here’s my vice-thing. it’s no big deal, really. well it wasn’t suppose to be, but then all these ignorant, jealous fucks made it a big deal and and didn’t pick up on the whole embellishment-factor. VICE also ran it with a tiny picture of my tits, as well. i am not going to post that picture. if u really wanna see it, go find yourself a copy.
VICE ruined my life
I was obsessed with VICE magazine. It�s true. My friend Steve got me into it. He had all these issues stacked in his room on a shelf and he told me to read them. So I did. Then we walked past the store on Queen St. in Toronto and got more issues. Then I saw those fuckin� bumper sticker-sized ads for viceland.com. Then I went mental over VICE.
I was working for this Toronto-based women�s mag at the time. I had a big computer and plenty of time to hang out in viceland�s online WASSUP forum. I created my character �Raymi the minx,� a hot little hussy. I posted pictures of myself left and right, talkin� trash about this and that. There were three other vice kids like me Laura Petrie (a stripper in Brooklyn), Bernie Ferderko (a tekno kid in Toronto), and Marachino (some hot lab techie in San Francisco). We prided ourselves in ruling that shitty little forum. Every month, VICE would print some of our random posts in the front pages of the magazine. This made me feel like a fucking superstar.
Whenever I saw kids on the street with VICE in their hands I�d be so tempted to go up and tell them that I worked for VICE. They�d be all, �Oh really? What articles have you written?� And then I�d go into lengthy detail about the important role I played in taming the online faggots who wander into viceland.com. I would lie and say, �Oh yeah, I hang out with Suroosh, me and Gavin go waaaaaaaay back and Shane has the hots for me.� Then I�d be like, �dooood, ya�ll never heard of Raymi tha� mutha� fuckin� minx? Jeeez.�
I exchange emails with Gavin and Suroosh and Shane and Eddy and therefore believe we�re close friends. I convince myself there�s sexual tension between Gavin and I. His emails make me so mad I want to punch the shit out of him and then fuck him until he has a heart attack or his dick sets on fire. Though, we will never fuck because I am not a tiny little asian girl.
I tell VICE I was going to do this sex-weekend with Laura Petrie in Toronto and film it and then write about it but VICE would have to pay for the hotel and everything else. I somehow thought they were bazillionaires. Turns out they�re just assholes.
Then I decided I was going to move to New York City just to be closer to VICE. I wasn�t even 18 years old. I didn�t fuckin� care. I told my parents and they were real pissed off. My dad read VICE and laughed at the articles and was intrigued by the photos but still, he didn�t want his daughter to be a part of that shit. No way. My mum just stood in the background being all neurotic and screaming or something. I told everyone at skool I was leaving for NYC and they were all like, �Ooooh wow, New York City, what are you like the coolest person ever?� �Yes, it�s true,� I said. I packed my stuff, said my goodbyes and left. I did a few percocets on the way. It was The 1st of July. Canada day.
I moved to Park Slope, Brooklyn. Fancy/Yuppie-town with lotsa lesbians. 15th street on the F train. Not bad. I called Eddy Moretti a few days later and told him I was in town. He said stop by.
I took the F to the L train, then over to Bedford avenue. It was my first time using the subway. I was paranoid.
Then I walk over to North 4th street to their building. I go in. The office is huge like a warehouse sorta, or a loft. The walls are covered with bamboo forest wallpaper. There�s black leather couches, all these desks with fancy computers and sex toys. Lots of sex toys and porn mags. I like it. Eddy greets me, we sit down, sort out a schedule. Gavin is not there � he�s in Peurto Rico or wherever the fuck him and his woman have a hut. Suroosh is not around. Shane is there but I am too nervous to go over to his desk. He has this huge tattoo on the back of his calf and wears shorts to show it off.
The next day I show up about 1 in the afternoon. I putter around the office for a bit. There�s not much for me to do but scan in pictures for the August issue. I get told off a few times for using Gavin�s computer. Everyone�s doing their thing. Shane says hi to me, recognizes I am thee Raymi the minx.
I read some porn mags and play with the vibrators. I�m kinda bored. I feel like doing some coke. Gavin won�t be back from his vacation for a week. Eddy asks me if I want to bartend that nite�s happy hour boozefest. I�ll get tips. Sure, why not.
I pick up the booze and ice and mixers and set up bar in the Manhattan store. It�s perfectly VICE � underage slut buying the booze, drinking and serving it to assholes off the street. I remember this black dude showed up with a flash Japanese motorbike thing. I met a lot of fancy important people I forget the names of. I am soused twenty minutes into the evening, screaming at people across the room.
I met Suroosh at the office a couple days later. He just came back from wherever the fuck and was wearing this camouflage hat and flip flops. He had a big beard. He is like the brown Santa Claus except he�s not big and fat. Suroosh later told me he decided to start VICE two years after he gave up drugs and drinking. I was like �doood� and breathed boozebreath in his face.
Soon after, Gavin showed up. We were nice to each other for a bit. He showed off his new hi-top sneakers and walked around screaming, �Yer A Fay-kuuuur� in a drunk, Scottish accent.
So I kept doing the Friday bartending thing. I invited a lot of friends. They invited more friends and it turned into people coming to drink for free and not buy any clothes. Plus I was socializing too much and getting shitfaced and abandoning my one-sole responsibility standing behind the bar. It went bust.
I was tiring of VICE and they were of me. What put it right over the edge was this one email conversation me and Gavin had that was dumb. I was asking for advice about work visas and he�s like don�t say that VICE is your employer and I�m like yo, I was not intending to, I have another employer interested you queer and he was like you�re fired and I was like how can you fire someone who�s never there?
So I blame it all on Gavin. The fantasy of VICE is over for me. I suffer mild anxiety attacks whenever VICE is mentioned because then I have to explain the whole connection between VICE and I.
So, I will never work for VICE again and I don�t fuckin� care. Sometimes I love those guys and sometimes I want them to die. I sent them an envelope of Valentines a few weeks ago and not one person responded. Assholes.
Raymi the Minx