotists, scam artists and Kardashians.

It’s high time that those of you out there cease and desist with the insults. Los Angeles is a wonderful place, teeming with culture, vibrant history and Kardashians. As a matter of fact, Los Angeles is unquestionably the Los Angeles capital of the world. I implore Angelinos to take more pride in their home and to refute the scurrilous claims emanating from the east.

In order for our fair city to claim its rightful place in the American firmament, we have to start acting like New York’s equal. I suggest the first place we start is our public transportation. We have a robust transit network, with only a few blind spots that aren’t even that discouraging. If you actually want to go to Westwood for anything other than a UCLA sweatshirt or a Jerry’s Deli, you should probably just move back to wherever you came from. You are the problem, not the solution. Madison, Wisconsin misses you, and there are plenty of Targets and Jamba Juices for you there too.

Public transit is the backbone of any world-class city, so supporting ours is paramount to the cultural war effort. If one is to ride public transportation, one must take every step possible to follow the unwritten rules of the system. New Yorkers should be able to come here and feel like we know what we’re doing on the rails. As such, allow me to offer my advice for the Angelino on how to navigate our subways, buses and light rail without embarrassing themselves in front of a Manhattan day trader on vacation desperate to find more sunscreen and a star map.

If You Want to Stand on the Escalator, Stand to the Right. If You Want to Walk, Walk to the Left

To the New Yorker well versed in subway culture, this seems like common sense. There are people in NYC that are, like, in a hurry and stuff. The escalator can facilitate a faster trip up or down the station. In Los Angeles, it sometimes seems as though everyone is just lollygagging to and fro with no concern for time. This reinforces the stereotype that LA is a city for the lackadaisical lookie-loo. In truth, it’s just that New Yorkers think that if they don’t appear to be in a hurry, their neighbors will think they are from LA. Most of them have absolutely nowhere to go and this troubles them greatly.

Angelinos are actually just deep in thought, pondering the grand questions of existence, like “will my pilot get picked up?” or “what if I can’t get reservations at Sotto tonight?” This is an introspective town.

Take a second to concern yourself with the needs of others. If you are not in a hurry, stand on the right side of the escalator so those that have no pilot or dinner reservation to ponder can move swiftly through the station. Remember, in New York, if you are in the way of a person in a rush, they will just push you down the stairs. Save that money you’d have to spend on neck surgery for a facelift. Trust me, you’re going to need it sooner rather than later.

Do Not Make Unnecessary Conversation

This is transportation, not speed dating. You are not going to meet cute on the train. You are not going to change someone’s mind about politics while desperately clutching a strap. No one wants to help you practice for your audition. Bring a book, magazine, tablet device or headphones. Do not bring your best cocktail party anecdote.

Get a Monthly or Weekly Pass if You Ride the Bus

No one has the energy to see you fumbling around your pockets for exact change as they queue up to board a bus. Be prepared. This is not just the Boy Scout motto. This is also what I am going to scream at you while you spill dimes all over the ground. If you have a monthly or weekly, or even a day pass, we can all board the bus without incident.

Learn to Ignore Crazy People

Angelinos tend to blanche at the sight of a person who lacks all of their mental faculties, unless they have a three-picture deal with Paramount. Lunatics are an important piece of the fabric of any major city. They keep squares, dweebs and Bill O’Reilly fans out of your home. Find a way to ignore them, like every urbanite does. The aforementioned book, magazine, tablet or headphones will do quite well for you in this instance.

By the way, if you start making unnecessary conversation on the train, I am going to assume you are a crazy person and I will ignore you.

If you follow these simple rules, you will able to elevate Los Angeles in the eyes of the pretentious New Yorker. Also, you’ll have the added benefit of never running into a Kardashian on the subway.

Red Hot Chili Peppers Erotic Fan Fiction

daveschilling — Fri, 09 Nov 2012 19:21:00 -0500

The funk infused alternative rock show with a hint of punk aesthetics just ended. The guys head back to their dressing room. Sweaty and tired, they plop on the couch and munch on some Chex Mix. Flea pours tequila inside the Chex Mix bowl, whips out a large wooden spoon and starts munching. Anthony Kiedis sees this and says, “Aw dude, dinner cereal again? Don’t you think you’re getting a little too old for that?”

“You’re only as old as you feel! Want some?” Flea aims the wooden spoon towards Anthony Kiedis’s face, but he bats it away. Flea then offers it to the other two guys in the band, but they also reject it.

The band’s manager comes in. “Red Hot Chili Peppers. You’re great. You’re amazing. In fact, you’re RED HOT!”

Anthony Kiedis glares at their manager. His name is Dave or Rick or something. “You say this after every show we do. Getting very old.”

One of the dudes in the band that isn’t Flea or Anthony Kiedis says, “Yeah, the Red Hot Chili Peppers have existed since 1983. That’s when you started managing the band. That was almost thirty years ago.” He then closes the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Wikipedia tab that happened to already be open on his iPad.

Anthony Kiedis only heard the words ‘thirty years’. They echo in his brain. Wow, he thinks to himself, that’s such a long time. He then looks around the room and says, “Wow, I think to myself, that’s such a long time.”

“I was just thinking to myself the same thing” states Flea, still munching on the dinner cereal.

The manager interrupts, “But you boys act young. Everything about you screams youth. You’ve still got it boys. Anyways, hey other two guys in the band the Red Hot Chili Peppers, how about we go out to the bar and take some shots of Jack Daniels, a moderately priced whiskey?”

The two dudes comply, leaving only Flea and Anthony Kiedis in the dressing room. They are alone in the dressing room. Anthony Kiedis and Flea are all alone and Flea is a little drunk.

Anthony Kiedis stares at Flea. He notes the wrinkles in his face, and the funny little way his eyes dangle like a nutsack.

Flea feels Anthony Kiedis’s stare but tries to dismiss it. “We rocked so hard. I love how we rock. We have such a good thing going with this band. I mean, the way we infuse funk with rock, but also have some punk rock edge. Don’t you love it?”

Anthony Kiedis snaps out of his stare. “What? Oh, uhh yeah. Totally. Hey you know what, give me a swig of that tequila you got there. I suddenly feel like getting drunk from alcohol.”

Flea picks up the bottle of tequila right near him. He shakes it tauntingly. “You mean this tequila? Well you’ll have to come and get it from me”

“Flea, you’re such a jokester. Okay fine, I will come to you and try to get that tequila from your grasp.”

“Sorry can’t hear you, too busy holding this tequila bottle.” He then takes a swig.

Anthony Kiedis lunges towards Flea. They both jump around and giggle as Flea playfully taunts. Anthony Kiedis trips on one of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ bobble head figurines that was on the floor. He falls to the ground and takes Flea with him. They land face-to- face. Flea, for the first time in nearly thirty years is looking into Anthony Kiedis’s eyes. He gazes intensely. Gets lost in his pupils. Kiedis is just as entranced. The two of them freeze in each other’s gaze. They are seeing each other’s soul.

A rush of song lyrics swelled to both their brains.

Flea says, “Wonton the trombone three bone my baby”

Anthony Kiedis responds, “Live on a bench press stool sample lady”

Then both at the exact same time shout, “Why can’t we all just surgical cats”

Flea gets off of Anthony Kiedis. His face is flushed. He is startled. “Dude, Anothony. How did that just happen? It usually takes us weeks to come up with lyrics that good.”

Anthony Kiedis is flustered as well. He chugs some tequila and says, “I don’t know man. It was magical.”

Flea and Anthony Kiedis keep passing each other the tequila until finally the bottle is finished. They are both drunk, and reminiscing the near thirty years they have been in the band the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

“Remember when the Red Hot Chili Peppers released Californication?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Me too.”

After that they get silent again. Flea looks down at his crotch and sees his boner. “Woah, Anthony Kiedis check out my epic boner.”

Anthony Kiedis darts his eyes at Flea’s boner. “Wow, why do you think that is happening?”

“I think it’s for you dude. My boner is for you.”

Anthony Kiedis’s face turns bright red. He is both flattered and scared. Scared to show Flea his boner, but he does. “Hey, check this out” He angles his body towards Flea to expose his boner in his pants.

“Is that boner for me?” Flea asks in a hopeful tone.

“I think so.”

“We have boners for each other.”

“Yes. Yes we do.”

“What do we do now? With our boners?”

“I don’t know Flea of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. This has never happened to me before.”

“You mean, you’ve never had a boner?”

“No I mean, I’ve never had a boner for you. I’ve never had a boner for any man. I don’t know what’s happening.” Anthony Kiedis paces around the room. He is nervous. “Is this your first boner for another man?”

“I think so. Look Anthony Kiedis. I don’t just get boners for anyone. Even if I’m drunk. My boners are determined and meaningful just like all of our song lyrics. It’s trying to tell me something. Something about you, about us. I feel it in my heart, and my boner.” Flea pulls Anthony Kiedis towards him and brushes his hair back. “You are the love of my life.”

Anthony Kiedis is overwhelmed. He starts crying. Right into Flea’s muscular arms. “Flea, my boner is so hard for you. Flea can you feel my boner? It’s rubbing up against your boner. I don’t know what has taken us so long to realize this, Flea of the band the Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

“Anthony Kiedis. Kiss me. Take me now, and kiss me. Then, kiss my boner.”

Anthony Kiedis pushes Flea onto the couch. He rips his shirt off, which was never on to begin with. So he really just mimes the action of taking a shirt off. Flea does the same. Anthony Kiedis straddles Flea and licks his sweaty, wrinkled face. Flea hums like a vacuum. He shouts more potential song lyrics as Anthony Kiedis keeps licking his body. “Flower gear car track cigarette breath mommy”

This excites Anthony Kiedis even more. He unzips Flea’s pants and stammers “Razor blade on a Sunday don’t stop buying milk crates.” He then wraps his mouth on Flea’s tattooed penis. Anthony Kiedis observes the writing inked on Flea’s shaft before he continues sucking. It says, If you can read this, you are a woman I am having oral sex with.

Anthony Kiedis turns his head. Flea begs, “what’s wrong?”

“I just read your penis, Flea and guess what? I am not a woman.”

Flea looks down at his hard rock, but also funk infused dick and sees his tattoo. “Aw come on Anthony Kiedis. Like I knew I would have a boner for you.”

“It just doesn’t feel right, Flea.”

“Hold on.” Flea runs around the dressing room. He finds a permanent marker, and crosses out the letters ‘w’ and ‘o’ in “woman”. He shows the revision to Anthony Kiedis. “I promise I will have it tattooed permanently this way. Please just promise me you’ll have me.” Anthony Kiedis doesn’t say anything. He just smiles and nods. Flea then says “Awesome. Finish sucking my boner, bro.”

They go back to the couch. Anthony Kiedis is working hard at pleasing his new man. Flea keeps humming like a vacuum. Flea has never had a boner-suck this good. He is going to come. He grabs Anthony Kiedis’s dark brown hair and erupts. Anthony Kiedis can not handle all the cum flying out of Flea’s dick. He removes his mouth and tries to get away from Flea’s cum-storm, but the cum is too strong. It hits Anthony Kiedis’s chest and flings him across the room like a wrecking ball. Flea is screaming at the top of his lungs. He finally finishes. He catches his breath, and sees Anthony Kiedis knocked unconscious, covered in cum. He runs towards him. “Anthony Kiedis, please be alive. Be alive, Anthony Kiedis. I’m sorry you made my boner so hard. I’m sorry my cum threw you across the room. I’m so sorry.”

Anthony Kiedis slowly regains consciousness. “Wha-What happened?”

“Oh good thank the Funk-Rock gods you’re okay.”

“Dude, that was the most Red Hot Chili Peppers thing you could have done to me. I love you.”

They kiss. They kiss for a while. Anthony Kiedis has a boner again. He stops kissing Flea and says, “I got a fat boner again. Let me put it in your butt.”

Flea’s nutsack eyes open wide. “I’m scared,” he whispers.

“You’ve shoved microphones up your ass. You can handle my boner.”

“That’s not why I’m scared. I’m scared because, well…I might poop on your boner”

“What?”

“I’ve been feeling like I need to go number two all day. I would be so embarrassed if I pooped on your boner.”

“Flea, I am willing to take that risk. You don’t have to be embarrassed with me. I saw your soul, and when I did, there was poop everywhere. Show me your butthole, bro.”

Flea feels assured. He bends over, spreads his buttcheeks and exposes his butthole. Anthony Kiedis marvels at its beauty. He then notices a tattoo surrounding Flea’s butthole. It’s writing that reads, If you can read this, you have seen my soul and are probably Anthony Kiedis. Anthony Kiedis is overcome with joy and relief. He says to Flea, “Your butthole tattoo. It says my name.”

Flea turns his head towards Anthony Kiedis, “I kind of knew all along. The whole time we have known one another and have been in the funk infused rock band the Red Hot Chili Peppers, that we were soul mates. I got that tattoo nearly thirty years ago and to be honest I forgot about it. Until now.”

Anthony Kiedis can’t stop crying. He is so happy. He rams his boner into Flea’s butthole. They are both squealing with joy and sobbing helplessly at the same time.

Flea poops a little but shouts to Anthony Kiedis, “Keep going, don’t stop”

Anthony Kiedis complies. He keeps going. Tears, sweat, and poop are flying all around them. Anthony Kiedis belts out, “I am going to cum in your butthole Flea of the band the Red Hot Chili Pepp-” but before he can finish the words, he just does. It is a powerful load. Equally as powerful as Flea’s. It goes from Flea’s butthole and spits out his mouth violently. Some of his poop mixed in on the way up too. Flea is puking jizz and shit. He cries out, “I have never been happier.”

“Same,” mutters Anthony Kiedis. “I feel the same.”

The End

daveschilling: New Vice article up where I describe my panic...

daveschilling — Wed, 07 Nov 2012 17:01:23 -0500

daveschilling:

New Vice article up where I describe my panic attack during last night’s election.

?

daveschilling — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 14:38:04 -0400

Pudding Hell

zukes — Mon, 22 Oct 2012 12:03:37 -0400

boredom is like moving through an enormous pool of your most hated 

pudding flavor. you cant even eat your way out - it makes you nauseous. 

it’s like hell but worst than hell. real hell steals your hell’s ideas.  

and there is no escape. the pool is infinitely deep, infinitely long and the 

person that was in charge of materializing an exit got lazy and instead 

went to get a root canal the day he was supposed to work -  

it’s that boring. you remember a greek god that was condemned to 

pushing a boulder up a mountain for eternality. you feel that if the greek 

gods had invented pudding, they would have undoubtedly utilized it.  

your life is horrible - it’s like a loud droning that just doesn’t stop. it has 

no off button. you remember wishing for greater things - you once 

imagined a giant snow cone falling towards you with an incredible trajectory -

 you wonder how you managed to find yourself in this enormous 

pool of pudding - if you have taken a wrong turn somewhere, or have 

been given wrong directions. if you lend yourself in, you’re unsure.  

currently, you are wiggling your limps, starving, almost to the point of 

eating the now most likely spoiled pudding. you hope for that shooting 

star you once saw in a movie but are too afraid to open your eyes.  

however, one day you will escape - you will find a way out of that 

villainous pudding. you will return home - you will drink one beer, 

watch several reruns. you will sleep till noon, wake up - make coffee.  

you may consider going to the park, going to the movies, or calling an 

old friend. you will consider a lot of things. but instead you go to the 

grocery store - you will buy a whole cart’s worth of pudding.  

you will go home. your old friend will call you. he wants to make plans. 

you tell him you’re busy, hang up and then proceed to eat your 

seeming endless supply of pudding with a sedated pace of a sloth,  

sitting in your recliner, watching reruns, on occasion masturbating 

with acute apathy. you have become lost, my poor friend. you will 

realize how much you miss the days trapped inside that pudding pool.

Please join me as I live-blog tonight's Presidential Debate on Vice.com

daveschilling — Tue, 16 Oct 2012 20:42:06 -0400

Please join me as I live-blog tonight's Presidential Debate on Vice.com:

daveschilling:

<3

I Wish I Were A Dead Body

zukes — Mon, 15 Oct 2012 16:54:00 -0400

I wish I were a dead body - 

I imagine a foamy substance dipping off my face. 

Somewhere around me will be a misleading murder weapon. 

Surrounding me, 14 neat stacks of cards and 71 dollars in pennies. 

The cops on the scene will be thoroughly confused - 

Someone will be responsible for counting all the pennies. 

Another will ‘hooray’ finding the misleading murder weapon. 

The ‘murder’ weapon is a bat with exactly 7 nails hammered through the wood. 

The forensics team will find significance in all the numbers.

 I don’t blame them, it seems everyone finds significance in numbers nowadays -

Written on the bat is the forged signature of Babe Ruth -

 I imagine David Lynch getting involved somehow, like he will perform my autopsy, surrounded by a pack of wild Alaskan Huskies. 

Some high-ranking official will fire David Lynch and the man responsible for getting Lynch involved in the case.  

Everyone will lament the glory days of police work.

 It will be a sad day indeed.  

When my case is reopened 20 years later,

 It will be discovered that I was actually David Lynch. 

I will break headlines.

 I will be famous for ~1 month.

vicemag: 5 Tips for Ruining Your Interracial...

daveschilling — Fri, 12 Oct 2012 13:17:37 -0400

vicemag:

5 Tips for Ruining Your Interracial Relationship

Regardless of the result of the upcoming presidential election, Barack Obama will be minted as one of America’s most important leaders. This won’t be due to his fiscal policy, murder of Osama Bin Laden or smoking hot wife. Obama will remain far away from obscurity through the decades because of the color of his skin.

The accepted wisdom is that Barack Obama is black, as in “homie has a sweet jump shot and loves Tribe Called Quest” black. Most of the electorate is perfectly comfortable ignoring the fact that President Obama’s mother was white. He’s technically just as white as he is black, but in this country, if there’s just a hint of non-white ethnicity in your background, you have to forfeit your European cultural heritage. That’s like putting a slice of pizza in a tortilla and calling it a burrito.

The interracial relationship that spawned our first minority president didn’t last very long. Mr. and Mrs. Obama split after a single year together, leaving the future Commander-in-Chief to grow up not truly knowing his biological father. My own interracial family stayed together 23 years longer, but my parents got along as well as Rick Santorum and Barney Frank at a Pussy Riot concert.

I’ve ruined my share of interracial relationships. I just have an insatiable addiction to white women and an inability to fit in anywhere. I don’t know how to keep a white woman happy, but I do know how to pass on quality advice to my readers. So, for those of you interracial gentlemen looking to split up from your white girlfriend, I offer you the following five tips for kicking her to the curb.

Dance Badly

One of the first things a white woman expects from her black boyfriend is expert dancing ability. Dancing is very important to a white woman dabbling with jungle fever, even more so than the carnal benefits. I hate to be the one to reveal this to all curious white girls out there, but a lot of biracial guys can’t dance. Also, some of them wear stupid Ghostbusters t-shirts to bars and expect to get laid.

Be Terrible at White People Things Like Guitar Hero

You need to fit in with your significant other. It’s bad enough that you look totally different. Acting different is a double whammy that you can’t recover from. I tried very hard to master “Love in an Elevator” by Aerosmith on a plastic guitar to satisfy my girlfriend, but she saw through my ruse. I kept mistaking the green button for the red button and completely forgot about that whammy bar. I asked if there were any KRS-One songs on the game, but I was told “absolutely fucking not” and was commanded to go sit in a corner until the master race was done jamming out to “Dookie” by Green Day.

CONTINUE

The Great American Twilight

daveschilling — Wed, 03 Oct 2012 20:07:53 -0400

By Frankie Sanchez

I do a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory.

—Bella Swan, Twilight, Chapter 1, p.6

There are those of us prepping our cynical reaction times, readying our deep sighs, and practicing the nonchalant rolling of our eyes in preparation for tonight’s presidential debate. (Which, unfortunately, will not include moderation from Nicki Minaj and Mariah Carey.) Meanwhile… there are those of us prepping their best impressions of a vampire, readying their best black ensemble, and sharpening their pearly glitter-prompting fangs in preparation for the most epic vampire film franchise finale… ever.

Yes, maniacal Twilight fans across the globe got to feast their bloodthirsty eyes on the last piece of Breaking Dawn promotional propaganda with the Tuesday morning release of the poster for “The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn – Part 2″ which boasts the tagline “The Epic Finale That Will Live Forever”. Get it? Like vampires. It will live forever. Or until the next great vampire movie franchise based on a book trilogy comes along.

My hope would be that these fangirl, fanboy, vampire-wannabes and their werewolf-aspiring counterparts would encompass a demographic not yet old enough to vote. Sadly, we must accept that there are plenty of adults who have been bitten by the aptly-named Stephenie Meyer virus. Relax, it’s not real. And thankfully not even remotely contagious.

And so I stare, blankly at my computer monitor until the images separate into pixels, until my browser looks like a portal, until I’m staring into something that resembles the opening of The Matrix, trying to make sense of the madness. Once you do one Google search for anything related to Twilight, you are propelled down a vortex of all things Twilight. Which means tons of pictures of Kristin Stewart.

For so long as she has been recognizable as an actress, Kristin Stewart has been criticized for one thing, her seeming inability to portray any emotion with her face. This is not a judgment of her nor is it an assassination of her character. I should make it abundantly clear at this moment that I have not seen nor read any of the Twilight movies or books. At this present moment I have no intention to do either. This is not a review but rather an observation.

I tried to watch the first movie. I really did try. But there’s only so much awkward staring one man can handle. The whole first third of that movie was Edward trying to have a staring contest with Bella and Bella being all like, what the eff, bro. Awkward. Made more awkward by the fact that again Bella seemingly can’t portray any emotion with her face. That’s her magic power. Sadly, she’s not secretly a fairy.

The most recent installment of this movie franchise received a lot of criticism. Most of which focused on the realities of Bella’s relationship with Edward—the abuse, the violence, the subliminal messaging that somehow it’s okay, that Edward can’t control himself, that he’ll be better in the morning. In fact, almost every review I have ever read about the Twilight Saga talks about Bella’s somewhat obnoxious quest for love and her having to choose between Edward and Jacob. (Which, by the way, who wouldn’t choose Jacob, seriously.)

I digress; I’m about to break this whole thing wide open. Because as much as I haven’t seen these movies I adamantly agreed with many of the criticisms of the last installment, especially the piece written by Linda Holmes in which she knocks the film as being “profoundly irresponsible.”

The problem I have with these critiques is… here it comes…

Twilight is not a love story.

It can’t be. Twilight is not about a high school student choosing between two potential partners. From everything I know to be true about Twilight and from all of the adoration and critique that I have read, I cannot accept that this movie is that same old cinematic story of a love triangle. It is in no way a throwback to Threesome or any kind of homage to Fight Club’s vicious cycle of Tyler wants Marla wants Narrator wants Tyler.

Insert here a quick montage of everything that has lead up to tonight’s political debate. Remember briefly the follies of the Republican debates. Remember, there was Jon Stewart (presumably no relation to Kristin) on his Daily Show railing Herman Cain‘s attempt to answer a question pertaining to President Obama’s approach to Libya. Stewart commented on Cain’s hesitance saying, “it’s like he’s trying to download the answer but that little ball is spinning, he’s just buffering.” Cain pauses uncomfortably several times during his Libya answer and blames his stumbling on the lot of stuff twirling around in his head. To which Stewart comments, “being President is a real non-stop head-stuff twirl-fest.”

While humorous, the chain of “gaffes” amongst the Republican candidates running for President was nothing if not alarming. And that’s an objective view. If you look at the current state of The United States and economies around the world, it doesn’t take a Harvard graduate to tell you that something is amiss, that the world as a whole is in need of ideas and lucrative suggestions. If there was ever a chance for anyone to step forward and say, “Hey! I know how to fix this thing,” today would be a greater day than any. Yet we trudge on, banner-waving the same hypocritical ideologies that led us here in the first place. We certainly don’t know how to fix a fraudulent banking system, correct job growth, stimulate the economy or perpetuate ourselves into better living but we do a fine job on a national scale of removing protesters from parks with unnecessary force.

Which brings me to the media circus that was Occupy Wall Street (OWS). Remember, that was a thing that happened. There are those that applauded this movement and those who opposed it. Those who think it had many legs to stand on and those who think it was a gathering drum circle of hippies with no merit. The critics of the OWS movement were and still are quick to point out that while those involved in the protests were great at identifying the problems in our current system, that there were no logistical or probable ideas coming out of those protests that could fix the aforementioned problems. Yet, a quick cut to the ideas being brainstormed by those who hold political office and there’s not many great ideas coming out of that camp either.

The squeaky wheel gets the grease and I am certain we can all agree that we didn’t overlook those Homeland Security ads that ran nationwide instructing us to say something if we see something. Because that’s what we do, when we see something suspicious we tell someone of authority, right? We make as much noise as possible until someone listens and our claims are investigated. I mean, that’s what you do in your own life, right? If there’s a mysterious charge on your bank statement or a confusing misprint on your phone bill or if the service at the restaurant was sub-par, we complain. We tell someone. So, surely, even if OWS had no idea how to fix the unmistakable issues at hand then they were at the very least an alarm summoning those who should know what to do.

I’m sure there are more than a dozen people who wish there was such an alarm built-in to Pennsylvania State. Because that’s what we are supposed to do when we see something that we know is not right. You interrupt it. You stop it. You get in the way and you prevent it from happening again.

Surely I’m not just bringing up these talking points for the sake of sounding controversial. The one thing that is being widely overlooked about all of these simultaneous news stories, all of these articles and videos and news segments and sound bites, everything being pumped into our eyes and ears, all of these stories are related—forged together by ignorance.

Ignorance is the problem. And Bella’s facial expression is our answer.

Twilight is not a love story. Twilight is the most brilliantly masked political satire of our time. While one arm of the political Medusa persuades you, seduces you and turns you, the other side goes after your offspring.

Why does Bella think she only has two choices? Why does it have to be either Edward or Jacob? She’s young, she has her entire life ahead of her and yet here she is, bruised, battered, mentally anguished, and holding onto a truth she wants so desperately to be a reality. She wants Edward to be the man she knows him to be, but there are some hurdles involved there; there’s a lot of madness she has to overlook in order to see Edward as the one.

So too do we prepare for tonight’s debate. We’re eager to vote for the man we want to believe in. We chose one political party at some point in our lives and recognized it as the flagship of your morality; it represents our upbringing and our world-view and our personal life goals. We supported said party’s candidates even when they miss-stepped, even when they misspoke, even when their views were not entirely succinct with ours. We gave them the benefit of the doubt.

If you step back, if you put on a pair of truly unbiased goggles, if you look at the political arena, at the vast American perspective, you’ll see that you don’t really recognize it. When the Republican debates were in full swing earlier in the year, there was not one person alive who could honestly, wholeheartedly point their finger at any one of the candidates on that debate stage and say with absolute confidence, “I think this person is qualified to run our country and speak on behalf of the free world.”

So as we rally as a nation, divided as we may be, pumped for the first of three presidential debates, we have to realize that we’ve already picked our sides, most of us, and we’re waiting for our candidate to unveil their full potential. Most of us have already convinced ourselves that in American politics there are only two options and we continue to let the political system amuse us and amaze us with the hopes that one day it will simply untangle itself and become the system we know it to be.

The undeniable truth is that we are not a nation of inspired youth discovering our inner potential and overcoming our fears. Instead we are a nation of cold-hearted individuals, captivated by our fears because for so many generations we have been raised to believe that we have a limited number of options and in the end, no matter which choice we have made, we are almost always left standing in the middle of a love-hate relationship, expressionless and lacking empathy.

But then again what do I know?

daveschilling: vicemag: The Straight Man’s Guide to Receiving...

daveschilling — Wed, 03 Oct 2012 19:16:37 -0400

daveschilling:

vicemag:

The Straight Man’s Guide to Receiving Anal Sex from Your Girlfriend

Relationships, like produce, milk and reality television stars, have a shelf life. Most couples find that after a few weeks, months, or years, the luster fades and the initial carnal fury that brought them together has dissipated. The moldy codgers who get past this sexual brick wall do so by developing an elaborate series of coping mechanisms.

Infidelity is common in scenarios where one or both sexual partners become fed up with plain vanilla missionary. Sometimes, the couple just resigns themselves to erotic entropy, and embraces a sort of marital celibacy typified by the nightly ritual of ‘reading magazines’ or ‘checking the scores on ESPN.’ In this instance, going to sleep unfulfilled is preferable to even trying.

For those of you out there who want to tell me how love can sustain itself over decades, allow me to offer you the following completely non-scientific statistical breakdown:

-4% of the population falls in love and remains in love the rest of their lives

-21% of the population commits suicide after one too many viewings of the Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan comedyYou’ve Got Mail

-25% of the population masturbates more than three times a day

-3% of the population is asexual

-40% of the population has boring, meaningless sex until they die

-7% of the population has casual, freaky fetish sex with multiple partners until they die of being too happy

The goal of every human reading this article should be to get in that 11% of the globe that either finds a soulmate or fucks a neverending series of holes with verve and vigor.

The easiest way to go about joining the 11 Percent (which is far more vital to the national discourse than the 99 Percent or the 47 Percent) is through the back door. Anal sex is the first stop on the Save My Relationship World Tour.

Continue

#buttstuff should be trending on Twitter by now.